The end of the world was upon us, but there weren't enough spots for evacuation.

The roars of the zombies echoed in my ears as my fiancé, Oliver, gritted his teeth and pulled me onto the rescue vehicle—securing the last available seat.

I arrived safely at the survivor base. Lina, his first love, did not. The zombies tore her apart.

Oliver still went through with our marriage, but I never expected that he had only done so to make me suffer.

In his eyes, I was the one who had killed Lina. If she had to endure such agony, then I should, too.

For five years, he hated me. My life was worse than that of a stray dog scavenging for food on the street.

On the day my divorce was finalized, he kidnapped me, dragged me into the wilderness, and wrapped his fingers around my throat. Then, he threw us both into the swarm of the undead.

When I opened my eyes again, I was somehow reborn on the day the apocalypse began.

The rescue team was shouting impatiently, "One more! We have room for one more—hurry!"

I turned to Oliver, watching his hesitation. Then, with a quiet smile, I took a step back and let someone else have the last seat.

When I opened my eyes again, I didn't immediately realize I had been reborn. I only noticed that the pain was gone.

"Quit spacing out!" A sharp voice snapped me back. A rescue worker leaned out from the vehicle, looking impatient. "We can fit one more! Get in or die out there!"

Closest to the door was my fiancé, Oliver. His gaze flickered between me and his first love, Lina. After a long, agonizing moment, he finally reached out a hand toward me.

Oh. His expression looked as if he were choosing which limb to amputate—left or right. Was the decision really that hard? Let me help you, then.

I took a step back and smiled, rejecting the unspoken price behind his so-called kindness.

"Save Lina first. I think she's the better choice."

I was never going to let history repeat itself. Never again would I be called a "life-stealing coward," a "shameless woman doomed to a lifetime of guilt," or a "plague unworthy of even hellhole."

I much preferred "vengeful goddess."

Relief washed over Oliver instantly. His brow smoothed, his lips uncurled, even his posture straightened.

Freed from any moral dilemma, he pulled Lina onto the vehicle without hesitation, shielding her behind him.

Without looking back, he said, "I was going to save you, Zayla. But since you insist on giving Lina the chance, I respect your choice. I'll protect her. We'll come back for you, Zayla. Just hold on."

And with that, he shut the door.

From inside, I could hear his low, soothing voice as he comforted Lina.

He was so afraid I'd change my mind that he wouldn't even waste a second.

How laughable. Did Oliver think everyone was as pathetic as he was?

He made a choice, then regretted it. And when things fell apart, he pushed the blame onto me.

I would never be that kind of coward.

Last time, I was the one Oliver dragged onto the vehicle. He had held me tightly, shielding me from the bloody carnage outside, whispering that he didn't want me to see the horrors of the apocalypse.

Now that I stood outside the door, I realized—his head had been turned toward Lina the entire time.

The moment we reached the safety base, Oliver insisted that no survivor should be left behind. The rescue team had to go back.

They didn't refuse. They pushed through their exhaustion for a second trip. But the virus spread too fast. By the time they arrived, Lina had already been devoured.

Oliver hadn't shown much of a reaction.

"Well," he sighed, as if hearing about some nameless casualty, "it couldn't be helped. May she rest in peace."

Lina was my father's illegitimate daughter—my half-sister. I never liked her, but I wasn't heartless enough to feel nothing about her death.

While I was still struggling with grief, Oliver had already calmly gathered Lina's keepsake—a necklace.

Nowhere was safe in the apocalypse. At any moment, we could be forced into another desperate escape.

Oliver told me he couldn't bear to let Lina's keepsake be lost. Asked if I minded him keeping it.

Of course, I didn't mind. I even considered postponing our wedding out of respect for the tragedy.

Marriages in the apocalypse were more binding than ever—a true merging of resources, a declaration that two people were a single, inseparable unit.

I still remembered his response.

"Don't delay it, Zayla. If anything, I wish I could marry you right now. Postponing our happiness over an unimportant outsider would be too cruel."

I had been deeply moved.

I hadn't realized that beneath Oliver's tender mask lurked an ocean of hatred.

That he had been so desperate to marry me—not out of love, but to torment me without restraint.

Because of him, I became the biggest joke of the survivor base.

Whenever someone lost hope, they'd crack a joke: "At least we're better off than Zayla."

And why did I deserve such punishment? Did I force Oliver to make that choice?

No. He was the one who hadn't saved Lina.

Her death had nothing to do with me. I was just another desperate survivor trying to get on that truck, no different from anyone else.

I was simply unlucky—standing in front of Lina that day, catching Oliver's attention.

Well, this time, I personally handed the spot to Lina.

He better be grateful.

And he better not regret it.

As the rescue convoy disappeared into the distance, I scanned my surroundings, searching for anything that could help me survive.

I couldn't be sure that once Oliver and Lina were safe, he would still remember I was left behind, trapped between life and death.

In my past life, he had pressured the rescue team for Lina's sake. I had no reason to believe he would do the same for me this time.

In a world teetering on the edge of collapse, I wasn't about to stake my life on his sense of morality.

