With Gabriel's approval, I grew even bolder.

But while he wasn't stopping me, his wallet wasn't a bottomless pit either.

My previous buying spree had already maxed out the supplementary credit card he'd given me.

The remaining balances for the construction crew and the supply orders were still gaping holes in my budget.

Gabriel was swamped at work lately, and I felt bad constantly asking him for cash. After all, in his eyes, I was just having a massive episode.

I turned my attention to the walk-in closet.

Inside was a whole wall of jewelry and hundreds of designer bags.

"Mom! That green bangle! The one Grandma left you? That thing can fetch two whole crates of antibiotics in the apocalypse! Sell it!"

I hardened my resolve and packed all my valuables into a large suitcase.

I used to cherish these things as if they were life itself. Now, they were nothing but dead weight.

I dragged the suitcase to the biggest pawnshop in the city.

To liquidate it all as fast as possible, I didn't even bother haggling, accepting whatever the owner offered.

Just as I was stepping out with several new bank cards, I ran right into the ever-present Karlie again.

She was at a cafe across the street, having high tea with a few other socialites.

Seeing me exit a pawnshop, her eyes lit up brighter than a laser show. "I knew it! The Gibson family is definitely going under! Phoebe's already selling off her jewelry to run away!"

She had such a loud mouth that she practically wanted the whole street to hear.

I couldn't care less. Right now, every minute was precious.

Armed with cash, I used my old coworker's connections to score two industrial-grade, high-capacity generators on the black market.

Along with them came hundreds of barrels of diesel.

The fuel reeked. The moment it was rolled into the villa's garage, the neighbors blew a fuse.

The property manager, Billy Deleon, showed up with a few security guards. He aggressively demanded that I remove the fuel barrels, citing safety hazards.

"No way! Nobody touches my fuel!"

I stood firmly in front of the barrels, throwing a total tantrum like a madwoman.

We wouldn't survive without power, and the cold storage wouldn't be able to keep the meat fresh. The electric fence also wouldn't be able to run.

"Ms. Webb, if you insist, we'll have no choice but to call the police," Billy said, looking thoroughly exasperated.

Just then, a black Maybach pulled up to the entrance.

Gabriel was home.

He looked at me standing there like a bristling cat, then at the sweating Billy.

"What's going on here?"

Billy looked like he'd just seen his savior. "Mr. Gibson, your wife has stockpiled a massive amount of diesel in the garage. It's against regulations."

Gabriel rubbed his temples and walked over, pulling me behind him. "I have a use for this fuel. I'll arrange for professionals to handle the explosion-proofing. If anything happens, I'll take full responsibility."

Billy stood frozen for a second. Since Gabriel had spoken, he didn't dare say another word and could only slink away.

As I looked at Gabriel's broad shoulders, my eyes grew a little misty.

He turned around, took one look at my disheveled face, and let out a soft sigh.

Then, he clapped his hands together.

A driver pulled up in a wildly aggressive, matte-black SUV.

It looked more imposing than an armored personnel carrier. It was entirely encased in steel plates with glass as thick as bricks.

"Here's the… bulletproof vehicle you wanted," Gabriel said, his tone laced with a profound sense of exhaustion. "I have no idea who you're trying to defend against, but if you're going to play this game, you might as well go all out."

I rushed forward and threw my arms around him, wiping my tears and nose right onto his bespoke suit.

"Honey! You're the best! When the zombies get here, I've got your back. Anyone tries to bite you, I'll blow their brains out!"

Gabriel's body stiffened for a second before he patted my back. "Well, thanks in advance."

Only ten days remained until my baby's predicted D-Day.

Karlie hadn't been slacking off either. She was busy spreading rumors all over our social circles.

She claimed that Gibson Group's capital chain had snapped, that Gabriel was not only bankrupt but swimming in debt, and that I had been driven completely insane.

It got to the point where a few of Gabriel's business associates actually called him to fish for information.

"Gabriel, I hear your place is undergoing some… renovations? Sounds like quite the project."

Gabriel remained entirely unfazed on the phone. "It's nothing. My wife's just really into an apocalyptic survival game lately. I'm just building her a live-action experience center."

The associate burst out laughing, praising Gabriel for spoiling his wife to a fault.

But things weren't nearly as pleasant on my end. My anxiety had reached an absolute fever pitch.

I kept feeling like we didn't have enough water, so I bought dozens of those massive plastic water towers, cramming them into every available inch of the villa's roof and basement.

I also stocked up on crates of baseball bats and tactical riot forks.

"Mom, we still need medicine! Antibiotics! Painkillers! And vitamins!"

My baby really proved he had been reborn. His attention to detail was immaculate.

Utilizing Gabriel's network, I managed to secure a massive stash of hospital-grade prescription drugs and first-aid kits.

…

Three days left on the countdown.

I dragged Gabriel along for one final run to the biggest warehouse store in the city.

This time, I bypassed the dry staples, heading straight for the snack aisles for chocolates, potato chips, candy, and soft drinks.

In the apocalypse, these things were currency and luxuries that could buy a sliver of happiness.

Gabriel trailed behind me, pushing five shopping carts overflowing with junk food.

People all around us were whispering and pointing, and some even pulled out their phones to snap pictures.

"Look, that's Mr. Gibson. I heard his wife has lost her mind."

"Yikes. Buying that many snacks? Is she trying to open a convenience store at home?"

For the first time in his life, Gabriel felt embarrassed, but he kept his posture rigid and pretended not to hear a thing.

Back at the house, I initiated the final lockdown.

I checked every single door and window, leaving only a single, concealed ventilation shaft open.

Every curtain was drawn tight, completely cutting off any view from the outside world.

Outside our perimeter fence, Karlie had started a live stream. "Look at this, everyone! This is the infamous 'doomsday bunker.' It's hilarious. If you didn't know any better, you'd think they were caging a monster in there."

The chat was flooded with people mocking me.

I stared at my phone and let out a cold sneer. "Laugh it up. Let's see if you're still laughing in a few days."

…

The day of the prophecy finally arrived.

That evening, the tension in the house was suffocating.

I forced everyone into Kevlar anti-stab suits. Even our Golden Retriever had to wear a muzzle so it wouldn't bark and draw the zombies.

Gabriel, clad in his tactical vest and holding a baseball bat, sat helplessly on the couch to keep me company through the night. "Phoebe, even if there were zombies, our doors are solid enough. Do we really need to pull a stakeout here?"

"Yes! We have to watch! The first wave is always the worst!"

The clock on the wall ticked away.

11:50 pm.

11:55 pm.

12:00 am.

The world seemed to hold its breath. I held mine too. My palms were slick with sweat.

No one knew what the next second would do to the world.

Outside the window, the usually bustling city was dead silent, save for the occasional stray chirp of an insect.

On the security monitors, the perimeter of the villa was pitch black. Nothing moved except the shadows of trees swaying in the wind.

1:00 am passed.

2:00 am passed.

3:00 am passed.

Still, there wasn't a soul in sight out there. A stray cat even strolled casually along the top of the wall.

Gabriel let out a massive yawn, tears welling in his eyes. "Phoebe, are the zombies… stuck in traffic?"

I was completely bewildered myself. I patted my stomach. "Baby, what's going on?"