Reborn: Romance in the Apocalypse

The end of the world was upon us, but there weren't enough spots for evacuation.

The roars of the zombies echoed in my ears as my fiancé, Oliver, gritted his teeth and pulled me onto the rescue vehicle—securing the last available seat.

I arrived safely at the survivor base. Lina, his first love, did not. The zombies tore her apart.

Oliver still went through with our marriage, but I never expected that he had only done so to make me suffer.

In his eyes, I was the one who had killed Lina. If she had to endure such agony, then I should, too.

For five years, he hated me. My life was worse than that of a stray dog scavenging for food on the street.

On the day my divorce was finalized, he kidnapped me, dragged me into the wilderness, and wrapped his fingers around my throat. Then, he threw us both into the swarm of the undead.

When I opened my eyes again, I was somehow reborn on the day the apocalypse began.

The rescue team was shouting impatiently, "One more! We have room for one more—hurry!"

I turned to Oliver, watching his hesitation. Then, with a quiet smile, I took a step back and let someone else have the last seat.

When I opened my eyes again, I didn't immediately realize I had been reborn. I only noticed that the pain was gone.

"Quit spacing out!" A sharp voice snapped me back. A rescue worker leaned out from the vehicle, looking impatient. "We can fit one more! Get in or die out there!"

Closest to the door was my fiancé, Oliver. His gaze flickered between me and his first love, Lina. After a long, agonizing moment, he finally reached out a hand toward me.

Oh. His expression looked as if he were choosing which limb to amputate—left or right. Was the decision really that hard? Let me help you, then.

I took a step back and smiled, rejecting the unspoken price behind his so-called kindness.

"Save Lina first. I think she's the better choice."

I was never going to let history repeat itself. Never again would I be called a "life-stealing coward," a "shameless woman doomed to a lifetime of guilt," or a "plague unworthy of even hellhole."

I much preferred "vengeful goddess."

Relief washed over Oliver instantly. His brow smoothed, his lips uncurled, even his posture straightened.

Freed from any moral dilemma, he pulled Lina onto the vehicle without hesitation, shielding her behind him.

Without looking back, he said, "I was going to save you, Zayla. But since you insist on giving Lina the chance, I respect your choice. I'll protect her. We'll come back for you, Zayla. Just hold on."

And with that, he shut the door.

From inside, I could hear his low, soothing voice as he comforted Lina.

He was so afraid I'd change my mind that he wouldn't even waste a second.

How laughable. Did Oliver think everyone was as pathetic as he was?

He made a choice, then regretted it. And when things fell apart, he pushed the blame onto me.

I would never be that kind of coward.

Last time, I was the one Oliver dragged onto the vehicle. He had held me tightly, shielding me from the bloody carnage outside, whispering that he didn't want me to see the horrors of the apocalypse.

Now that I stood outside the door, I realized—his head had been turned toward Lina the entire time.

The moment we reached the safety base, Oliver insisted that no survivor should be left behind. The rescue team had to go back.

They didn't refuse. They pushed through their exhaustion for a second trip. But the virus spread too fast. By the time they arrived, Lina had already been devoured.

Oliver hadn't shown much of a reaction.

"Well," he sighed, as if hearing about some nameless casualty, "it couldn't be helped. May she rest in peace."

Lina was my father's illegitimate daughter—my half-sister. I never liked her, but I wasn't heartless enough to feel nothing about her death.

While I was still struggling with grief, Oliver had already calmly gathered Lina's keepsake—a necklace.

Nowhere was safe in the apocalypse. At any moment, we could be forced into another desperate escape.

Oliver told me he couldn't bear to let Lina's keepsake be lost. Asked if I minded him keeping it.

Of course, I didn't mind. I even considered postponing our wedding out of respect for the tragedy.

Marriages in the apocalypse were more binding than ever—a true merging of resources, a declaration that two people were a single, inseparable unit.

I still remembered his response.

"Don't delay it, Zayla. If anything, I wish I could marry you right now. Postponing our happiness over an unimportant outsider would be too cruel."

I had been deeply moved.

I hadn't realized that beneath Oliver's tender mask lurked an ocean of hatred.

That he had been so desperate to marry me—not out of love, but to torment me without restraint.

Because of him, I became the biggest joke of the survivor base.

Whenever someone lost hope, they'd crack a joke: "At least we're better off than Zayla."

And why did I deserve such punishment? Did I force Oliver to make that choice?

No. He was the one who hadn't saved Lina.

Her death had nothing to do with me. I was just another desperate survivor trying to get on that truck, no different from anyone else.

I was simply unlucky—standing in front of Lina that day, catching Oliver's attention.

Well, this time, I personally handed the spot to Lina.

He better be grateful.

And he better not regret it.