Dear Ex-Wife, the Apocalypse King Has No Mercy.

Chapter 5: Four Hundred Million and a Front-Row Seat to Their Ruin

Rhys Darby’s filthy-rich life began that morning.

He woke before sunrise, showered, changed into clean clothes, and headed straight for the finest restaurant he could find.

Rhys ordered without looking at the prices. Prime steak, fresh seafood, pastries, and the restaurant’s most expensive coffee.

By the time he set down his fork, warmth had spread through his entire body.

Spending money on himself without guilt felt...

 So damn good.

 After breakfast, he called a car and headed to the state lottery center.

 The moment the staff learned why he was there, their attitude changed completely. A senior employee personally escorted him into a private reception room, where his ticket and identity were verified through several rounds of inspection.

 At last, the winning amount was confirmed: Five hundred million dollars. 

 One hundred million vanished immediately in taxes. Rhys also authorized a two-million-dollar charitable donation to avoid unnecessary criticism and media pressure.

When everything was settled, the amount transferred into his account was exactly three hundred and ninety-eight million dollars.

Rhys stared at the string of digits on the screen.

It sounded enormous, but still was not enough. He needed to make it grow.

 Representatives from several major banks had already gathered outside the reception room. The moment Rhys emerged, they surrounded him with smiles, business cards, and promises of private banking privileges.

 Rhys had no intention of locking his money into conservative funds and living off interest. In three months, the financial system itself would collapse. Every dollar left in a bank account would become worthless pieces of data trapped inside dead servers.

 He still chose one of the banks, but only because its nearest branch was within walking distance of Maple Grove.

 The bank’s business manager, Yvonne Quinn, personally handled the transfer and upgraded Rhys to the highest level of private-client service.

She was an attractive woman in her early thirties, with carefully styled hair, a fitted suit, and a smile that lingered a little too long whenever their eyes met.

 Once the paperwork was complete, she leaned closer across the desk.

 “Mr. Darby, this process must have been exhausting. Perhaps I could show you around the city tonight. Somewhere quiet.” 

The invitation in her voice could not have been clearer.

For a second, he was tempted. But then he remembered the clock ticking above the entire world.

 “No, thanks.”

A trace of disappointment crossed her face.

Rhys took out his phone. “Let's exchange contact, though. I may need your help moving large amounts of money over the next few months.”

Her smile immediately returned.

 “Of course.”

Rhys had not lied. He really did need her for the plan to grow his money.

Over the next two months, he would use what he remembered from his previous life to invest in stocks he knew were about to surge, turning his nearly four hundred million dollars into roughly two billion before the sky started falling.

In the final month, he'd pull every dollar out of the markets completely, and every remaining cent would buy food, medicine, fuel, and protective gear, all of it stored in his dimensional space.

But before any of that, Rhys needed to buy a proper safe house.

He took a cab straight to Maple Grove, to the house directly across from the Stowes’ home.

The property could be turned into an excellent shelter. 

Better yet, it would give him a front-row seat to the Stowes’ suffering when the apocalypse arrived. The two properties were even connected by the neighborhood’s underground parking garage, allowing him to pay them a visit whenever he pleased without ever setting foot outside.

Dear Stowes, did you really think I would let you die of hunger that easily? Everything you put me through, every bit of pain I suffered, you would experience it all for yourselves.

 When Rhys arrived, the owner and the real-estate agent he had contacted the night before were already waiting outside.

The house was large and newly renovated. Rhys walked through it once before turning to them.

 “I’ll take it.”

The agent blinked. “Would you like another viewing? Or perhaps some time to negotiate the price?”

 “No.” Rhys took out his card. “One million as a deposit. Complete the transfer as quickly as possible.”

The owner had already moved out and taken everything valuable, so he handed over the keys on the spot.

The agent looked as though she might burst into tears of joy. 

She had expected weeks of negotiation, inspections, and mortgage applications. Instead, Rhys had purchased one of the most expensive properties in Maple Grove after a single viewing.

Her commission alone would be worth tens of thousands.

 By evening, the transaction had become the biggest local story. It spread from doorway to doorway, carried by the neighborhood gossips and growing stranger with every retelling.

Some claimed Rhys had inherited money from a secret relative overseas.

Others insisted he had invested in cryptocurrency years ago and had only just cashed out.

One particularly imaginative neighbor swore he had sold classified government information.

No one guessed the truth. How could they?

Mrs. Park, the self-appointed information broker in the neighbour, heard the news before breakfast the next morning.

There was almost nothing in Maple Grove she did not know... or pretend to know.

 When she learned that Rhys Darby had spent millions buying the house across from the Stowes, her eyes lit up.

“What a wonderful son-in-law!” she exclaimed. “The Stowes are lucky to have him!”

Eager to congratulate them, and even more eager to learn where Rhys’s money had come from, she hurried toward their home. But the moment she stepped through the door, she stopped.

 The entire Stowe family was in chaos.