From experience, she'd learned there's no wall you can't chip away at if you try hard enough. This stubborn household—she was determined to wear them down. That household was clearly well-off—plenty of supplies stacked up, and the three of them all looked healthy and well-fed. No doubt their life was running a whole lot smoother than hers. Meanwhile, she had nothing but dry rations to stuff her belly with. These people had chickens, rabbits, even fuel, and a vegetable patch. She'd seen it all the day they moved into Villa 5—the yard was packed with supplies. Her and Frederick's stockpile had never been that big to begin with, and during the quake, a lot of it had been crushed under rubble. She told Frederick to go dig more out of other ruins, but he refused—kept whining about the fog being poisonous and how it would affect his brilliant mind. What a coward. No backbone at all. This family was different. Not only did they have supplies, but the man of the house looked like a textbook nerd—a tech guy. Those one-track, literal types were easy targets—with the right move, she'd get whatever she wanted. The woman of the house was bald and had no sense of femininity—no flair, no way of keeping a husband's interest. That made her an opening. The only real obstacle was the old lady. Every time they'd met, the old woman had her guard up—frosty, rude, always yelling. But Wilona wasn't discouraged. If she kept knocking on their door, she'd find a chance to be alone with the husband. Then, it'd be in her hands. Who'd ever seen a son cheat and have to get his mother's permission? If the son wanted her, the old lady couldn't very well kick her out, could she? This trick had scored her a lot before—money, favors, fame. In a few short years, she'd become a hot trending figure.She and Frederick had been together for years; if there wasn't anything left to gain, now was the time to get back in the game. Wilona stopped at the gate of Villa 5, put on her sweetest voice, and called out twice. To her surprise, someone opened the door quickly. And it was the young man of the house. Her heart leaped. Finally—not the crabby old woman. A chance alone at last. She put on the act: soft, vulnerable, leaning in with a sweet "Hello, Harold, good to see you again." Harold raised an eyebrow and studied her. "How do you know my name?" She fluttered her eyes like she'd practiced the whole thing. "I heard your mother call it—Harold, right?" She tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "I'm Wilona, you might've seen me on TV ... " Harold didn't really listen; his attention was on the little silk scarf tied around her arm. He looked closer, then asked, "You look weak. Are you okay?" Wilona blinked—weak? That is supposed to be frail, not weak. Men and their cluelessness. But he kept staring at her arm, and that made her smile inside. She'd chosen the outfit on purpose: a plain little dress with a flash of a red scarf. Simple, but it made men look twice. She was the fashion girl who'd snagged most of the industry's style favors—of course, it worked. Just as she was basking in it, the man suddenly yanked her arm hard. "Ouch!" she cried.Before she could react, he twisted her arm behind her back and snapped on handcuffs. Wilona gaped. "What—are we playing rough now?" This bespectacled tech guy? When he lost it, he really lost it. She got a little scared. Is he some kind of refined weirdo? But then she thought about all those supplies and the good life ahead. She gritted her teeth—she'd put up with a little pain if she had to. She'd dealt with worse before. A billionaire creep had been way grosser—and she'd handled him. She took a breath to steel herself and tried to keep acting fragile. "Hey, easy ... " Harold thought she was resisting, so he tightened his grip—one hand on her arm, the other pressing her shoulder like an arrest scene—and led her inside. "We've got her!" Olivia and Ghania rushed over and froze when they saw Wilona being marched in. "It's you?" Wilona was stunned, too. This guy really is nuts—calling in mom and wife to watch? What kind of kink is that? She'd never seen anything like this before. Feeling a little nervous, she gave a timid greeting. "Hi." Ghania frowned and asked her son, "Was she the one who barged in earlier?" Harold nodded hard. "No doubt—she is the one. Look, she's got bruises on her arm!"