Dear Ex-wife, the Apocalypse King Has No Mercy

Chapter 2

The sound was soft and clean, two sheets of paper separated at the fold.

Ignoring the way Lexi’s jaw dropped beside him, Rhys turned directly to the account manager and spoke with absolute clarity.

“Miss, Remove every authorization my wife currently has. From now on, no transfer, withdrawal, or account change is to be approved unless I appear here personally with valid identification.”

The account manager hesitated for only a second before nodding. “Right away, Mr. Darby.”

Lexi stared at him as though she had just watched a stranger crawl out of her husband’s skin.

“No. Don’t listen to him!” She hurried toward the desk. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

But the manager responded with apologetic but firm tone, "the accounts are legally registered in his name alone. He is the only one that can tell us what to do with it"

She looked back at Rhys. "Sir, would you like this processed immediately?"

"Immediately," Rhys answered without hesitation.

What? Lexi went still.

For years, she had spent Rhys’s money as though it belonged to the Stowe family. He had paid their bills, funded their plans, and cleaned up every mess they made without protest.

So why had he suddenly changed?

She neither understood nor cared to understand. She just spun on him, her shock rapidly curdling into fury.

“What is wrong with you?” she hissed. “What are you trying to prove with this little stunt? How am I supposed to pay for Chris’s expenses? Or my mother’s bills?”

Rhys looked at her. Once, he had seen the woman he loved. Now he saw only a parasite whose entire existence relied on draining him dry.

“I don’t know, Lexi, ” he said flatly. “Maybe you can ask Curry to solve this problem. I’m done.”

Lexi flinched. For one brief instant, naked panic flashed through her eyes. Then she buried it beneath familiar outrage.

“How many times do I have to tell you? There is nothing going on between Curry and me!” she snapped. “Can you stop acting like a toxic, insecure chauvinist?”

Before Rhys could answer, the manager opened the office door to carry out his instructions. Henry Stowe immediately pushed past her and stormed inside, irritation written all over his face.

"What are you arguing about?" Henry folded his arms, looking between his sister and his brother-in-law with an entitled scowl. "What's all this? And more importantly, where's my million?"

Rhys gave him a cold, appraising glance. “If you want money, earn it like every honest man does.”

“What the hell? Are you backing out on me, Rhys?” Henry’s face twisted with sudden, ugly anger. “We had a deal!”

“There was never a deal,” Rhys replied, his voice completely hollow of the deference he used to show them. “There was only a family that convinced itself it had the right to spend my money whenever it pleased.”

"You son of a bitch!" Henry snapped. He took a heavy, aggressive step forward, raising a hand.

"Careful," Rhys said, and something in his tone, something so cold and final, made Henry stop mid-sentence.

Rhys calmly buttoned his coat, turned, and walked out without another word.

Behind him, Lexi and Henry finally recovered from their shock. Their furious voices chased him down the marble hallway. First his name, then threats, then something about Henry's business.

But none of it mattered anymore.

Ninety-two days. that's all Rhys could think about. This time, he would be ready for everything. He needed supplies. He needed a fortified shelter. He needed capital.

At the moment, he owned little more than a modest bank balance, a seven-year-old sedan, and perfect knowledge of the catastrophe that was coming.

But there was one more thing.

A faint trace of coolness rested against his chest.

The pendant.

Rhys reached beneath his shirt and closed his fingers around it. He had never imagined that it would return with him as well.

The pendant had been created near the end of civilization, when governments were pouring their last resources into technology that might keep humanity alive.

Rhys found a deserted alley, bit the tip of his finger, and allowed a drop of blood to fall onto the pendant.

A blinding light erupted before his eyes.

When he opened them again, he stood inside an empty apartment.

The dimensional space.

There was no running water, no electricity, and not a single piece of furniture. The apartment contained two bedrooms and a living room, covering roughly one hundred and twenty square meters. The ceilings were nearly three meters high, and beyond the balcony lay a small garden.

Rhys stared around him, his breathing quickening. “I can’t even imagine how many supplies I could store in here.”

The possibilities were staggering.

Anything placed inside would remain exactly as it was. Food would never rot. Water would never evaporate. Hot meals would stay hot, and frozen goods would remain frozen.

The technology had been one of humanity’s greatest achievements. But in his previous life, it had come far too late. By the time it was invented, there had been almost nothing left to preserve. But this time, Rhys would make full use of it.

But of course, the technology had one limitation.

Rhys walked into the living room and looked up at the glowing timer suspended in midair.

26:20.

The numbers continued to tick down, second by second.

He could remain inside the dimensional space for only thirty minutes at a time. Once he left, he would have to wait twenty-four hours before entering again.

Rhys smiled. For now, that was hardly a problem.

A moment later, he left the dimensional apartment and returned to the outside world.

His pulse quickened, not with fear or simple amazement, but with the cold, focused exhilaration of a commander who had just received reinforcements one minute before the war.

Rhys stepped onto the crowded street.

The city moved around him as usual. Cars rolled through the intersection. A couple argued over where to eat. A delivery driver hurried past with a stack of warm meals.

Above them, the sky was clear, blue, and flooded with sunlight, as though it might remain that way forever.

Rhys knew it was not.

He had ninety-two days to prepare for the moment when that sky came crashing down.