18 Floors Above the Apocalypse novel Chapter 316

Pre-apocalypse, Bran wouldn't glance at a stew under five grand, but now, the spicy aroma of the chili-oil broth stirred memories long buried.

"Girl, you've outdone yourself."

Stella beckoned everyone to the table. "I made the seasoning myself. Try it."

Austin, the smooth-talker, showered Bran with compliments, buttering him up without a single stutter.

Stella smiled contentedly; her ears were spared from flattery as she enjoyed her meal.

"Bran, you're too kind. This isn't just booze, it's a treasure," Austin said as he opened a vintage bottle, fearing he might regret it in a moment. "Let's all taste the flavor of art."

A sip of the $150,000 liquor cost a few thousand, lavish enough to make one's heart race. The aroma filled the air, a rich flavor that lingered on the lips. Stella teared up after two glasses. She finally had it.

Austin kept praising, "Man, this is the spirit of the nation. Drink a bit more of this, and you feel like ascending to heaven."

He could talk a big game. But Bran had his own boasts. "What's the big deal? I used to use this stuff as mouthwash."

It was a contest of one-upmanship.

But as the expensive liquor went down, Stella's mind conjured up the image of Bentley, perhaps feeling guilty for having taken a few cases of his stash. She feigned concern, "How's your cousin's condition?"

"Still on meds," Bran sighed with a mix of sympathy and relentless meat stuffing. "It's official, it is deep delusional disorder."

Bran couldn't understand how his brilliant cousin could be so tortured by love. Perhaps Lindsay's tragic death haunted him so much that not even in death did she leave him be.

"Is there a cure?" Stella wondered if it wouldn't be better for Bentley to join Lindsay in the Pacific than to live without valuing life.

"In truth, I wish he wouldn't take his meds," Bran admitted. With clarity came pain, but Bentley’s mum was unyielding.

Maybe those who were heartless were the luckiest. Bran's voracious appetite didn't wane even as he pitied Bentley.

Stella glanced at him. "Bran, are you sure you weren't a starving ghost in your past life?"

"You don't get it." Bran was on cloud nine with the spicy thrill. "My dad's diet is bland, no oil, no salt. It's like I'm being tortured every meal."

Whatever the old man ate, the family had to follow suit. Bran had protested but earned nothing but eye rolls and the threat of his father's cane.

With that thought, he took another scoop of Stella's homemade chili sauce. "Amazing! Send me two jars!"

His tone was not of asking but of expecting.

Not just the privileged kid was enjoying themselves. Buddy, too, was no exception, polishing off a basin-sized bowl of food.

Full and content, Bran lingered. Stella relented and gave Bran the chili sauce partially because he'd brought the vintage liquor.