The Villain's Popular Apocalyptic Bride

Julia shot up from the Egyptian cotton sheets. She panted heavily, her chest rising and falling as cold sweat dripped down her forehead. She frantically grabbed her wrists. She rubbed the skin, searching for the torn flesh and the cold iron. There was nothing. Her skin was smooth and flawless. She threw the heavy duvet off and swung her bare feet onto the floor. She ran straight into the adjoining marble bathroom. She slammed her hands onto the edge of the sink, gripping the cold stone until her knuckles turned white. She stared at the mirror. The woman looking back had perfectly styled chestnut hair and flawless makeup. There was no blood on her face. No brain matter in her hair. Was it a nightmare? A psychotic break? She touched her cheek, feeling the warmth of her own skin, her mind spinning in a chaotic vortex of panic and disbelief. How could the pain have felt so real? Where was the concrete room? Where was Byron? As her internal questions reached a deafening crescendo, a sudden, chilling answer manifested. "Time node reset complete. Current time: Three months before the apocalypse outbreak." The mechanical voice returned, shattering the quiet hum of the central air conditioning. Julia's heart slammed against her ribs. Three months. She had three months to survive. "Newbie task triggered," the system announced. "Proceed to the first-floor lobby. Use the whip to punish the villain, Byron Serrano. Maintain the vicious supporting female character persona." The name hit her like a physical blow. Ricky's exploding head flashed behind her eyes. Her stomach violently rejected the memory. She leaned over the porcelain sink and dry-heaved, coughing until her throat felt raw. She turned on the faucet and splashed freezing water onto her face. The shock of the cold cleared the panic from her brain. She gripped the edges of the sink again, looking at the water dripping from her chin in the mirror. Her eyes hardened. "I refuse," she stated in her mind. "Warning. Refusing tasks will deduct points. Reaching zero points will result in obliteration." The system's ice-cold voice echoed in her mind, accompanied by a glaring, blood-red warning symbol that flashed aggressively across her field of vision. Julia let out a harsh, breathless laugh. She grabbed a velvet towel from the rack and wiped her face. "You just rewound time because he was about to kill me," she thought back, her internal voice dripping with venom. "You need me alive. You won't obliterate me." The system went dead silent. A faint static buzz hummed in her ears as it processed the logic. Julia threw the towel on the counter. She walked out of the bathroom and back into the massive bedroom. She marched over to the heavy blackout curtains and yanked them open. "Either let me survive my way, or we both die right now," she challenged. Sunlight flooded the room. The system finally chimed, the tone defeated. "Strong host resistance detected. Vicious female route closed. Plot hint privileges revoked." The glowing interface in her mind went dark, leaving behind only a simple, ticking countdown timer in the corner of her vision. Julia let out a long breath. The cheat codes were gone, but she owned her body again. Her stomach growled loudly. The physical hunger grounded her. She walked over to the walk-in closet and pulled open the double doors. Rows of haute couture dresses and limited-edition handbags lined the walls. She ignored the silk gowns. She dug through the racks until she found a simple pair of denim jeans and a soft cashmere sweater. She stripped off her silk pajamas and pulled the clothes on. She gathered her hair and tied it into a tight, practical ponytail. She walked over to the nightstand. The latest smartphone sat there, the screen lighting up with over a dozen missed calls. Party invitations from people who would be dead in ninety days. She picked up the phone and swiped it into airplane mode. She moved to the mahogany desk near the window. She pulled open the drawers until she found a leather-bound notebook and a Montblanc pen. She sat down, uncapped the pen, and pressed the nib hard against the paper. She wrote three words. Funds. Bunker. Supplies. She stared at the ink. The entire plan hinged on the first word. She had no idea how much liquid cash this body actually possessed. She dropped the pen and started tearing through the desk drawers. She tossed aside empty velvet jewelry boxes and a stack of previously declined, maxed-out credit cards, searching for any active bank cards or financial statements. In a locked bottom drawer, she found a stack of credit card bills and three black debit cards. Her pulse ticked faster. She grabbed her phone, turned off airplane mode, and connected to the manor's Wi-Fi. She downloaded the banking app and typed in the account details she found on the statements. The loading circle spun on the screen. Julia held her breath, her thumb hovering over the glass.