“Hey, are you sure you're okay?"”

The winter in Sandviken, though not as cold as the north, had just witnessed a fresh snowfall. Standing outside for a while, Emily's hands and face began to stiffen from the cold.

She rubbed her hands in her coat vigorously until they warmed up, easing the stiffness. Then, she headed towards Elite Peak Resort.

She was clearly aware of a silent vehicle following behind but pretended not to notice, stubbornly struggling forward in the cold wind on her own two feet for Murray to see her "self-redemption."

She hoped seeing her in such a pitiful state might quell his anger.

However, she had thought too much.

When she finally reached the Resort gate, panting, and was about ten feet from the huge iron gates, the security guards stopped her.

"I'm a guest at block 68..." Emily paused to consider her words.

It was normal for the guards not to recognize her, as she usually arrived by car. Her disheveled appearance made her look more like a visitor than a resident.

The guards were clearly skeptical.

The guests here, even arriving by helicopter, wouldn't be out of the strange. How could any guest be arriving on foot?

Emily rubbed her hands and face again, straightening her tongue and said, "Call Mr. Gibson and tell him his delivery has arrived."

When they start, Murray jokingly referred to summoning Emily as "ordering takeout." Although she never showed any resentment on the surface, deep down, she noted it.

"Delivery?" The two middle-aged male guards looked her over from head to toe. Still, they were a bit more patient with the pretty young girl. "You say you're delivering food, so where is it?"

Emily was both amused and exasperated. Did they really have to be so diligent?

"Just call Mr. Gibson."

The more serious-looking guard with a square face picked up the communicator and dialed number 68.

When it connected, he said, "Mr. Gibson, there's a young lady here saying she's delivering takeout to you. Is that right?"

Murray's icy voice came over the line. "Villa 68 does not receive visitors, so you will receive a complaint shortly."

Click.

The phone was abruptly hung up.

"How did it go?" the other, longer-faced guard asked, his legs trembling more than Emily's.

Like waking from a dream, the square-faced guard hurriedly checked his tablet. 

The log clearly stated Villa 68 does not receive visitors. So, by video calling Murray Gibson just now, he had essentially harassed an esteemed homeowner. 

The two guards were at a loss.

Emily felt a bit awkward, "You can't blame me; you should blame Murray Gibson, that freak." 

Goodbye!

On her way back, Emily noticed the SUV following her had disappeared. The howling wind and a deathly silence marked the secluded countryside.

Suddenly, she felt utterly alone, as if Murray was all she had in this vast world. Without him, she was left with nothing, no place to call home. 

The feeling was awful. 

In her sorrow, Emily burst into tears.

But crying in the cold wind was incredibly uncomfortable; soon, her face felt as though it was being stretched taut.

This face still had to earn her meals. Emily took out tissues and gingerly dabbed her tears. Then she called her roommate.

No answer.

She called again, and on the third try, it finally went through.

"Fuck, why are you calling at this time?"

Emily sniffled, "Are you still in New York?"

"Of course, I can't miss this chance. How can I return if I don't secure this spot?"

Thanks to her good looks, Donna Stone had been scouted for commercials since freshman year. Lured by the entertainment industry's lucrative pay, She had abandoned her thesis, graduation certificate, and degree for a chance to make it big in Hollywood.

She had already been in New York for over six months.

"What's wrong?" Donna detected something amiss in Emily's voice.

"Nothing much; I just want to stay at your apartment."

"Go ahead, and the code is still the same as before. Hey, are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, really. You go ahead with your stuff, and we'll talk later." Emily heard the noise in the background, understanding Donna was probably in the middle of training and didn't prolong the call.

The entertainment industry wasn't so easy to break into. A socialite since freshman year, Donna had made her first bucket of gold and bought herself a small downtown apartment. 

The girls would often crash at her place when they were out late.

She quickly booked a ride-hailing service and was soon at the apartment building, taking the familiar route up to the 16th floor. The password was the floor plus unit number 1602. "Beep", the door unlocked.

Emily breathed a sigh of relief. 

Reaching to turn on the foyer lights, she felt for the switch and flipped it several times, but the apartment remained dark.

Emily guessed the power must have been cut from not paying bills for so long. She found the building manager's number by the elevator and called. 

The 24-hour service was prompt and courteous, and they quickly informed her that apartment 1602 had no outstanding electricity bills and that there was sufficient credit in the electricity account.

Perplexed, Emily was asked if she wanted someone to come and check the issue. 

Glancing at the time, it was already 11 pm. Waiting who knew how long for repairs, she decided to just make do for the night and deal with it tomorrow.

Luckily, she had no makeup on, so washing with cold water wasn't a problem.

After a quick cold shower, she found a disposable pair of underwear and a clean nightgown in Donna's closet. 

Going out to eat in winter, hair, and clothes easily picked up food smells. She sprayed on some perfume and took her intimates and wool top onto the balcony to air out.

The apartment had been unoccupied for months, so she changed all the bedding.

By the time she finished, it was nearly 1 am.

Emily stretched and got into bed, just starting to feel drowsy when - "Squeak, squeak...squeak."

Damn! Mice!