The Novel Apartments Novels & Stories

I spent only $100,000 to acquire this nearly 2,000-square-foot apartment! I refused to wait for death with them in the frozen apocalypse, much less let them kill me again. I had already died once. The fact that someone had died here did not frighten me at all. After all, the living could be far more terrifying than the dead. The penthouse was on the eighth floor. The location was ideal. It would not be submerged by the snowdrifts from the endless winter storms, and it offered easier access for foraging during utility blackouts.

Barely. The apartment was a battlefield of petty grievances. Nova’s expensive skincare routine took over the bathroom counter like a siege. Jax left protein shaker bottles and sweaty gym towels everywhere. She blasted indie playlists at midnight when inspiration struck. He brought home a rotating cast of women and fucked them so loud the neighbors banged on the walls.

I needed space where his face wasn't plastered on every monitor. I retreated to my new apartment, a sleek, well furnished apartment on the twenty second floor that I had just rented. It was modern and minimalist, filled with polished marble and floor to ceiling glass that looked out over a city that didn't know my secrets. Most importantly, I lived there alone. It was a space designed for a woman who was self sufficient, a place with no ghosts and no memories of shared morning coffees or late night promises.

I could think of other more enjoyable things we could be doing other than this, but when Daemon gives an order, that is what we do. It only took twenty minutes to get to the apartment block. Ironically, it was one that Daemon's property development company owned. The five-storey building was relatively new, built about five years ago. Each of the units consisted of two double bedrooms. On the ground floor were some little shops, including a small cafe. "Shall we get a coffee before we start?" Adam asked. A new building meant lifts. At least we wouldn't have to climb up and down stairs. We went up to the first floor and knocked on apartment 13. A female opened the door.

Or dead. In grim silence, the trio made their way to the southwestern edge of town, to an upscale apartment building. It looked new, gleaming. They drove past a sleek new swimming pool that looked more like a tropical oasis than a man-made water hole. Multiple spas, jogging trail, Wi-Fi included. Definitely more upscale than Tyler could afford on a bouncer’s salary. Luc’s heart sank, and given Jack’s and Hunter’s grim faces, they had done the math as well. But they continued on until they reached apartment 314 and knocked.

I didn’t expect I’d be able to settle everything instantly that very morning. Maggie; Lydia’s niece, helped me with the apartment and I must say the place passed my taste. I wasn’t really looking for anything grand, just as long as I could have a roof on my head before the night comes, I’d gladly take it. However, the place looked really nice and neat. It’s a single bedroom apartment painted in beige and white. And Lydia’s right! It’s very cheap. Not to mention, it’s close to the city so it’ll be very convenient for my work.

This was a brand new chapter, and I was ready to make things better. When we got to the apartment, Rachel and I looked up at it in glee. We’d only ever seen pictures of the building, but it was way more cute than I’d initially thought. It was a quaint little building on 50th street, and it was exactly the kind of nondescript place I would want to live in. The Uber driver was kind enough to help us with our stuff, and I suspected it was because Rachel had been flirting with him the entire time.

I knew we’d always be close. The apartment building was nothing like what I was used to. It towered above the streets, a sleek glass structure that seemed to touch the sky. The lobby was polished marble, with soft lighting that made the whole place feel expensive — almost intimidating. But I reminded myself this wasn’t about luxury. This was about starting over — about giving Chase a better life. I held Chase’s hand tightly as we rode the elevator to the 15th floor. Each floor had its own long hallway, lined with identical dark brown doors. My apartment — 15B — was near the end.

Third Person POV The apartment was tiny. A one-bedroom in a building that had seen better days. The walls were thin enough to hear the neighbors arguing. The radiator clanked at odd hours. The kitchen was barely large enough for one person, let alone two. But it was theirs. No guards. No security cameras. No reminders of compounds or empires or blood-stained marble floors. Just a small apartment in Brooklyn with mismatched furniture from IKEA and windows that actually opened. Freedom.

Jenny pushed open the off-white apartment door. The lock was brand new, its brass handle glinting coldly under the hallway lighting. The air carried a blend of disinfectant and aged wall paint—an odor not sharp enough to sting, yet stubbornly clinging to the nostrils once breathed in. The living room was tiny, barely able to fit a faded fabric sofa and a glass coffee table. On the table sat an unopened box of donuts, its paper bag fluttering faintly in the draft from the air conditioner.