CHAPTER 1: Boo!

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Boo!

I jumped so hard I almost dropped the stack of papers in my hand. My heart practically shot out of my chest before I realized who it was.

“Jesus, Tori,” I muttered, pressing a hand to my chest, my pulse still hammering. “You scared the hell out of me.”

She burst into laughter, clutching her stomach like it was the funniest thing in the world. “Oh my God, your face! You looked like you just saw a ghost.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to play it off, even though I could still feel the adrenaline fizzing through my veins. “Yeah, hilarious. You almost gave me a heart attack. I swear, one day I’m going to drop dead and it’ll be on you.”

“Oh, come on,” she scoffed out, still chuckling. “You’re such a scaredy-cat.”

I gave her a look over my shoulder as I started gathering my things from the desk — my tote bag, my half-empty coffee cup, the files I was supposed to look over tonight but knew damn well I wasn’t going to. “Scaredy-cat? Please. You try working in this creepy office after dark with the blinking lights and the weird humming sound in the ceiling. See if you don’t start imagining ghosts too.”

She snorted. “That ‘weird humming sound’ is literally the air conditioner.”

“Yeah, sure,” I replied dryly. “That’s what they all say before the haunting starts.”

Tori grinned at me, her blonde curls bouncing as she stuffed her laptop into her backpack. “You’ve been watching too many horror movies.”

“Correction,” I said, slipping into my coat. “Too many overtime shifts in an under-lit office. That’s the real horror.”

That made her roll her eyes.

She leaned against the desk beside mine, watching me zip up my bag. “So, you’re really heading home already?”

“Mm-hmm.” I nodded, glancing at the clock — barely five thirty. It felt weird leaving while the sky was still bright.

“You do know the manager’s taking everyone out for drinks, right?” she said, arching a perfectly manicured brow. “That’s literally why we closed early. Free margaritas, girl. You’re seriously gonna miss that?”

I groaned softly. “Yeah, I know. But I’m skipping.”

“Skipping free drinks? You? Okay, who are you and what have you done with my coworker?”

I smiled faintly, swinging my tote over my shoulder. “Trust me, if it were any other day, I’d be there first. But I’m just—” I hesitated, searching for the right word. “—tired.”

“Uh-huh.” She gave me a knowing smirk. “Tired. Right. You’ve been ‘tired’ a lot lately.”

I didn’t answer that. Instead, I busied myself adjusting my coat sleeves and pretending to check my phone, which, conveniently, had no new notifications.

The truth was, I had been tired — just not the kind that sleep could fix. Work had been insane the past few weeks. The new project we were handed meant staying late almost every night, sometimes until nine, and the pay wasn’t nearly enough to make the exhaustion worth it. But I didn’t have much of a choice.

Ever since Daniel lost his job three months ago, the bills had become my problem. Rent, electricity, groceries — all of it. He’d moved into my apartment after the layoff, and at first, I told myself it was temporary. Just until he got back on his feet. But “temporary” had turned into months of him scrolling through job sites half the day and playing video games the other half, while I ran myself ragged trying to keep everything together.

Don’t get me wrong, I love him. Or at least, I used to be sure I did. But lately… I don’t know. It’s like we’ve both been existing in separate bubbles under the same roof. I’d come home exhausted, and he’d barely look up from the TV. Some nights we didn’t even eat dinner together. And when we did talk, it was mostly about money — how tight it was, how much longer it’d take for him to find something, how much overtime I could take without collapsing.

And as for intimacy? Yeah, let’s just say things had been… off.

So, tonight, I wasn’t in the mood for free drinks or fake laughter with coworkers. I just wanted to go home, shower, maybe make something simple for dinner — and try, at least, to bridge the weird distance that had settled between us like fog.

But I didn’t tell Tori any of that. She didn’t need to know my life was turning into a slow-motion train wreck.

Instead, I shrugged. “I’m too tired to go, honestly. My bed’s calling my name.”

She groaned. “You’re so boring sometimes. You need a night out.”

“I need sleep,” I corrected. “Or maybe a new life. Whichever comes first.”

Tori laughed, shaking her head. “You’re hopeless.” She zipped up her jacket and slung her bag over her shoulder. “Fine, go be a grandma. But don’t complain when we post stories later of us having fun without you.”

“Please,” I said, grinning as I walked toward the door. “If I see one more boomerang of you clinking glasses, I might delete I*******m.”

“You love my boomerangs!” she called after me.

“Not when I’m in pajamas and you’re out having a life,” I shot back, giving her a little wave before pushing through the glass doors.

The cool evening air hit my face like a small mercy. The city was alive out there. Cars honking, people chatting on sidewalks, streetlights blinking to life one by one. I inhaled deeply, feeling the weight of the office finally slide off my shoulders.

For a moment, I just stood there, clutching my bag strap, staring at the fading orange streaks in the sky.

Friday.

The word itself should’ve felt like freedom, but lately, weekends only reminded me of how fast the weekdays came back around.

Still, I tried to shake the heaviness off. Tonight could be different. Maybe Daniel and I could actually talk — like reallytalk — without me collapsing mid-conversation. Maybe we could order takeout, open a bottle of wine, watch a movie. Maybe I could pretend things were normal again.

I glanced down at my phone, half-expecting a message from him. Nothing.

Typical.

I sighed, tucking it back into my pocket and heading toward the bus stop.

Somewhere nearby, someone was playing music, a familiar pop song muffled by distance. I found myself humming along under my breath as I waited, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.

When the bus finally pulled up, I climbed in, grabbed a seat by the window, and rested my head against the cool glass.

The journey wasn’t long — maybe fifteen, twenty minutes tops — but it felt endless.

My head kept nodding against the window, half-asleep, half-lost in thoughts I didn’t want to be having. By the time the bus slowed at my stop, I could already picture home.

I sighed as I climbed off the bus, slinging my tote higher on my shoulder.

When I reached our building, I fished out my keys and unlocked the door, pushing it open with a soft creak.

“Daniel?” I called out automatically, stepping inside.

No answer.

The lights were on, though, casting that familiar glow across the living room. It smelled faintly of detergent, which was… unusual. My eyes swept over the space, and my brows shot up in surprise.

The place was actually… clean.

The couch cushions were in place, no empty snack wrappers or beer cans lying around, no shoes scattered by the doorway. The little coffee table was even wiped down.

For a second, I just stood there, blinking, trying to process what I was seeing.

“Wow,” I muttered under my breath. “Miracles do happen.”

I kicked off my shoes and set my bag on the side table. My gaze fell to the floor near the hallway to see his clothes in a crumpled pile.

My momentary appreciation evaporated instantly.

“Seriously?” I grumbled, frowning. “We’ve talked about this.”

How many times had I told him not to drop his clothes everywhere? It wasn’t a laundry basket, it was a floor. I’d said it nicely the first ten times, then less nicely the next ten. At this point, I was starting to think he did it on purpose just to test how far he could push my patience before I lost it.

Still, the clean living room softened my irritation a little. Maybe he’d been trying. Maybe he’d cleaned up for me. The least I could do was not start a fight the second I got in.

I grabbed his shirt from the floor, shaking my head, and started walking down the hallway toward our bedroom. “Daniel, you better not have left your pants in the bathroom again!” I called out.

And it was at that moment I heard it.

A soft, breathy sound — muffled at first, then clearer the closer I got.

A moan.