Chapter 1

I returned home after a month-long training assignment, only to find the Hendersons, my neighbors from across the hall, sitting in my living room, eating hot pot. My fiancé, Liam, was standing right beside them, pointing at me and saying, "Chloe, don't make a scene. We’re just letting them stay here for a while."

My drawer was empty.

The photocopies of the property deed and the jewelry box my mother had left behind were gone.

The building manager, Martha, stood at the doorway, warning me in a hushed tone, "If you call the police, Mr. Henderson will just say you’re trying to extort them. You already signed the stay agreement, remember?"

Mr. Henderson tossed my keychain onto the coffee table.

"You’re just a woman living alone. The house is empty anyway, so what’s the harm in doing a neighbor a favor?"

The room full of people stared at me.

I lowered my head and opened my phone, my finger hovering over the emergency call button.

A month ago, I had received a notification for an off-site training program in Washington.

It was a month-long course.

The day before I left, I had locked the items my mother left me in my bedroom drawer.

The original deed was in a bank safe deposit box; I only had a photocopy at home.

Inside the jewelry box was an old gold bracelet.

It wasn’t worth much.

My mother had worn it even when she was critically ill; her wrists had become so thin that the bracelet would slide around loosely, but she refused to take it off.

I had recorded a video on my phone.

The lens panned from the jewelry box in the drawer to the photocopy of the deed, and then to the lock on my bedroom door.

Liam was standing at the doorway, watching.

"You’re being way too cautious," he had said.

I closed the drawer.

"These are my mother’s things."

He smiled and reached for the spare key.

"Let me look after them for you, in case you lose them."

I blocked his hand.

"No need."

His smile faltered for a second.

But he quickly added, "We’re getting married soon. Are you really still guarding against me?"

I didn't respond to that.

Our wedding was set for the end of the year.

The house was a pre-marital asset my mother had left for me. It was an old apartment complex, but the location was excellent—three bedrooms, one living room.

I worked as an administrative assistant at the local government office with a modest salary, saving every penny to pay off the favors owed during my mother's illness.

Liam knew that this house was my boundary.

So, despite his usual grumbling, he never brought it up directly.

But in the last six months, he had been mentioning it more and more often.

"Add my name to the deed after we’re married."

"My mom says if you don't add my name, it means you don't really see me as family."

"It’ll be easier for the kids to get into a good school if the house is in both our names."

My replies were always short.

"It’s a pre-marital asset. Let’s keep it as is for now."

The scariest part of a relationship isn't calculation.

It's when the other person tries to frame their manipulation as their own grievance.

Before leaving, I checked the utilities, the windows, and the balcony.

The small camera in the corner of the living room was blinking with a blue light.

My mother had installed it before she passed away.

She told me, "When a woman lives alone, her doors must be secure, and her heart must be even tougher."

The doorbell rang as I was dragging my luggage.

I opened the door to find Mr. Henderson standing outside.

He was my neighbor across the hall, in his early fifties, always acting like he owned the place—complaining about who changed their door or where someone parked.

Behind him stood his wife, Mrs. Henderson.

Mrs. Henderson was holding a bag of apples, smiling warmly.

"Chloe, heard you’re going to Washington for training?"

I nodded.

Mr. Henderson peered into my apartment.

"It’s a shame to leave this place empty for a month."

I gripped the doorknob, not moving out of the way.

"Is there something you need, Mr. Henderson?"

Mrs. Henderson tried to shove the apples into my hands.

"We’re planning to paint our walls, and the fumes would be too much for the elderly and the kids to handle. Since your place is empty, why not let us stay there for a few days?"

I didn't take the apples.

"That doesn't work for me."

Mrs. Henderson’s smile faded.

"We're neighbors, can’t you even help us with this little thing?"

Mr. Henderson chuckled, too.

But there was a probing, testing edge to it.

"It’s not like we're staying for free; we'll cover the utilities. Liam already told me you’re a kind person, so it shouldn't be a problem."

I looked at Liam.

He walked over from the elevator, holding my car keys.

"I was just mentioning it casually," he said.

I didn't speak.

Liam stepped up beside me, lowering his voice.

"Their home really needs painting, and hotels are expensive. Your house is just sitting empty. It’s only for a few days."

I pulled my suitcase out into the hallway.

"My house is not available for guests."

Chapter 2

Mr. Henderson’s face darkened for a moment.

Mrs. Henderson set the bag of apples on the ground.

"Young people today really lack any sense of community."

The elevator doors opened.

I dragged my suitcase inside.

As the doors closed, I heard Mrs. Henderson muttering outside.

"A young woman living in such a big house, aren't you afraid your luck can't handle the weight of it?"

Liam followed me into the elevator.

"You were way too rude to them just now."

I pressed the button for the first floor.

"I have no obligation to lend my home to neighbors."

"Mr. Henderson carries weight in this complex. We’re going to be seeing each other all the time."

I watched the reflection on the elevator door.

"If that 'weight' requires sacrificing my home, then it isn't worth much."

Liam didn't speak again for the rest of the ride.

When we reached the ground floor, he suddenly asked: "You haven't changed your door lock code, have you?"

I stopped in my tracks.

"Why do you ask?"

"Building management said they might need to check the pipes upstairs, just in case they need to get in."

I pulled out my phone and, right in front of him, cleared all temporary access codes.

Then, I generated a new, one-time-use password.

It was only valid from 7:00 PM to 7:30 PM that evening.

I sent the code to the official building management public account.

Not to Martha’s personal account.

After sending it, I took a screenshot to save it.

Liam frowned.

"Is this really necessary?"

I put my phone back into my bag.

"It is."

He was silent for a few seconds.

"Chloe, you've been writing reports for the government office for so long that you look at everyone like they’re a villain."

I pulled open the car door.

"It’s not about seeing everyone as a villain; it’s about not handing your door keys to people who are dying to get inside."

On the way to the station that day, I did one more thing.

I took copies of my property deed, my mother’s will, the video footage from inside the house, and the logs from my door lock to the county notary office to create a verified record.

Once finished, I sent a photo of the receipt to my best friend, Julia.

Julia replied quickly.

"Are you preparing for war?"

I looked at the streets of the county town outside the car window.

I replied to her.

"Just covering my bases."

Before the car pulled into the bus station, Martha, the building manager, called me.

"Ms. Chloe, the repair technician for upstairs said they might not make it tonight. Can you extend the validity of the door code until tomorrow?"

I checked the time.

"I cannot."

Martha’s laugh sounded strained.

"We’re all old neighbors, there’s no need to be so difficult."

I said: "If you need to enter the apartment, call me half an hour in advance, and I will provide a new one-time code."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line.

Before the call hung up, I heard someone in the background say a sentence.

"Why is she so guarded against everyone?"

The voice was very low.

But I recognized it.

It was Mr. Henderson.

I saved the call recording.

When some people reach out for the first time, it’s not to borrow something.

It’s to test how wide they can push your door open.

By the third day in the city, the training classes were back-to-back.

I entered the classroom at 8:00 AM every day and wrote summary reports until 9:00 PM.