My Reborn Apocalypse Begins with a Divorce

Chapter 3

Reborn, Ray found his temperament entirely altered.

Who wouldn't change after being tied up, slaughtered, and eaten by their in-laws?

He'd always been quietly dissatisfied with the Gantts—he'd tolerated them for the sake of the child—but discovering Michael wasn't his had been the last straw. A decent man pushed to the edge becomes more dangerous than most.

After the meal, he paid with credit—over three thousand dollars. His credit line was eight thousand-plus, so there was no worry about being denied. The restaurant was absurdly expensive, and honestly, the food was only so-so. Still, the act of spending felt good.

Back at the hotel, ten minutes later, the lottery draw flashed across the TV.

Number one, hit. Number two, hit. Three… four… all seven numbers—perfect.

Ray smiled. His rebirth hadn't altered the facts of the world. 50 million dollars, then. Taxes and donations would take their share; let's call it 40 million for planning's sake.

He lay down, but sleep wouldn't come. Thoughts churned and multiplied until morning.

…

Meanwhile, at the Gantt house, it was chaos.

"What? That useless piece of shit divorced you?" Josh could hardly believe it, even with the divorce decree sitting on the table.

Wasn't Ray supposed to be a loyal servant—obedient, tireless, forever useful? Now that the servant had bitten them and run, Josh found it completely unacceptable.

"Where is he? I'll go teach him a lesson!" Max barked; he only found out at home that his brother-in-law had hit his father and then divorced his sister.

"Where's Daddy? I want to ride Horsey!" little Michael piped up.

Lauren shouted back, "Your Daddy is dead!"

Michael, unaccustomed to rebuke and used to seeing Ray handled roughly, clapped his hands delightedly. "Daddy's dead! Daddy's dead!"

Michael had never respected the man who'd spoiled him.

Lauren seethed. Whenever Ray had been home, the child was his responsibility—she never had to worry. Now, seeing this three-year-old clambering and screaming nearly drove her mad. She had to let Daisy mind the child first, then she told them, "I called the police, but they said it's a family matter. Unless the injury is serious, they won't take it."

"What? That bastard slapped me, and nothing happens?" Josh jumped to his feet. The redness on his cheek was already fading—how could this be a case?

"Lauren, why did you agree to the divorce?" Max demanded. "He was pulling in over five grand a month after taxes. Now that money's just gone? How am I supposed to come up with a down payment for a house now?"

"He's right," Josh chimed in, his tone sharp and accusing. "You know what Megan's parents are asking for. A huge wedding and a house! That bastard's income was supposed to help cover Max's mortgage payments. Now our entire plan is ruined."

The truth was, Josh had been counting on Ray's earnings to fund his son's lifestyle. That money had just vanished, and the shock of that financial loss felt more painful than the slap Ray had delivered across his face.

Lauren boiled with fury. Her father and brother only cared about the money—they didn't care about her future. But hadn't it always been like that? She forced down the anger and vowed, "I won't let him go. I'll make Ray pay."

They cursed and schemed, but they didn't know where he'd gone. What good would anger do now?

"You must remarry him and bring him back!" Josh insisted. "He earns over five thousand and he does all the work around the house."

Lauren's face tightened. "I'm going out to get some air."

Ray knew the child wasn't his. There would be no remarriage.

She left the house in a swirl of anxiety. Daisy couldn't handle Michael; he began throwing things in a tantrum. She wanted only to escape.

…

A full night's sleep left Ray feeling clear-headed and energized. He treated himself to a hearty breakfast, savoring every bite.

During those two weeks of the apocalypse, he'd been surviving on starvation-level rations, even saving portions of his own meager share for the boy who wasn't his son.

The memory was a bitter pill. How could he have been so blind? The kid, Michael, didn't look a thing like him, and that vicious, entitled temper didn't come from Lauren's side of the family either.

He shook his head, physically dismissing the thought. His real life started now.

After breakfast, he took a cab to the state lottery headquarters. A staff member, spotting the winning tickets in his hand, immediately escorted him to a private office. He presented the tickets, his ID was verified, and the amount was confirmed: 50 million dollars.

After the mandatory federal and state taxes took a 10 million dollar cut and he made a token 200,000 dollar charitable donation, a cool 39.8 million dollars was wired into his account. It was still a life-altering fortune.

The room quickly filled with eager financial managers from various banks, all vying for his business. Ray didn't care much for their conservative portfolios and slow, steady growth. So he simply chose the nearest bank to Mallory Avenue for convenience's sake.

After finalizing the deposit, the manager eagerly invited Ray out for a stroll. It was clear she was flirting with him.

He assessed her—a solid seven on his scale—and felt a brief stir of temptation.

But he refused. Time was his most precious commodity now, and her "favors" would undoubtedly come with the expectation that he'd buy into her firm's lackluster investment products.

He needed pure, liquid capital for his market plays. He would turn millions into billions in two months and hoard the largest possible resources in the final month.

He still added her on WhatsApp—Alana Richie—before leaving the building.

Then, he went back to Mallory Avenue.

Why return to the same neighborhood as his ex-wife? He intended to buy a house there. When the apocalypse hit, his fortified sanctuary would stand as a constant, humiliating reminder of everything the Gantts had lost. Moving elsewhere would ruin his perfect revenge.

Staying in the same community also offered strategic advantages. He could move freely through the connected underground garages—a crucial asset for when the hail began.

A single strike from those poisoned stones could crack a skull open, and contact with the contaminated blood meant a certain, agonizing death.

He wasn't going to let the Gantts off easy with simple starvation. The pain he had endured, he would return to them. Precisely.