Reborn Before the Apocalypse,My Ex Will Regret Losing Me

"Fine! I'll put all this stuff back! It's just a bunch of snacks—big deal!"

He pulled out a fistful of receipts and waved them in my face.

"I already bought a ton of fans and air conditioners from HomeStyle Plaza downstairs. With all that, we'll ride out the heatwave in total comfort!"

The second the words left Owen's mouth, Clay let out a cold laugh.

"HomeStyle Plaza is mine too."

I grabbed Clay's arm before he could say another word, shooting him a look.

"Drop it. Don't waste any more time on them. I'm starving—let's just go home and make dinner."

Clay looked at me, confusion written all over his face.

"Wanda, those fans and ACs—I bought them for us and both sets of parents. A buddy of mine said this heat advisory isn't going to blow over anytime soon. You're really just going to let him walk off with all of it?"

"Those things are useless. Trust me. Once the heat really hits, the power grid won't last three days. When that happens, all those appliances will just be dead weight—one more thing for people to lose their minds over."

I took his hand and pulled him toward the exit.

Owen was too busy consoling Lesley, who was throwing a fit over losing her snacks, to catch a word of what I'd said.

I glanced at the stack of receipts in his hand and smiled to myself.

Owen's apartment was barely four hundred square feet, and he'd crammed Lesley's entire family of five in there with him. Once all those air conditioners and fans got hauled inside, there wouldn't be room to breathe, let alone stand. When the heat cranked up the tension, people trapped in a space that tight wouldn't die of heatstroke first—they'd lose their minds. How perfect.

It wasn't until we stepped outside the supermarket that I realized Clay had already sent a fleet of trucks and a crew of his guys to wait in the parking lot. They'd originally come to haul refrigerators, fans, and ACs. Now every last truck got loaded with water instead.

I'd also stocked up on solar-powered battery packs.

Watching crate after crate of water and supplies get carried into the apartment, I finally felt safe.

Thank God I'd bought that oversized condo. I used to regret it every time I had to clean the place. Now it looked like the best decision I'd ever made.

I checked the time, then sent Clay to pick up both our parents. Meanwhile, I arranged for his crew to move into Clay's place.

Once everything was settled, I treated myself to a proper barbecue dinner.

While scrolling through my phone, I spotted a post Owen had just put up on social media.

Check it out—this is what real security looks like. No heatwave stands a chance against technology!

The video showed fans, refrigerators, and air conditioners crammed wall to wall inside Owen's tiny apartment.

I popped a slice of beef into my mouth and glanced at the clock.

Less than one minute until the heatwave hit.

In the blink of an eye, the sky—already dimming into evening—blazed white.

It had begun.

The indoor temperature shot to a hundred and four degrees.

Owen kept updating his feed nonstop.

Lesley and I are officially the smartest people alive. Thirteen ACs plus eighteen fans = a cool 72°F. Life is GOOD.

He posted a temperature update practically every hour, and every single time he made sure to tag me.

Three hours later, the temperature inside had soared to a hundred and forty degrees.

Owen called me.

His voice dripped with smugness on the other end of the line.

"So, Wanda—how much water have you gone through? Hope you haven't drowned yourself yet."

But before he could finish the sentence, a chain of sharp, crackling explosions erupted from the power lines outside.

In the blink of an eye, the city—every light, every glow, every last flicker—went black.