Chapter 1

I spent every penny of my savings to buy an apartment and was getting ready to move in over the weekend.

My parents immediately blabbed about it to everyone. Next thing I knew, my relatives announced they were bringing the whole family over for a vacation and planned to crash at my place.

I told them no.

Then my neighbor called to complain about a massive racket coming from my apartment.

I rushed back, only to find the lock on my front door had been completely forced open.

Blaring music rattled the walls. The freshly painted walls were covered in children's messy scribbles, and the place was trashed.

My aunt was sprawled out on the couch cracking sunflower seeds, having the time of her life.

I stormed in and yanked the stereo's power cord straight from the wall. "Who gave you permission to break my lock and barge in here?"

My aunt lazily spat a seed shell onto the floor. "Come on, kid, why make a fuss with your own flesh and blood? What’s a single girl like you buying a condo for anyway? Total waste of money. You’re just going to get married off eventually. What's wrong with letting us stay here for a couple of days?"

Without another word, I pulled out my phone and dialed 911.

Trying to skimp on hotel costs for your little getaway?

Enjoy your free stay in a jail cell.

When my mom called, I was cleaning the windows in my new place.

"Hey, Chloe," she said with a cheerful lilt in her voice. "Your Uncle Marcus and his family are visiting your city this weekend. Hotels are way too expensive, so I already talked to them. I told them they could crash at your place for a few days."

My hand froze in midair. Water dripped down through my fingers from the cleaning rag.

"No. There’s no room."

"Can’t you guys just throw some sleeping bags on the floor? What’s the big deal with family squeezing in together? Remember how good Marcus was to you when you were little? When you went off to college, he even gave you three hundred bucks! Now that you bought a place, you won't even let them stay for a few days?"

A knot of disgust twisted tight in my gut.

Just last week, I had explicitly called her to tell her that the condo wasn't fully furnished yet, and warned her not to go around telling everyone.

And what did she do?

"Mom, did you go around bragging that I bought an apartment?"

There was a beat of silence on the other end, and then my mom’s voice went shrill. "What if I did? You buying a place is a huge deal! Can’t your own mother share some good news? Why are you being so selfish? Our neighbor Mrs. Miller blabs all over the neighborhood about her daughter’s wedding and baby, acting like the whole world needs to know! Why can’t I say anything?"

I took a deep breath, trying desperately to swallow down the rising anger.

"It's my apartment. I have the right to decide who comes in."

"Decide who comes in?" Her voice grew even more piercing. "Marcus isn’t a stranger! He’s your own uncle! Chloe, have you forgotten how long you lived under his roof as a kid? Now your wings have grown, and you’re turning your back on family?"

I cut her off. "I said no."

The other end went dead quiet for a few seconds before my mom hissed through gritted teeth:

"Chloe, when did you turn into such a monster? You were such a good, obedient kid growing up. Now you buy some tiny shoe-box condo and suddenly you think you’re hot stuff? Let me tell you, if your father and I hadn't put you through college, do you think you’d ever be able to afford a home?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, digging my fingernails into my palms.

Put me through college?

Over those four years, I earned scholarships for three of them. I started working part-time jobs during my sophomore year just to cover my own living expenses.

My tuition was paid through student loans, which I paid off entirely on my own after entering the workforce.

The meager allowance they sent barely covered basic groceries. I worked long winter shifts at a boba shop, my hands chapped and bleeding from the cold, and where was all this talk about how hard they supposedly worked to support my education back then?

"Save your breath. The answer is still no."

On Sunday afternoon, I was at a home decor store picking out an area rug when my phone buzzed.

It was an unknown local number. After a brief hesitation, I picked it up.

"Hello, is this the resident of Unit 1601?"

It was a middle-aged woman's voice, laced with barely suppressed fury.

"Yes, that's me. Can I help you?"

"I'm your downstairs neighbor. What on earth is going on in your place? There’s been deafening music blasting since noon! My kid has homework to finish, and this racket has been going on for almost two hours. Could you please turn it down?"

I froze.

"I'm so sorry, but... you're saying there's music playing in my apartment?"

"Yes! Don't you know what’s happening in your own home? The thumping and booming is shaking my ceiling! My kid says even earplugs can't block that heavy bass!"

My grip tightened around the phone as a cold dread washed over me.

"Please don't worry, I'm heading back right now. If it's coming from my unit, I'll take care of it immediately."

I hung up, rushed out to the curb, and hailed a cab.

The moment I stepped out of the elevator onto my floor, the noise hit me.

It wasn't just music. It was earth-shaking, sub-woofer bass pounding against the walls—"thud, thud, thud"—so violently that the hallway lights flickered with every beat.

As I walked closer, my heart dropped. The door lock was ruined.

The deadbolt area was covered in deep pry marks, the metal mangled, and a chunk of paint on the doorframe had been sheared clean off.

The door was sitting slightly ajar, the roaring sound inside vibrating the entire wooden frame.

I took a sharp breath and pushed the door open.

What I saw inside made my mind go completely blank for three solid seconds.