Chapter 3

By the time we got back, it was dark. As I stepped off the elevator, I noticed a pile of boxes in the hallway.

“Looks like we’ve got new neighbors?” Law said, following behind me.

Just then, the door across from ours opened. A tall, thin man stepped out, his pale face partly hidden behind a fringe of hair. He didn’t look easy to get along with.

“Hey there, I’m Jett Ryder, your new neighbor. Movers will grab these later.” He flashed a wide smile, dimples digging into his cheeks. He seemed friendlier than I’d first thought, and I mentally chided myself for judging him too soon.

“Hello, we’re right across the hall. Let us know if you need anything,” I replied politely.

With one hand, Law threw an arm around my shoulder and used the other to unlock our door.

“Pretty-boy,” he muttered under his breath after we got inside. I shot him a glare.

That night, he brought me a cup of warm milk. “There, my love. Don’t be mad anymore; drink this.”

I took a sip, and he leaned in to lick the milk from my lips, but I turned away, wiping it with a napkin.

“Still mad, huh?” he grumbled.

“Let’s just go to bed; I have an interview tomorrow.” I pretended not to hear him, and he reluctantly turned off the lights, snuggling up beside me.

But that night, I had the same nightmare. This time, I managed to open my eyes halfway, just enough to catch a glimpse of his face—a balding head, with greedy, murky eyes that leered at me, making me want to scream awake.

“Stay still, sweetheart.” A stench like rotten eggs washed over me, and then everything went black.

The next morning, Law had already left for work, and I was bewildered. How could I keep having such nightmares? Was it the lack of intimacy? But why would I dream about an old man? Shaking off the thought, I focused on my interview.

“Hey, Sloane, what kind of questions does your HR usually ask? I’m feeling so nervous.”

“Just be confident, Ivy. Talk about your design ideas; they love that stuff.”

“Alright, thanks. Elevator’s here, talk to you later.”

I’d majored in design in college, but right after graduation, I married Law. His parents wanted us to have kids before I went to work, but since I wasn’t getting pregnant, I’d spent three years as a housewife, letting Law take care of me. Meanwhile, my classmates were all making thousands, while I felt like I was just living off my husband.

Recently, though, I’d decided to find my own path and make something of myself. I’d reached out to my best friend, Sloane Wilder, who had a top job at her company, Wilder & Kane Design Co. She’d helped get me this interview.

I pressed the elevator button.

“Hold on!” A pale hand shot between the doors. I looked up and felt my blood run cold.

She waved her hand in front of my face. “Hey, you okay?”

I pushed her hand away, staring past her down the hall. But there was nothing—no sign of him. Was I losing my mind?

I could have sworn I’d just seen the man from my nightmare. Even though he wore glasses, I remembered those disgusting, squinty eyes.

A surge of nausea hit me, and I turned away.

What was going on? My brain was reeling. Could it just be a strange coincidence? Or was I really dealing with something paranormal? I staggered down the street, lost in thought as my phone buzzed incessantly, snapping me back.

“Hello?”

“Ivy, where are you? HR said you didn’t show up for your interview. What happened?”

“I…something came up. By the way, does your company have a bald guy in his fifties, with glasses?”

“Oh, that could be any number of people here. You know designers and bald heads! Anyway, gotta go—got called into a meeting.”

I hung up, utterly bewildered. My mind was racing as I searched online, reading about dreams of strange men. Most sources said it meant “bad luck in love,” but none explained why the man in my dream looked exactly like someone I’d just seen in real life. Could he be someone from a past life? The thought chilled me as I pictured his gleaming, bald head.

Maybe I should talk to a psychologist about this.

Just then, I heard a voice. “Hey, what a coincidence!”

Jett Ryder was there, holding a garbage bag and flashing me a friendly smile.

“Hi, settling in okay?” I asked politely, keeping my distance.

“Yeah, all good. You look a bit out of it. Did a late night party wear you out?”

“Party?” I replied, confused. I’d gone to bed early.