For all I knew, by the time I clawed my way back to him, he'd be wearing a mask of grief, telling everyone I was already dead.

After all, Lina was his first love, his soulmate, the one he would never forget, no matter what.

The distant howls of the undead grew louder, yet a strange calm settled over me.

I had already been forged in fire.

The relentless cruelty of my past life had stripped me of illusions and honed my survival instincts to the extreme.

I knew how to protect myself. I knew how to find hidden supplies. I knew how to treat wounds. I had the map burned into my brain.

There was nothing to be afraid of.

You've got this, Zayla.

I smeared plant sap over my skin, masking the scent of the living to delay detection.

The convoy, with its sheer number of people, would inevitably draw the horde's attention. I couldn't risk following in their wake.

But the good news was—I knew another way to the safe zone.

The path was nearly abandoned, carved into the mountainside. It was steep, nearly vertical in some places, but that was why there were almost no zombies on it. They couldn't climb.

I didn't have proper gear, but survival left no room for hesitation.

If I could just make it over the mountain, I would be safe.

Halfway up, the trail narrowed until I had to press myself flat against the rock face.

One glance downward was enough to make my stomach lurch.

The footholds were vanishing. I had to cling to every outcrop, every ridge.

My palms stung, raw and swollen from the rough stone, and whenever my strength faltered, I could almost hear Oliver's voice from my past life, laced with disgust—

"Why was it you who survived? Zayla, you should have died."

No.

I clenched my teeth. I would survive.

Fueled by sheer hatred, I pushed forward, gripping tighter, climbing faster.

But God had a cruel sense of humor.

Just when I had conquered three-fourths of the climb, thunder rumbled through the sky.

Rain.

I could already taste the moisture in the air.

If it started now, the rock face would turn slick, impossible to climb. And without any insulation, I would freeze.

I couldn't afford to slow down.

Faster. Just a little faster—

Then, finally, the top came into view. Relief surged through me.

But before I could take my next step, the sky split open.

Rain pelted down in a merciless torrent.

The rock beneath my foot shifted.

And suddenly—I was falling.

Oh no.

Why now?

Why here?

Just a few more steps, and I would've made it.

I curled my body, bracing for impact, praying I wouldn't shatter on the way down.

Oliver would risk his life to retrieve Lina's keepsakes, but he wouldn't even bother to collect my corpse.

"Help…"

The word tore from my throat, maybe the last one I'd ever say.

Then—

A sharp jolt.

The freefall stopped.

A powerful arm caught me, solid and burning hot.

Stunned, I opened my eyes.

A man's face—sharp, striking—came into view.

One arm held me against his chest with effortless strength, while the other gripped a climbing anchor launcher, the tether embedded deep in the rock wall.

With fluid precision, he adjusted the rope's length, guiding us steadily downward.

I could feel the controlled power in his body, the effortless way he moved.

The moment my feet touched solid ground, my legs gave out, and I sank to my knees, my heart still hammering from the fall.

The man chuckled, hauling me upright.

"I saved your life, but you don't have to kneel in gratitude," he teased. "You're the first to make it up that way. Gotta say, I'm impressed."

Slowly, I exhaled. "Thanks… for the compliment. And for saving me."

The rain drenched me, seeping into my bones. He shrugged off his waterproof jacket and handed it over.

Noticing my lingering exhaustion, he tilted his head.

"You need me to carry you?"

I forced myself to stand straighter, chin lifting. "No. I'm good. I'm Zayla. Who are you?"

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an ID, flashing it at me.

"Ace. Head of the Rescue Division." His gaze lingered, amused. "I remember you. You didn't board the convoy, and when I went back for you, you were gone. Thought you were dead."

He paused, then added, "So… this makes our second meeting. I don't usually like seeing the same person too often," he admitted. "Usually means they're the kind of unlucky person who keeps getting into trouble."

His lips quirked slightly. "But you're different. You always surprise me."

Something inside me stuttered.

I glanced at him, trying to steady my pulse.

I couldn't tell if my heart was still racing from the near-death experience—

Or because of him.

No one had ever used the word "surprise" to describe me. My husband in my past life, Oliver, would always look irritated the moment he saw me, as if he were a stick of dynamite and I was the match poised to ignite him.

One night, Oliver had come home drunk, reeking of alcohol, muttering Lina's name under his breath.

Worried that he'd feel awful in the morning, I used the rare honey I'd been saving to sober him up. But he shoved me away without a second thought.

The glass of honey water shattered against the floor. I fell hard, shards of glass piercing my skin, carving countless wounds into my flesh.

Blood pooled beneath me. I groaned in pain, but Oliver just crossed his arms and watched, cold and satisfied.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, voice devoid of sympathy. "But no matter how much pain you're in, it's not even a fraction of what Lina felt when she died."

I stared up at him, stunned, my heart aching far worse than my torn skin.

When our eyes met, he didn't flinch. Instead, he sneered.

Slowly, I pushed myself off the ground, standing in silence before saying, "But Lina was killed by zombies, not me. And it was you who pulled me into that truck, not me. And yet, all you do is blame me. Don't you think that's unfair?"

"No," he said. "This is your fault. If you hadn't said you loved me, I never would have been forced into this marriage."

