Autumn
“This is a shit hole,” Viviana jokes as Kian opens the door for us.
Poor guy is our driver today. Viviana never leaves the mansion without one of them. There’s always a second car behind ours too, with four more men inside.
I never noticed it before, but I’ve never really beenout and aboutlike this. It’s usually work outings or meetings at the mansion or the penthouse. I get that they have money and, from what I saw in the hospital, a lot of influence, but this feels like a bit much.
“This next one sounds promising,” I say, flipping through the photos.
“They’re all awful,” Kian mutters, and I shake my head.
“Don’t be such a pessimist… You’re bringing bad vibes. I’ll never find a place,” I tease, and a flicker of a smile ghosts over his lips.
“You can stay with us longer. Or use the penthouse if you want more privacy,” Viviana offers again.
She keeps trying to convince me to stay, but I need my own place. I lost everything in the fire; clothes, cameras, my computer.
I’ve got some money saved, just enough to get a new camera and somewhere to live. The rest… I’ll figure it out one day at a time.
Declan even offered one of the apartments in his building, but I looked up the rent there. It’s ten times more than what I can afford. And there’s no way in hell I’d let him drop it just for me.
Call it pride or stubbornness, but I was proud of that little apartment. My books, my bed, my space. I earned it, all on my own.
Viviana told me they still don’t know how the fire started. It spread fast because of the material the owner used. Now it’s in court, claims stacking up, but we both know how long that’ll take. And the owner? Gone. Disappeared like smoke. No one can even find him to serve the papers.
We pull up to the next building that is three stories tall, two brick buildings side by side. They look like they’ve been recently restored. There’s a private lot next to it and a keypad at the main door.
“How is this apartment so cheap?” I whisper.
Viviana and Kian both shrug.
Kian parks, and I open the door, stepping out.
“You wait for me to open it,” he scolds.
I stare at him. Is he serious?
I’ve never had a man open a door for me. Ever.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“Miss Autumn,” the realtor greets, smiling as she punches in the code.
We take the stairs to the second floor. No elevator, but the marble and wood feel… classic. The whole building looks like it survived a war and came out charming instead of broken.
I catch my breath halfway up the stairs, my lungs aching faintly. It’s better than before, but the smoke damage still lingers, like something curled up inside me hasn’t quite let go.
“This unit just hit the market last night,” the realtor says, unlocking the door and tapping a code into the alarm. “I thought it might be perfect for you.”
The moment I walk in, my breath catches again, for different reasons.
The space is double the size of my old place. Open layout, clean lines, soft light pouring through wide windows.
I cried for days over my stuff, the few memories and photos I had from my life before all turned to shit.
That place finally felt like home… and it all went up in flames.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, smiling as I step into the living room.
