The Novel Apartments Novels & Stories

Chapter 61 – New City, Same Lights (Eli POV) The apartment smelled like fresh paint and someone else’s life. I dropped the last box the one labeled “FRAGILE (mostly books and feelings)” in my own messy handwriting onto the laminate floor and immediately regretted it. The thud echoed louder than it should have in a space this small. One bedroom, one bathroom, one window that looked directly into another building’s brick wall. Home sweet starter home. The kind of place people move into when they’re trying to prove they can survive on their own, even when every instinct screams to run back to the person who makes surviving feel easy.

"How strange it is that just a few days ago, I was desperate to understand something supernatural. Now I'm excited about checking water pressure in apartment bathrooms." David laughed. "That's called growth, I think." "Or sanity returning." They arrived at the first apartment—a corner unit in a renovated pre-war building. The real estate agent, a brisk woman named Elaine with a portfolio of listings and sensible shoes, led them through rooms bathed in natural light. The promised bookshelves flanked a brick fireplace, and the balcony overlooked a small park where crimson and gold leaves swirled in gentle eddies. "What do you think?" David whispered as Elaine checked something on her phone in

CHARLOTTE ~•~ It didn’t take long for Briella to get approved for an apartment. It was kind of a big deal because it was her first apartment. She’d been living with her parents and after they died, she’d lived with my parents all her life. Her new apartment was nice. It was a small two-bedroom unit in a quiet neighborhood not too far from our new house. It wasn’t, but it had a decent kitchen, a small balcony, and enough space for George to have his own room. When she told me the news over the phone, her voice was shaky with a mix of relief and nerves. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “They actually said yes.”

And, of course, he secretly transferred money into my account despite my protests. Now, I stand in front of the old apartment building, its paint slightly faded with age. I take a deep breath, pressing a hand to my chest to steady my racing heart. “Welcome to your new life, Freya. Don’t disappoint Alaric.” *** My apartment is on the second floor. No elevator, just creaky wooden stairs that groan under my every step. As I open the door, I’m greeted by a small space—just a single bed, a tiny kitchen, and a window overlooking the ocean.

~ Gideon ~ The floorboards in my new apartment creak whenever I shift my weight. It is a small, honest sound, but in this quiet space, it feels incredibly loud. This place is nothing like the grand, cold hallways of Moore Crest Estate. There are no marble floors here to swallow the noise of my heavy footsteps. There are no servants to polish the dark wood until it reflects the clinical light of a crystal chandelier. The walls are thin, allowing me to hear the distant hum of a neighbor’s television and the muffled rhythm of the street below. The air in this kitchen smells like the local bakery on the corner, a constant mix of yeast, sugar, and the gritty exhaust of the morning traffic. I have

The morning sun did not feel warm in the rented apartment. It was a small apartment on the third floor of an old brick building near the noisy side of the city. There was no big balcony, no tall glass windows with a view of the skyline, and no smooth marble floors. The carpet was old and brown, the walls had a faint smell of damp paint, and the small kitchen sink was dripping with a slow, annoying tick-tock sound. Victoria Morati woke up lying on a thin, lumpy sofa bed.

Not ever. The elevator dinged, and I stepped out, fumbling for my keys. At least I could count on the sanctuary of my new apartment. It wasn't much—just a one-bedroom with decent light and no marble countertops—but it was mine. No Daniel. No Fiona. No suffocating perfection. The first thing I noticed was the door. It stood slightly ajar, a sliver of darkness visible where there should have been only solid wood. My heart stuttered in my chest.

Bella's POV The apartment was small. Deliberately so. I had chosen it that way—two rooms, a narrow kitchen, a window that looked out onto a street busy enough to feel safe. The kind of place that exists in the middle of a city without being part of it. I had been here four months. Four months of learning how to sleep on a mattress that was not the Hayes family's imported Italian linen. Four months of grocery shopping without a household account and cooking without a staff.

Haru slides on behind me and we ride off without looking back. It took Haru and me a week to find the apartment, only a couple of blocks from the club compound. We both had a lot of money saved from the odd jobs we used to do when we first got out of our hell, so we were able to buy the place. The apartment was nice... spacious, and in a pretty good neighborhood. The walls were pure white, with dark hardwood floors throughout. Three bedrooms with walk-in closets, two bathrooms, a big living room, and an open kitchen. We also had a balcony with a large glass sliding door. It was on the fourth floor, and thankfully, the elevator worked. There was even a swimming pool in the back and parking un

"I just... I miss my room. My things. I want to be somewhere that feels like home." The three men exchanged glances, some silent communication passing between them. Finally, Lorenzo nodded. "Give us the address." --- The apartment was in Queens, a fourth-floor walkup in a building that had seen better days. As we climbed the stairs—no elevator, of course—I became increasingly self-conscious about what they were seeing. The hallway carpet was worn and stained. The walls needed a fresh coat of paint. You could hear arguments through doors, a baby crying somewhere above us, the smell of someone's cooking permeating everything.