The Unborn’s Apocalyptic Warning Chapter 02
I didn’t go back to the estate. Instead, I went to my private villa—more secluded, higher ground.
Looking at the imported lawn and rare ornamental plants surrounding it—worth tens of millions—my heart ached.
None of it was edible. None of it would stop a zombie.
“Butler, rip all of this out.”
The butler, mid-snip with his pruning shears, nearly cut off his own finger.
“Ma’am, these are the tulips the master had specially airlifted from Holland…”
“Rip them out!” I stared him down.
“Am I the lady of this house, or are you? I don’t like flowers. I’m allergic to pollen, alright?”
His expression was reluctant, but he called the gardeners over and they got to work.
Watching those lush, gorgeous blooms pulled up by the roots, I had only one thought: Potatoes.
I needed to plant potatoes.
High yield, high starch content, excellent source of calories, and ridiculously easy to grow.
My little commander came back online.
“Those floor-to-ceiling windows are no good! Way too fragile! One zombie headbutt and they shatter! That’s basically leaving the front door wide open with a buffet sign!”
I looked up at the massive panoramic windows.
They used to make me feel peaceful. Now all I saw were death traps.
“Replace them! All of them! Bulletproof glass with steel-plated shutters!”
I immediately contacted the best construction firm I knew.
When they heard my specifications, they assumed I was converting the place into a vault.
“Mrs. Reyes, this level of security is typically used for—”
“I have severe anxiety. What if burglars show up? Money’s no object, but I have one condition: it has to be done within a week.”
The moment they heard “money’s no object,” they shut right up and had a crew on-site by nightfall.
To make sure they took the work seriously, I stationed armed men nearby to supervise—but I also paid the workers a generous bonus.
Fiona showed up with a gaggle of her friends to gawk.
They stood outside the villa, staring at the mud pits and the vegetable greenhouses being assembled, howling with laughter.
“Oh my God, Catalina, have you lost your mind? Growing crops at a mansion like this?”
“Did Salvatore dump you? Are you building yourself a cemetery?”
“Even a cemetery wouldn’t look this bad—it looks like a junkyard!”
I was watching the workers turn soil when their comments reached me. I snatched a shovel right out of a worker’s hands.
Scooped up a heaping load of fertilizer-laced mud and flung it straight at them.
“Ahh! My dress!” Fiona shrieked and jumped back, but mud splatters covered her from head to toe.
“Private property. Get lost!” I brandished the shovel like a she-wolf guarding her den.
Fiona’s face went dark with fury, her eyes venomous. “Catalina, just you wait! When Salvatore sees what you’ve done to this place, he’ll throw you out on the street!”
That evening, when Salvatore came home, he was indeed taken aback.
The front door’s fingerprint lock had been smashed out on my orders, replaced with a mechanical deadbolt that weighed a good fifty pounds.
The yard was torn up with ditches. The living room was stacked floor to ceiling with instant noodles, MREs, and compressed biscuits I’d panic-bought online.
He stood in the doorway for a long time, wanting to come in but unable to figure out where to put his feet.
He stared at the Persian rug buried under cases of hardtack, his expression strained.
“Catalina, what is all this?”
I rushed over, pulled him into the bedroom, checked in every direction for eavesdroppers, then shut the door.
“Salvatore, I need to tell you something big. The apocalypse is coming.”
Salvatore looked at me. His expression was… complicated.
He reached over and felt my forehead. No fever. My eyes looked lucid. They hadn’t been fighting recently.
“Who told you this?”
“The baby.” I pointed at my stomach.
Salvatore sighed and took my hands in his. “Catalina, have you been under too much stress lately? I’ll take you to see a therapist tomorrow.”
He didn’t believe a word about the apocalypse.
Fair enough. If I were the old me, I wouldn’t have believed it either. It was absurd.
“I knew a materialist like Dad would never buy it. But it’s fine, Mom. As long as he doesn’t stop us, we can handle this on our own!”
I nodded and fixed Salvatore with what I hoped was my most sincere look. “Just think of it as prenatal anxiety, okay? Doing all this makes me feel safe. Can you please just let me have this?”
Salvatore looked at me, then at the room full of supplies, and finally gave a helpless nod.
“Fine. As long as you don’t tear down the house, do whatever you want.”
After comforting me for a while, he stepped out onto the balcony to call that renowned therapist.
“Hello, Dr. Smith? My wife’s been extremely anxious lately—she says the end of the world is coming… Yes, that’s right. I was wondering how I should support her through this… Go along with her? Alright, understood.”