My phone was kept on silent.

But I checked the logs for my front door every single day.

For the first five days, everything was normal.

There were no records of the door being opened.

On the sixth day at 10:12 PM, the lock sent a notification.

The password had been entered incorrectly three times.

The location was my front door.

Immediately afterward, the living room camera pushed a video feed.

I opened it.

There were three people standing outside the door.

Mr. Henderson, Mrs. Henderson, and the building manager, Martha.

Martha was holding her phone, looking down at it, unsure of what she was seeing.

Mrs. Henderson was knocking on the door while saying to Mr. Henderson: "Didn't Liam say the code hadn't been changed?"

Mr. Henderson lowered his voice.

"Try it one more time."

The video only showed the area at the entrance.

The sound wasn't very loud.

But it was clear enough to hear.

I didn't call them immediately.

I saved the video clip.

I also recorded the exact time.

Only after I finished saving it did I call Liam.

Chapter 3

He answered slowly.

There were sounds of a dinner table in the background.

"What’s wrong?"

I asked: "Did you give Mr. Henderson the code to my house?"

He paused for a moment.

"No."

"At 10:12 PM, they were at my door trying to guess the code."

He immediately said: "It was probably building maintenance."

"Maintenance requires Mrs. Henderson to be there?"

Liam’s tone hardened.

"Stop assuming the worst of people. Mr. Henderson’s walls were just scraped, the elderly couple really has nowhere to stay, they were just asking."

I sat at my desk in the dormitory.

The training materials were spread out on the table.

I suddenly felt very tired.

"Liam, I will say this one more time: I am not lending out my house."

I heard the sound of a glass being set down on the other end of the line.

"Chloe, don't be so cold-hearted. When you marry into the family later, you’ll have to maintain relationships with the neighbors."

I gripped my phone.

"I am marrying you, not the entire building."

He let out a scoff.

"You really are getting more and more difficult to talk to."

The call was disconnected.

I looked at the black screen, feeling surprisingly clear-headed.

The next afternoon, I took a break to call the customer service for my smart lock.

I requested a full record of the past month.

After they verified my identity, they sent me an application to fill out.

I also contacted the camera’s customer support to set the home feed to save permanently.

When Julia heard about it, she cursed directly: "Don't just keep it on your phone, go get it notarized. The lock logs, the videos, the call recordings—keep everything."

I asked: "If they really move in, what does that count as?"

Julia works as a clerk at the county court; she sees messes like this every day.

She didn't try to scare me.

"First, we have to see how they got in. Entering someone's home without permission, occupying their property, forging signatures—any one of those is enough to get them in serious trouble. Don't argue with them privately; the first thing you do when you get back is call the police."

I said: "What if they produce a so-called agreement?"

Julia was silent for two seconds.

"That would be even better. The signature on the agreement, the time it was signed, who handled it—those are all cracks we can exploit."

Before hanging up, she added one last thing.

"Chloe, don't be afraid of people saying you’re making a big deal out of nothing. Many people suffer huge losses because they were too embarrassed to say no."

That night, someone posted a photo in the neighborhood group chat.

In the photo was a round dining table.

There was a hot pot set up on the table, and beige curtains were hanging by the window.

The caption was posted by Mr. Henderson’s daughter, Sarah.

"The first meal in the new nest, thanks Mom and Dad for all the hard work."

I zoomed in on the photo.

That round table was mine.

The curtains were chosen by my mother before she passed away.

Even that pot of roses by the balcony was one I had brought from my hometown myself.

Sarah was replying to people in the comments section.

"It’s not rented, it's a vacant house belonging to a relative, we're just staying here for now."

Someone below complimented it.

"This floor plan is great, the layout is so spacious."

Sarah replied with a smiley face.

"Come over for tea later."

I took screenshots.

Saving them one by one.

Martha quickly chimed in in the group chat.

"Mr. Henderson is renovating, they’re just temporarily borrowing a neighbor's house, everyone please be understanding."

Someone asked: "Did the homeowner agree?"

Martha sent a voice message.

"Of course she agreed, her fiancé came to the management office personally to tell us."

The group chat was quiet for a few seconds.

Someone said: "Then that's fine."

I stared at the words "that's fine."

This is the advantage of speaking first.

They tell the story first, and if you try to explain later, it just looks like you’re making excuses.

I didn't reply in the group chat.

I sent a formal text message to Martha.

"This is Chloe, the owner of the property. I have never agreed to let anyone move into my home. Please stop unauthorized personnel from entering immediately and preserve all records from the building access and public area surveillance."

It took ten minutes for Martha to reply.

"Ms. Chloe, the Henderson family said it was arranged by your fiancé. You should communicate internally within your family first; it’s not appropriate for building management to intervene."

I replied: "My fiancé is not the property owner."

Martha did not reply again.

Chapter 4

Half an hour later, Liam called.

As soon as I picked up, he started questioning me.

"What kind of scene are you making at the property management office?"

I put the phone on speaker and hit record.

"I am simply informing the property management that no one is to move in without my consent."

Liam's voice suppressed his anger.

"They've already moved in. You're kicking them out now—how am I supposed to save face?"

I retorted: "How did they get in?"

He paused.

"Property management opened the door."

"By what right did property management open my door?"

"I told Martha you agreed to it."

The only sound in the room was the hum of the air conditioner.

I heard my own voice, steady and calm.

"So you admit that it was you who let them into my home?"

Liam immediately changed his tune.

"That's not what I meant. I just meant, we're all acquaintances, let them stay for a few days."

"A few days?"

"A month at most."

I let out a laugh.

"A month is considered 'a few days'?"

He was losing patience.

"Chloe, it's just one apartment, don't make things ugly. Mr. Henderson has a lot of connections in the county; we'll be relying on him for things in the future."

I looked at the training manual on the table.

Suddenly, it felt ironic.

By day, I was learning how to serve the public.

By night, I was listening to my fiancé finding excuses for someone else to pry open my door.

I said: "Liam, I'm coming back early."

He immediately grew nervous.

"But aren't you tied up with your training?"

"So that's why you chose this time to break in?"

There was silence on the phone.

A few seconds later, his tone shifted.

"You can come back, but don't call the police. The Hendersons aren't outsiders; calling the police would hurt our relationships."

I hung up the phone.

Then I saved the recording.

The first card had been played.

On the tenth day, Mr. Henderson took pictures of my living room as if it were a renovation showcase.

He posted the photos in the neighborhood group chat.

The caption read:

"New occupants in an old home; neighborly trust is the greatest kindness."

I opened the nine photos.

The first was my living room.

The second was my master bedroom.

The third was the doorway to my study.

He didn't photograph the bedroom drawer.

But my bookshelf had been moved.

At that moment, my palms went cold.

I sent them to Julia.

She replied with only four words.

"Keep gathering evidence."

I asked: "Can I call the police now?"

Julia said: "Yes, but you're out of town, so the situation is hard to control. Do two things first. First, send a lawyer's letter. Second, remotely wipe the door lock permissions and let them expose the fact that they've occupied it themselves."

At 8:00 PM that night, I logged into the back end of the smart lock.

I cleared all temporary passwords, fingerprints, and remote unlocking permissions.

Ten minutes later, the neighborhood group chat exploded.