Chapter 1

I died in a blizzard at -94 °F.

At the time, the windows in the hallway had shattered, and the wind forced its way inside, carrying shards of ice with it. I lay curled on the frozen floor, my limbs long since numb, every breath slicing through me with sharp pain.

The thin hoodie did nothing to keep out the cold. My fingers had gone pale, my lips cracked and bleeding, and gradually, my consciousness slipped away.

The last thing I saw before I died was three faces I knew better than anyone, ones that now made my stomach churn with disgust.

Wendy Lewis, my so-called best friend I had taken care of for three years, was nestled in my younger brother Leo Sanchez's arms. The two of them finished off my last piece of chocolate without a trace of guilt.

My mother, Melissa Sanchez, stood with her hands on her hips, her face twisted in disdain. She gave my last half bottle of hot water to Leo, saying softly, "Be careful. It's super hot."

My father, Gordon Sanchez, stood there with a blank face, as if I were nothing more than a stranger to him.

He said flatly, "If you can't hold on anymore, then stop trying. Make way for Leo."

In my previous life, I gave everything I had to my family. I saved the best of everything for Leo and endured my parents' guilt-tripping and manipulation for over a decade.

I treated Wendy with nothing but sincerity, answered her every request, and cared for her as if she were my sister.

Then the apocalypse came, with scorching heat, floods, and freezing cold striking one after another. The supplies I had struggled to gather were stripped away by the very people I trusted most.

They took my food, my water, and my blankets. Then they threw me into the hallway like a piece of trash, leaving me there to freeze to death.

Hatred came from the depths of my soul. With the last shred of strength I had left, I cursed them in silence.

If I were given one more chance, I would never be a saint. No more mercy. No more backing down.

Everyone who betrayed me, hurt me, and stole from me would pay the cruelest price.

*****

I shot straight up in bed, breathing hard and fast, my back drenched in cold sweat.

The cool air from the AC drifted across my face. The curtains were washed out by the sunlight, and the room was spotless and orderly. Everything felt so familiar that my eyes stung.

Trembling, I snatched my phone from the nightstand. The time on the screen was clear as day. It was June 15th, 9:17 a.m.

There were still ten days left before the first apocalypse, the extreme heat, arrived.

I was back.

Before I could recover from the shock, something rushed into my head.

A vast, quiet space opened up in my mind. The temperature stayed steady, time didn't move, and anything stored there would never go bad.

A second chance and Space that belonged to me alone? It felt like the universe was finally on my side.

Memories from my previous life came flooding back. Temperatures soaring above 104 °F, rivers running dry, power and water cut off.

Forty straight days of relentless downpours drowned the city beneath rising water, while disease spread through the chaos.

Overnight, the temperature crashed to around -94 °F, freezing everything and wiping out countless lives.

In the end, crops failed, order collapsed, and cannibalism was no longer whispered about. It became a reality.

Four disasters, each one worse than the one before. Last time, I lost everything and died in the worst way possible.

This time, I would never make the same mistake again.

I threw off the blanket and got out of bed, walking over to the mirror. I was still pale, but my eyes were sharp and steady, with no sign of weakness. There was pure determination.

I brushed my fingers over my wrist, thinking about one thing. I was going to sell the apartment, sell the car, cash everything out, stock up on supplies, and build a safe house.

No one would ever drain me dry again. No one would take what was mine. And no one would ever push me toward death again.

I grabbed my phone and, without hesitation, called the real estate agent. "My apartment is worth 600 thousand, and I'm selling it for 500 thousand. Urgent sale. I need the paperwork done today and the full payment sent right away.

"My car cost 60 thousand, but I'll let it go for 30 thousand. Cash only. No bargain."

The agent was clearly startled by the urgency in my voice, assuming something serious had happened, and quickly assured me the paperwork would be handled today.

I hung up the phone and coldly stared out the window.

The sunlight was bright, the streets were packed with cars, and everyone was lost in their calm routines, totally unaware of the nightmare heading their way.

*****

That very afternoon, the agent came with prospective buyers.

Both my apartment and my car were sold quickly at deeply discounted prices, with no delays whatsoever.

By evening, my phone buzzed with a bank notification. 530 thousand had hit my account.

I looked at the numbers and smiled.

Money meant nothing once the apocalypse hit, but before that, it was the one thing that could keep me alive.

I wasn't keeping a single cent. Every last cent would be turned into something that helped me survive.

For the next ten days, I bought all kinds of things. No breaks. No slowing down. I spent every second preparing for the apocalypse.

I maxed out online orders, cleared out wholesale stores, and delivery trucks kept pulling into the underground garage one after another.

The security guards stared in shock, and neighbors passing by whispered, guessing I'd gone crazy.

I didn't pay them any attention. All I cared about was supplies and staying alive.