The building was only five stories tall, with no elevator, and the hallway felt cramped and narrow. Old boxes and forgotten junk were piled in the corners, dust thick in the air, making the space even more suffocating. Two people walking side by side would have trouble squeezing through, so Emily Blair followed behind Emma George as they made their way upstairs.

The hall light had been replaced not too long ago; it was still burning, casting a pale, patchy glow. Emily could see Emma's shoulders suddenly tense before Emma tried to play it off, feigning irritation as she scolded, "You nearly gave me a heart attack! I'm your mother, you know. The nerve of you! Maybe I just won't make dinner tonight. See how you like going to bed hungry."

Clearly, Emma had run out of things to say.

Emily didn't press her mother any further. She simply said, "Alright," then hurried ahead to unlock the door to their small rented apartment.

The building was old, and so was the door—a heavy iron thing installed ages ago, now spotted with rust. As Emily turned the key, it groaned open with a long, creaking protest.

But just as that sound echoed, another creak-this one from behind caught her attention.

The landlord had converted the whole building into rental units, just two apartments per floor, every room occupied. When Emily had first moved in, she'd noticed the neighbors across the hall. According to the landlord, that apartment was home to a young man from out of town, a recent college grad working his first job. He kept odd hours and rarely seemed to be around.

In all her comings and goings—chatting with the other tenants, getting to know everyone-Emily had never once caught sight of the neighbor across the hall, nor heard a peep from inside his apartment. She'd assumed he simply hadn't returned in days.

So when the silence was finally broken by the sound of a door opening, Emily instinctively turned to look.

The bulb on the second floor was old, probably last replaced a year or two ago. Its dim, yellow light barely reached the door across the hall. All Emily could make out at first was a pale hand gripping the handle, slowly pushing the door open.

Emily arched an eyebrow.

That was... a surprisingly nice hand.

Gradually, the door swung wider, and the figure inside stepped out into the corridor.

He was tall—so tall that, for a split second, Emily thought his head might brush the low ceiling. It didn't, but it was a close thing, and she found herself strangely disappointed.

He wore a black hoodie and matching black pants, head bowed so his face was hidden, carrying a black trash bag which he gently set down just outside his door.

His clothes were nothing special-plain, even-but on him, they looked like something out of a fashion magazine. He had the kind of careless style you'd see on the cover of a men's catalog, a bit rough around the edges.

Honestly, a guy dressed in all black, emerging in a dimly lit hallway late at night, looked like something straight out of a crime thriller. If this was a movie, she'd be suspicious.

Emily's gaze lingered on his hand, ready to look away, when the young man suddenly lifted his head and met her eyes.

In that moment, Emily was caught off guard.

He was striking-almost unreal.

He looked mixed-race, with features so sharp and handsome that she'd believe it if someone told her he was a top model. His eyes were deep-set, his nose straight, skin pale as marble, but his lips stood out-full and red, as if he were a vampire fresh from a midnight feast. His expression was cool, his gaze faintly aloof, looking at her as if she were barely worth noticing.

Still, determined to be friendly with the neighbors, Emily raised a hand and called out, "Hi, there!"

She half-expected this arrogant guy to completely ignore her, but surely he wouldn't be that rude.

Sure enough, after barely a heartbeat, the man looked away, showed not the slightest interest in exchanging pleasantries, and with a curt turn, slammed his door shut.

Emily's hand hung awkwardly in the air.

Emma George glanced back and muttered, not bothering to lower her voice, "What's

his problem? Hasn't anyone taught him basic manners?"

She took Emily's still-raised hand and said, "Forget him. Let's get inside."

Emily shrugged, following her mother into their apartment.

She didn't dwell on the brief encounter; in fact, she forgot almost immediately about having a ridiculously good-looking guy as her neighbor, turning her full attention instead to her studies with Xavier Gonzalez.

Xavier was a dedicated instructor. Whenever he had a free moment, he'd pick a spot to run them through computer science lessons, explaining every concept in meticulous detail. Even when Elizabeth Wilson nitpicked or challenged his approach, Xavier answered her questions patiently, never losing his temper.

Little by little, Elizabeth's knack for coding began to shine. Where she'd once struggled to keep up with Xavier and Emily, soon she was quick to answer questions —sometimes even beating Emily to the punch.

Not that Emily was ever slow; she was sharp and quick-witted by nature. The three of them made astonishing progress, their learning curve shooting upward like a rocket.

Xavier was visibly delighted by his students' progress, his explanations coming faster and more enthusiastically, eager to teach them everything he knew.

Emily, in turn, began to truly appreciate Xavier's expertise and his passion for computers.

Not all her time was spent on coding and prepping for the entrance exam, though. She'd picked up a handful of books about business and entrepreneurship, watched countless startup videos and read blog posts online. Her own idea for a business was slowly taking shape, growing more concrete by the day.

One afternoon, after Elizabeth left for her regular visit to the hospital to care for her grandmother, Emily took the subway home alone.

Back in the alley leading to her apartment, the streetlights cast a weak glow, leaving deep shadows in the corners. Emily had walked this route many times, but she still felt uneasy, lowering her head and quickening her steps.

Suddenly, the faintest sound drifted from behind her.

It was late-well past midnight—and the alley was silent except for Emily's own

footsteps. That tiny noise echoed, clear as day.

Emily froze, every muscle tensing, and hurried her pace even more.

The sound behind her grew louder.

Now she could hear it clearly.

It was someone walking-footsteps and the soft rustle of clothes, following right

behind her.