Andy's Origins
"I... I was just invited here as a guest. I never imagined the apocalypse would hit so suddenly..." Stephanie Seymour furrowed her brows, her words trailing off with evident hesitation.
Her presence here had been a matter of necessity—something too embarrassing to voice aloud. If she confessed it to the man before her, the one who stirred something in her heart, she feared it might create a rift between them.
Besides, even in this apocalypse, that man and his family still lingered. She had watched the military swoop in to rescue him.
If any semblance of order remained in this ruined world, that man would undoubtedly still command vast power—one of the most influential figures on the planet.
Such a scandal... she couldn't bear to speak it, wouldn't dare.
Catching the embarrassed strain on Stephanie Seymour's face, Xiao Yi recalled his identity in the second world: Andy Brandt.
Andy Brandt was Stephanie Seymour's firstborn son, yet within the Brandt family, he endured endless disdain—because Andy was a bastard child.
Before Stephanie Seymour married Pete Brandt, she had already given birth to Andy.
As for Andy's biological father? Even Andy himself in the second world had no clue, nor did his stepfather Pete.
The sole keeper of the truth, Stephanie Seymour, had guarded it like a vault, lips sealed tight.
Andy Brandt, born October 1994...
By the timeline, that meant right around now, Stephanie Seymour had conceived Andy. And unless something unforeseen, it happened right here in this villa.
Assuming the worlds aligned before the apocalypse struck, Andy's father was almost certainly the villa's owner!
"Then... do you know who owns this place? Who invited you? A man with a estate this lavish, guarded by the military—no small player, I'd wager."
Xiao Yi felt a sudden knot of tension. In America, someone with a spread like this and army protection? That screamed heavyweight.
Could Andy's real dad be some American power broker?
"Mr. Xiao, that's all ancient history now. This is the apocalypse—everything's changed..." Stephanie Seymour's watery eyes flickered with reluctance as she gazed at him, her voice a sultry murmur: "Whoever it belonged to before, doesn't it all belong to you now? Come, to our home—cheers!"
Stephanie Seymour sidestepped his probe with finesse, steering the conversation elsewhere. She lifted her glass, tapped it gently against his, and tossed back the contents.
A few glasses of red wine down, and color bloomed in both their cheeks.
Zombie howls scratched at the door, soft moonlight spilled through the windows, and the room's cozy glow wrapped around them. Daze settled in, the air thickening with ambiguity.
Xiao Yi's tolerance was nothing special—one bottle of red, and the buzz hit. Tipsy as he was, he wouldn't risk more. Rare downtime like this was vital; in the apocalypse's grind, constant strain could shatter anyone—twist the mind, breed madness, spawn disorders.
But unwinding demanded clarity, security above all.
Stephanie, though, carried a month's worth of isolation and pent-up ache. No holding back for her—she polished off two bottles of red and three beers without a second thought.
"Xiao, you're looking tipsy already. Never figured you Chinese for such lightweights, haha..." Stephanie slurred, her flushed face a vision of temptation.
Xiao Yi had given his original Chinese name earlier.
Americans put first names upfront, family names last.
Her boozy "Xiao" fit perfectly—intimate, even.
"I don't drink much; one's my cap tonight. But you're looking pretty gone yourself..." Xiao Yi clung to sobriety, her silken hand on his sending him gulping dryly.
Maybe the booze loosened her—hazy as she was, Stephanie tugged down her sports top's zipper like it was nothing. Propped on one elbow at the table, she cradled her ravishing face, staring at Xiao Yi with a dreamy, blissful smile.
"Kinda hot today... stuffy too. Hope no rain tomorrow—zombies go berserk when it pours..." Stephanie Seymour mumbled.
The day had been fine, the night unseasonably warm.
The zipper's descent hit Xiao Yi like a furnace blast.