Chapter 3

My stomach, shrunken to the size of a fist after six months of starvation, couldn't handle it. I threw up violently.

They told me that leaving any food behind would just benefit outsiders, and if the rescue team saw we had leftovers, it would paint a target on our backs at the survivor camp.

But in this life, I had better options.

Chloe was short-sighted. She didn't understand that having one more ally is always better than having one more enemy. That was why she was so eager to ditch the Millers in her last life, and so desperate to ditch the Sinclairs in this one.

I, on the other hand, seized the moment. While Richard and Eleanor were drowning in their hatred for Chloe and overwhelming guilt toward me, I asked them to build me my own high-security house.

They stared at me, their mouths open in confusion.

I looked around the room, mimicking the twitchy, paranoid behavior of someone terrified of invisible threats.

"What if Chloe comes back?" I whispered, my voice trembling. "What if she brings a bad crowd to steal from us?"

"What if my biological parents come looking for me? I can send them some money, but I don't want them bringing trouble to your doorstep."

Richard thought it over. He assumed I had simply inherited my biological parents' paranoia. Rather than arguing, he readily agreed and wired me the funds.

With the Sinclair fortune at my disposal, I was going to live far better than I ever did in my past life.

I purchased a villa in the very same gated community as the Sinclairs. I chose not to live with them because I had already seen through their cold, transactional nature.

In my past life, when Chloe demanded I be sent to the Millers to suffer, they didn't care.

Later, they forced their bodyguards to risk their lives retrieving gourmet foods, complaining when things weren't perfect, which ultimately cost several lives.

Even though they chose me in this timeline and gave me enough money to secure my safety, I wouldn't bet my life on their loyalty when a real crisis hit.

Living alone was the only logical choice.

My new villa faced a quiet lake in the front and a vast, open golf course in the back. The visibility was perfect.

The gated community was sparsely populated, making its security top-tier. Even if the main security gates collapsed and desperate refugees tried to break in, I would spot them from a mile away.

Still, that wasn't enough. I began upgrading the house.

I replaced all doors and windows with bank-vault-grade security materials and started panic-buying.

Military-grade MREs, freeze-dried vegetables, medical kits, survival gear... anything that could be bought with money, I hoarded.

When other wealthy neighbors questioned my massive shipments, I simply told them I was setting up a humanitarian relief initiative under our family foundation to prepare for global crises, aiming to boost my resume.

They nodded in approval. Soon, they were even helping me coordinate shipments, asking only that our family company mention their names in our press releases.

Wealthy people can never have too much good publicity.

To me, these expenses were pocket change.

Of course, I didn't actually set up a real foundation. I had a portion of the supplies shipped directly to low-income families in nearby rural areas, counting it as a good deed to help them survive what was coming.

The rest was packed tightly into my newly reinforced basement bunker.

Next, I asked Richard to assign me Marcus, the head of our security detail.

Marcus had been an MMA prodigy in his youth before serving in the military. He was an expert in close-quarters combat and tactical defense.

In my past life, he had died trying to shield his men. He was a man of honor. He was someone I could actually trust.

Richard looked at me suspiciously this time, demanding to know what I was planning.

But my twitchy, paranoid act quickly made him sigh in exhaustion. He gave up trying to reason with me and signed Marcus over.

The very first task I gave Marcus was to deliver a physical letter to my biological parents.