He glanced at his watch—it was already past four in the afternoon. Soon, the sun would set, and the zombies would beco more active.
After weighing his options, Yasin decided to give up on forcing his way in.
In this post-apocalyptic world, caution was paramount. He had ti; there was no need to be reckless.
Returning to the main entrance, Yasin deliberately left the mansion's front door open before sneaking into the backyard to turn off all the power, leaving only the second-floor kitchen's electricity on.
With everything set up, Yasin made his way back to the first-floor kitchen window. Peering inside, he saw that there were still so useful supplies in there.
The zombies inside the kitchen seed to be growing restless again. Three of them were pressed against the window, their grotesque faces contorted in hunger as they smacked the glass and sniffed the air.
Their sense of sll seed incredibly sharp—they could detect the scent of the living even through the glass.
Yasin picked up a rock and smashed the window, then swiftly used his sword to stab the zombies that lunged at him. Once they were dealt with, he revved up his chainsaw and cut through the kitchen door.
The mont the door opened, a wave of putrid stench, a mixture of decay and rot, assaulted his senses.
Using the fading sunlight, Yasin searched the kitchen for anything useful. Most of the food had rotted, but he managed to find so flour, rice, and sealed cans of at and seafood. In one of the freezers, he also discovered several dozen bottles of fine red wine, a few cases of Guinness beer, and a variety of other drinks.
He grabbed a few bottles of wine and beer, placing them in a basket before heading back to the second-floor kitchen.
Vivian Sinclair hadn't been idle either.
Not only had she toasted so bread, but she had also braved the backyard to pick fresh vegetables and made a hearty stew. With the addition of the canned seafood and at that Yasin had brought back, their dinner looked like an absolute feast.
In this apocalyptic world, eating a hot, fresh al was the ultimate luxury.
Having gone the whole day without food, both Yasin and Vivian each opened a bottle of red wine, poured it into elegant glasses, and began indulging in their extravagant end-of-the-world dinner.
"I thought for sure I was going to die here," Vivian said, raising her glass to Yasin.
"But I never imagined I'd et you! Thank God! And thank you, Mr. Yasin!"
She clinked her glass against his and then downed the red wine in one go. "This might be the best dinner I've ever had!"
"The honor is mine," Yasin responded, taking a small sip of his wine.
The taste was exquisite—far superior to the cheap wines he had drunk in his past life. It was smooth, with a hint of sweetness and none of the unpleasant bitterness. This was the kind of wine that could beco addictive.
But in a world like this, he couldn't afford to let his guard down. Being intoxicated was too dangerous. No matter how delicious the wine was, he couldn't let himself indulge too much.
"Vivian, is this mansion yours?" Yasin asked curiously.
In 1993, Vivian Sinclair was at the peak of her modeling career. If he rembered correctly, this was the period when she started making waves in the supermodel industry, gradually securing her place at the top.
She was receiving widespread dia attention, and soon, she would beco a dominant figure in the fashion world.
However, even with her rising status, Vivian was still just a successful model.
And even though she was wealthy compared to the average person, when it ca to the elite and powerful figures, she was just another high-class plaything.
There was no way that, at this stage of her career, she could afford such a luxurious and heavily fortified mansion.
Especially considering this was the countryside right next to Hollywood!
Furthermore, why would a re supermodel warrant a military special forces rescue and protection?
"I... I was just invited here as a guest. I never expected the apocalypse to suddenly descend..." Vivian Sinclair furrowed her brows, hesitating to continue.
Her presence in this place was a matter of circumstance, sothing she found difficult to speak about. If she admitted the truth in front of the man she had developed feelings for, she feared he would view her differently.
Even though the world had fallen into chaos, that man and his family still existed. She had watched as the military rescued him.
If order were ever restored, that man would surely still wield imnse power, remaining one of the most influential figures in the world.
This scandal—she didn't want to say it, couldn't say it, and didn't dare to say it.
Seeing Vivian's conflicted and embarrassed expression, Yasin recalled his identity in the Second World—Yasin Brant.
As Vivian Sinclair's first son, Yasin had always been treated coldly by the Brant family, for he was an illegitimate child.
Before marrying Harry Brant, Vivian had already given birth to Yasin.
As for Yasin's biological father, even the Yasin of the Second World himself didn't know. Not even Harry Brant, Yasin's stepfather, was aware.
The only person who knew the truth—Vivian Sinclair—had always kept her lips tightly sealed.
Yasin Brant, born in October 1994...
By this tiline, it ant that around this ti, Vivian was already pregnant with Adrian. If nothing unexpected happened, she conceived Yasin in this very villa.
So, if the apocalyptic world before the disaster was the sa as the Second World, then Adrian's father was likely the owner of this villa!
"Then... do you know who owns this villa? Who invited you here? Anyone who owns such a luxurious estate and has military protection must have considerable status, right?"
Yasin suddenly felt a sense of unease. Soone with such a grand estate, and the ability to be protected by the military, must have been a major figure in the U.S.
Could it be... that Yasin's biological father was actually one of the country's elites?
"Mr. Yasin, that's all in the past. Now, it's the apocalypse, and everything has changed..." Vivian Sinclair looked at Yasin with her enchanting, watery eyes and seductively said, "No matter who owned this place before, isn't it all yours now? Co on, let's drink to our ho!"
Skillfully avoiding Yasin's question, Vivian changed the topic, raising her glass to lightly clink against his before downing her drink in one go.
After a few glasses of red wine, both of their faces started to flush.
Listening to the groans of zombies outside the door, watching the soft moonlight filtering through the window, and feeling the warmth inside the villa, the two began to feel intoxicated—both by the wine and the atmosphere. The mood turned ambiguous.
Yasin wasn't a heavy drinker, and after finishing just one bottle of red wine, he was already feeling tipsy. He didn't dare drink any more.
A rare mont of relaxation was necessary—after all, in the oppressive environnt of the apocalypse, if one's ntal state remained too tense for too long, it could lead to a breakdown or even psychological disorders.
However, even in relaxation, one had to remain clear-headed and ensure safety.
Vivian, on the other hand, was in no mood for restraint after a month of repression and loneliness. Without realizing it, she had already consud two bottles of red wine and three bottles of beer.
"Yasin, you seem a little drunk. I didn't expect you to have such a low alcohol tolerance, haha..." Vivian, now slightly tipsy, giggled. Her rosy cheeks made her look even more alluring.
When Yasin had introduced himself earlier, he had used his original Chinese na.
According to Arican customs, the first na ca before the surna.
So, in her drunken state, Vivian calling him "Yasin" seed natural and intimate.
"I don't drink much. Finishing one bottle is already my limit. But you seem quite drunk yourself..." Yasin, struggling to stay clear-headed, felt his throat dry as Vivian's soft hand rested on his.
Perhaps due to the alcohol, Vivian absentmindedly pulled down the zipper of her sports jacket. She then rested her elbow on the table, cradling her beautiful face in one hand, gazing at Yasin with a dazed and dreamy smile.
"It's a little warm today... and a bit stuffy. I hope it doesn't rain tomorrow. Every ti it rains, those zombies go crazy..." Vivian murmured.
The weather was indeed warm, even at night.
The mont Vivian unzipped her jacket, Yasin suddenly felt an intense heat rising within him.
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