The alcohol was wearing off by then. Oliver's accusations came quick and precise, like a seasoned debater delivering a final, decisive blow.

I let out a bitter laugh. "Forced? Oliver, you always act like you have no choice. Are you incapable of saying no? You didn't have the strength to kill all the zombies, nor the courage to refuse my family's power. So instead, you turn your blade on me—your wife. If there were a competition for cowardice, you'd win first place."

I staggered outside to find a healer. Behind me, I heard the sound of Oliver smashing things in rage.

From that night on, our relationship froze over completely. He began treating me as his sworn enemy, and I no longer wasted a shred of warmth on him.

Yet now, something even Oliver had never done for me, a stranger had.

Ace worried if I had the strength to keep going. He worried if I was cold.

He was strong, but not cruel. It had been so long since I'd felt the warmth of someone's care.

"Thank you," I said again, deliberately.

"Don't mention it," Ace replied with a smile in his voice. "Though, if you're really grateful, maybe you should think about how to repay me."

When we reached the survivors' base, I was taken in for an infection screening. Once cleared, I was led to a temporary rest area.

"Commander, you called for me?"

I looked up to see a man standing a short distance away, carrying a medical kit. The doctor.

His gaze swept over us like an X-ray before locking onto my scraped hands.

"Looks like she's the one who needs treatment. Am I right?"

Ace nodded and turned to me. "This is Jamir, head of our medical division. If you ever have an emergency, he's the one to contact."

Jamir examined me, his eyebrows lifting higher the longer he worked. After bandaging my fingers, he turned to Ace with an unimpressed look.

"You called me in such a hurry, I thought I'd be dealing with a patient on their last breath. And yet, here we have a perfectly healthy woman—well-nourished, just a bit overtired and scraped up. This was your 'urgent case'?"

Ace avoided his gaze, muttering, "Zayla nearly fell off a cliff. That's urgent."

Jamir froze. "Wait. Zayla? Which Zayla? You mean the Zayla—the double PhD in virology and pharmacology, the one who won a national research award?"

I nodded. "That's me."

Jamir's eyes widened in shock before his expression morphed into something akin to reverence. He fished a business card from his pocket and pressed it into my hand.

"I mean it—please take care of yourself. If you need anything, anything at all, call me. I'd be honored to help."

He wanted to say more, but Ace promptly dragged him out of the room, medical supplies and all.

Clinging to the doorframe, Jamir hissed at him, "Take good care of her! You have no idea how valuable Dr. Zayla is in a world like this!"

"I know," Ace shot back, slamming the door shut. "She'd be valuable even without the apocalypse."

The bluntness of his words seemed to embarrass him. A faint flush crept up his face.

Curled up in a chair, wrapped in a warm blanket, I looked at him and said, "I don't even know how to repay you." He had done too much.

Ace shook his head and pulled out a ledger. "What you should focus on is recovering. Do you have any family? Maybe I can help find them."

I gave him my parents' names. As it turned out, they had learned about the zombie outbreak early on, gathered an enormous stockpile of supplies, and joined the base's upper ranks. They were thriving, busy consolidating their power in this new world—too busy to care about whether I was alive or dead.

As for Oliver… I had a sneaking suspicion he, too, had been reborn and remembered his past life.

Given a second chance, he was probably basking in Lina's presence, cherishing every moment with her.

We had been married for five years in our past life. He never once shared a bed with me. Never protected me from zombies. Instead, he had preemptively arranged with the base leaders to seize my supply rations for himself.

Whenever someone asked about his wife, he would sneer and say I was nothing more than a plaything for him to toy with.

In this life, Oliver would undoubtedly end up marrying Lina. Would he finally get the life he wanted?

I looked up at Ace, voice soft with a quiet plea. "I don't have anyone I can trust anymore. Can you arrange for my living quarters to be near yours?"

He didn't answer right away. I reached out, lightly tugging at the hem of his jacket, gazing up at him with a trace of vulnerability.

That was when I remembered who Ace was.

Right now, he was just the head of the rescue division. But in the future, he would lead this entire base. In my past life, he was also the one who publicly supported my divorce from Oliver.

He had already saved me twice.

Ace wasn't like Oliver. He wouldn't hurt me.

He crouched down so our eyes were level, the distance between us shrinking in an instant. I could smell the faint scent of mint on him.

"You shouldn't trust me so easily," he murmured. "I'm not a good person. My help comes with a price."

"I don't mind," I said firmly. "What do you want? I'll do anything."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

Ace chuckled, pressing a key into my palm. "This is for the safe house next to mine. Also, your temperature's high. Are you feeling feverish?"

I touched my forehead, realizing he was right. He had noticed before I had—a realization that both touched and embarrassed me.

As Ace guided me toward my new residence, a familiar voice rang out.

"Zayla? Is that you?"

Oliver was here, arguing with the rescue team, demanding they go back for a third attempt at saving someone.

The moment he saw me, he rushed forward, reaching out with wide, desperate eyes.

"You passed the survivor test! You're not infected!"

I stepped back, glaring at him. "That's right. I didn't die in a zombie's jaws. Disappointed?"