18 Floors Above the Apocalypse

Chapter 321

"Rosie, remember this—if we are strong enough, no one can touch us. The moment we let others dictate our emotions, we're asking for trouble.

“What's it to them that I'm home? I have no obligation to be the savior. Why should I save someone who doesn't have the will to live?"

The world outside, Rosie soon learned, was far more complicated than her brother and Stella had described. It took her several tries to wrap her head around it, but eventually, it clicked.

Even though they let Rosie take her shifts, they were never truly at ease, always inquiring about the happenings outside and how she managed them.

Rosie was just a young girl, barely five, when she started fending for herself at her uncle's place. Living under someone else's roof, she learned to endure in silence, to face everything with a smile or hidden tears—she knew the consequences of being found out.

Over time, Stella gently guided her—Rosie would open up to her brother and Stella, but rarely showed her true feelings to outsiders.

So, even when people gossiped about Stella, Rosie didn't rush to her defense. Instead, she took mental notes, afraid of acting on impulse and regretting it later. Her brother had warned her: some mistakes, even just once, could cost you your life. This is property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

She had to figure out many things on her own.

Stella stopped her shifts to focus on training and managing Arcadia, devoting nearly all her time to medical books.

In the neighborhood, some rejoiced with newfound treasures while others mourned their losses. The endless night only amplified the gap between the rich and the poor. There were those who

chose to end it all, some by slitting their wrists, others by overdosing on expired sleeping pills.

Shared sorrow, shared joy—but never the same.

A month drifted by as Stella immersed herself in the ocean of knowledge. One evening, feeling affectionate, she reached out to Jasper only to be gently rebuffed.

Initially baffled, she soon got it. The shadow of Molly's tragic labor hung over them both, a reminder that even with condoms, one wasn't wholly protected from the storm.

With a soft laugh, Stella turned off the bedside lamp. "Let's sleep," she said, and Jasper pulled her close, planting a tender kiss on her forehead.

The next morning, after breakfast, as Stella was about to dive back into her medical books, the intercom buzzed. Someone had come looking for her. It was Katie.

Stella pondered for a moment—if the child was well, today marked a full month since birth.

The Moore family, mother and daughter-in-law, had come bearing ten pounds of rice as a token of gratitude for Stella's medical help.

"Katie, how's the baby doing?" Stella didn’t take the rice, her concern genuine.

Katie's usual optimism had faded, and she seemed aged by grief, but she managed a small smile for Stella. "The child's doing well."

The child had seemed frail, but after a month of careful nurturing, he was looking more robust, his eyes lively and alert.

The family had lost a beloved daughter-in-law, and while they should have celebrated the arrival of a great-grandson with gratitude, their hearts were too heavy with sorrow. Mikey, in particular, had

been devastated, blaming himself for Molly's death—if only he had been more cautious, if only they had addressed the breech birth sooner... But Molly hadn't been able to bear aborting the pregnancy, and now Mikey was barely hanging on.

These family matters were not for public discussion, and Katie had come to express her thanks to Stella.

Stella waved off the rice. "Katie, please take it back. Grind it into a paste to feed the baby. Consider it a gift from me for his one-month celebration."

The Moores had been under Stella's care for years; their debt of gratitude couldn't be repaid with a few words. Katie insisted, but Stella firmly refused.

Stella admitted to herself that she had grown numb to the harsh realities of this new world. Katie's family was one of the few that could still touch her heart. Wasn't a person without emotion just a walking machine? So she was willing to lend a hand where she could, for the sake of her own peace of mind.

Tears suddenly streamed down Katie's face. "Thank you, Stella, truly."

If it hadn't been for Stella's timely C-section, saving the baby, Mikey might not have made it. The child was the family's anchor now, their reason to keep going.

After the Moores left, Stella returned to her reading.

Bran's voice would occasionally crackle through the intercom, breaking her focus.

"Stella, how about a hot stew tonight?"

"Stella, you fancy some beef or lamb?"

"Stella, got some meds about to expire, want 'em?"

Stella kept her distance from him, often turning off the intercom.

Security was improving outside, with Austin and his crew of dealers thriving in business.

After enduring the endless night, the stark divide between the rich and the poor came glaringly into light. Many affluent socialites, now impoverished and desperate, tearfully resorted to selling off their most prized possessions. Their Chanel dresses, Loewe handbags, and Hermes high heels, once symbols of status and wealth, were now hawked at nighttime bazaars with the hope of exchanging them for much-needed food supplies.

The survivors who walked by could barely contain their derision—luxury items exchanged for food, a symbol of a world that no longer existed.

"The rich and their fancy clothes, they've got no place in this new world," they'd scoff.

The ruffians around here had no shame. One of them, a cocky guy with a smirk, sidled up to the well-dressed lady, who was trying to sell some of her luxury items at a local flea market. "Hey, gorgeous," he drawled, eyeing her collection with mock interest, "this stuff ain't worth a stale sandwich, but you? You're a looker. How about you ditch this junk and come home with me?"

Flushed with embarrassment and anger, the wealthy girls clutched their pearls and scurried home, their eyes streaming with tears, mourning the indignity of it all.

After the incident, swallowing their pride and clutching to the last strands of their dignity, one of the ladies sought out Austin. "Austin," she began, her voice a mixture of desperation and hope, "look at these treasures. This dress cost me a fortune—$128,000 to be exact. It's a limited edition; I've only worn it once. And this luxury brand handbag, I've kept it in mint condition, the tags are still on. Please tell me you can find a buyer for these?"