Little freezer trick? Give it twenty-four hours. You'll all be on your knees begging me.
Of course, I had no intention of riding out the apocalypse alone with the Frost System.
Because in my past life, midway through the disaster, people had started noticing something was off about my home. The door was ice-cold to the touch. No one in the household had ever died. And there was always fresh trash outside the front door.
They didn't know why, but they knew we had a way to survive.
That led to dozens of incidents where mobs surrounded our house. If it hadn't been for a few men in the family, we never would have held them off.
The thought sent me digging through my memories, searching desperately until I finally recalled that phone number.
I grabbed my phone and dialed.
The call connected almost immediately. I rubbed the hem of my shirt between my fingers, nerves twisting in my stomach, and spoke softly.
"Hi, is this Clay Sanchez? I'm the owner of unit 1201, Building 8, Entrance 3..."
A low voice came through the other end.
"What is it?"
"Um... are you free this afternoon? I was wondering if you'd like to... marry me."
In my previous life, when the mob had surrounded our home, Owen had already fled to the basement like a coward. Inside the apartment, it was just my dad and Herbert fighting alongside us, desperately trying to hold them off. But outside, Clay had been the one keeping us alive.
At first, I'd assumed it was just neighborly goodwill.
But the day Owen abandoned me in the desert—left me to bake alive under that merciless sun—Clay went out alone. He searched for an entire day and night until he found my body. He buried me with his own hands.
I heard him weeping at my grave, and that was when I finally understood.
He'd been in love with me for years.
He'd never said a word because I'd been so wrapped up in Owen that there was never any room for anyone else. After I died, he took care of my parents as if they were his own. And in the end, he used every ounce of his influence in Capital City to drive Owen's company into bankruptcy.
That was when I learned the truth—Clay Sanchez was the head of the Capital City Syndicate. The only reason he'd ever lived in our modest little neighborhood was because he wanted to be close to me.
"Hello? Are you going to answer me or not?"
Silence on the other end. My cheeks burned.
"If you don't say something, I'm hanging up!"