Doleia flipped through the menu slowly, her eyes skimming over the drink names until she paused at Spanish Latte. She tapped the name gently with her finger and said to the waiter,
"Two of these, please. Thank you."
With that, she closed the menu and handed it over with both hands.
Her fingers trembled ever so slightly—barely noticeable, but she felt it. Maybe it was the adrenaline from earlier, when Uncle Marc had train her through firearms. Though it was just a short session, it left a lasting buzz in her hands. She consciously avoided repeating the same hand movement, careful not to draw attention to the subtle shaking.
Across the table, James seemed not to notice. He was already speaking, his tone polite but direct.
"Miss Doleia, could you walk me through your… project? What's your vision here?"
It was clear he wasn't quite sure what to call it. To him, this wasn't a building—not in the traditional sense. It wasn't a single structure, nor did it resemble a plaza or compound. From the sketches she'd sent earlier, it looked like… a walled settlement? But calling it that didn't feel quite right either.
Doleia took a breath, her expression composed. She knew exactly how strange her concept must seem. Telling him outright that it was a zombie apocalypse survival base would probably make him think the heiress of a well-known company had finally snapped.
So she chose a more careful explanation.
"It's kind of… a personal project. A little place I can go when I feel like escaping the world, you know? Like a roleplay setting—a private country of sorts. It's designed to be fully self-sufficient, with endless supplies and utilities."
She paused for a moment, and continued, trying to let James believe in her more.
"I guess… just a place to experience solitude without the risk of dying from hunger," she said with a half-smile.
James blinked slowly. In his mind, one phrase echoed:
Rich people really do live on another level.
But he kept his face neutral and replied, "Understood, Miss. I had a quick look through the blueprints earlier, and I must say—you've mapped things out pretty clearly. If there are any particular details or specifications you'd like me to be mindful of—designs, color schemes, individual building layouts—please do let me know."
Doleia's eyes brightened. She had so many ideas for this place. After organizing her thoughts quickly, she began listing them one by one.
"I'd like the front gate to open right into the parking lot. From there, it should lead to a corridor that opens up into a training ground, livestock area, and greenhouse.
Farther in will be the apartments, entertainment zone, and water filtration system.
As for the factory next to the parking area—I'd like that renovated. Divide it into several compartments…"
Her voice was animated now, painting a vivid picture with every sentence. This wasn't just a survival base—it was her sanctuary. Her fortress.
James listened carefully, jotting down notes with a recorder on the table as she spoke, making sure not a single detail slipped past him.
Once she finished explaining the layout, she moved on to aesthetics—the building styles, exterior appearances, interior concepts, and even minor touches she wanted added.
Finally, James raised an important question.
"Do you have a timeline in mind, Miss? Is there a specific deadline for completion?"
Doleia knew exactly how ambitious this was. five acres, numerous specialized buildings, precise designs—she was asking for a lot.
"If I wanted it done within six months… would that be possible?" she asked, a touch hesitant.
James leaned back slightly. He was proud of his team—they were the best. But six months for something of this scale? That was tight, even for them.
"May I ask—what's the budget range?" he said cautiously.
Without a word, Doleia pulled out her phone, opened her banking app, and did some quick calculations. Then she looked back at James and raised four fingers.
"…Forty billion?" James asked, trying to keep his expression unreadable.
He'd been in the construction industry long enough to know—forty billion would technically be enough, but the finer details might take a hit.
Doleia shook her head lightly, her tone calm but firm.
"Don't worry. Overtime pay, meals, everything will be covered. I want your team working around the clock in shifts. You won't have to worry about disturbing anyone—the site's up in the mountains. No one's around at night.
Also, for your team's food—three full meals a day, plus afternoon tea and midnight snacks. Order whatever you want. I'll cover all of it."
She paused, then added with a faint smile, "So… my actual budget is four hundred billion."
James froze for half a second. Four hundred billion. The number hit him like a slap.
He composed himself quickly and nodded, professional as ever.
"Understood. Four hundred billion will more than suffice."
Reaching into his blazer, he took out a deep navy-blue fountain pen from his breast pocket and handed it to her along with the contract.
"If everything looks good, just sign here."
Doleia took the pen, carefully read through the document, and, after confirming there were no issues, signed her name—gracefully, clearly, under the line marked "Party A."
She returned the contract and the pen with the same care.
"If there's anything urgent, I'll message you directly," James said. "And if you have any updates or adjustments to the plans—feel free to contact me anytime."
Doleia nodded with a smile and offered a polite handshake before heading out.
Her driver was already waiting by the roadside. As she slid into the back seat, he turned and greeted her.
"Apologies for the wait, Miss."
"It's alright," she replied, relaxing into her seat. "Let's go home."
"Yes, Miss," the driver responded, pulling away from the curb.
-----
After her long, thorough shower from head to toe, the time had already crept to 9:22 PM. She glanced at her phone and was genuinely startled—so late already? No doubt Grandpa and Dad had left her dinner as usual.
She used to love going out at night. The city skyline lit up like a sea of stars; every building glowed.
She used to imagine that maybe, from the heavens, her mother could see all those little lights and think they were stars.
Around this time each night, she would either call her driver to pick up her friends and head to the 38th-floor dance studio in Time Tower—with its floor-to-ceiling windows and panoramic view—or to drive her to the Golden Bridge and walk beneath the city lights while the wind wrapped around her.
It was a habit her family had grown used to. So whenever Doleia and the driver were both out during dinner time, the housekeeper would always set food aside and heat it up for her when she returned.
Tonight was no different.
She went downstairs and into the dining room with practiced ease. The housekeeper greeted her with a warm smile.
"Welcome back, Miss Doleia. You must be hungry? Your grandpa left you some roast lamb and pasta tonight. I'll warm it up—please, have a seat."
She hadn't really felt hungry before, but at the mention of roast lamb—her favorite—her stomach suddenly betrayed her with a loud growl.She sighed internally.
How nice would it be to still eat food like this during the apocalypse…
Inspired by the thought, she pulled out her phone and searched, "Buy lamb."
Dozens of photos popped up, all marked "fresh lamb meat for sale." Tempting, but not what she needed.
What she wanted were live lambs—animals she could breed, not just butcher. She refined her search to: "Where to buy live sheep."
This time, the results were far more promising.
One photo of a snowy-white lamb caught her eye. It looked healthy, well-groomed—clearly the owner took good care of it. She tapped on the listing, which led her to a gallery of sheep photos for sale, followed by a contact number labeled "Ron." That must be the owner.
She long-pressed the number and saved it as "Mr. Ron" in her contacts. Then she sent him her first message:
"Hello, Mr. Ron. I'd like to buy some live sheep."
He replied almost instantly:
"Hello! How many do you need?"
She paused, unsure. How many would be enough? She opened another tab and typed:
"How many sheep should I buy to survive an apocalypse?"
A few seconds later, her AI assistant returned a precise answer: "Two rams, ten ewes."
She switched back to the chat.
"I'd like two rams and ten ewes. How much would that cost?"
Ron immediately caught on—this wasn't someone buying sheep for a barbecue. She was planning to breed them. That didn't happen every day. Intrigued, and perhaps a little amused, he decided to give her a good deal.
"Normally, I sell each for 850. But since you're planning to raise them, I'll give them to you for 750 each. That's 9,000 total."
Doleia's eyes lit up. What a steal!
She immediately accepted the offer, transferred the payment, and told Ron she'd contact him again when it was time for delivery.
Once that was settled, she realized she needed somewhere to keep them—somewhere far away from her home.
She couldn't exactly explain to her dad or grandpa why she suddenly had a herd of livestock. She'd just say she was "raising them for fun"? Yeah, no.
She opened a rental site and began searching for a small abandoned factory. It didn't take long to find the perfect place—an old pig farm, cages and all still intact. She rented it on the spot, practically giddy.
She went ahead and sent the location of her new-rented temporary storage to Mr. Ron.
Just then, the housekeeper came back, smiling as always.
"All warmed up, Miss Doleia. Please enjoy."
Then she returned to the kitchen to begin preparations for tomorrow's breakfast.
As Doleia ate—slowly, distractedly—her thoughts stayed fixed on the shelter she was building. She kept searching online, placing orders for livestock, fish, poultry, and other essentials. Whenever she found a good supplier, she sent payment and forwarded the factory's address.
She barely noticed the passage of time, or how slowly she chewed. She only took bites when her searches hit a pause.
But by the end of the night, she knew one thing for sure:
She had taken her very first real, big step toward survival.