The Woman In The Window Novels & Stories

I didn't want to startle them, but I had no other choice than to sneak into the back window. Sliding it opened, I pulled myself up and over into the darkened room only lit by a candle in the far corner. Someone gasped, and I stalled. A woman stood in the corner, holding a picture of water. She was wearing ratted jeans, and a t-shirt. Her coffee-colored skin shimmered in the moonlight cascading in from the front window. "Don't hurt me," she whispered, pushing back a curly piece of hair. "I have a baby." Her gaze averted toward the corner of the room where a wooden cradle eased back and forth.

Only heaven's know what she's up too. It was a sunny day. I glanced over the painting I had sketched on a paper. It was of the strange woman I've been seeing around the Castle. Instinctively, I moved to the window to get some air when my deep blue crystals fell on her pretty brown eyes. It was her again. The lady in red. She was standing at a distance from my room window, dressed in the familiar red dress. Her brown eyes, gazing up at me. Then she pushed out a small smile, her slender hands rubbing her bulging stomach. She was still a mystery to me. Ever since I've been grounded in my room, she never failed to show up outside my window. Whether it was daytime or nighttime, it didn't matter.

We are nearly ready to leave and we were finally having decent conversation when my hair raises and I look back to the glass. I could feel eyes on me and through the window to see an angry Evers glowering at me as she trudges along the sidewalk. I leap up to my feet and try to rush outside to check on her, but Alec holds my hand to slow me as he quickly leaves money on the table by the bill.

All good. Except it wasn’t. A new message sat at the bottom of the screen. No name. Just a string of numbers I didn’t recognize. > Too close to the fire. I stared at it for a long moment. Then I lifted my head—drawn like a fucking fool to the light I knew I’d find. Her window. The soft glow framed her silhouette perfectly. She was moving inside—sketching, maybe. The way her shoulders bent, how her wrist hovered. Then she paced. Stopped. Turned toward the glass like she might see me through it.

I leaned against it. “Okay ma'am, anything else?” I heard from the other side. No answer. “I’m leaving now,” said the man talking to whoever was inside. As soon as I heard the main door open inside, I quickly peeked through the window. It was obscured by thick curtains, but there was a small gap, and then I saw someone. It wasn’t Vanna. Who is she? I waited for her to turn slightly. There, I saw a woman wearing a regular shirt and pants, sipping something from a glass while comfortably sitting on the couch, staring at the television, as if she were a visitor at that moment.

I look at the painting. It is New York City at night, viewed from a high window. The skyline. The amber light. The glass. And in the glass, a reflection. A woman is standing at the window, looking out with her honey-brown skin. Hair pinned up. She holds something to her chest, both hands wrapped around Her face turned slightly toward the glass so you can see her expression. The expression is the one I recognize from two years of standing at the penthouse window at night, thinking the thoughts I never said out loud.

The champagne glass slipped from Jack Knight’s hand and shattered across the ballroom floor. The sound cut through the music. Conversations died instantly. Heads turned, investors froze mid-laugh, even the violinists missed a note. Jack didn’t notice any of them. He was staring at the woman standing beneath the crystal chandelier like he’d just seen someone rise from the dead. “Mildred…”, he breathed. The first time Mildred Jones walked into the Knight Grand Hotel, she left in tears. Tonight, she returned in diamonds, and before midnight, she planned to start tearing the family apart.

But neither did I retreat. "I'm just saying," I muttered instead, not in the mood to argue with him. I pushed past him, "if she's half as deadly as she's classy, we're all fucked. "And if you mess this up," he bellowed after me, "you'll be the one to ruin the last hope this company has." I didn't answer him. But I knew what I saw in that woman's eyes, and it wasn't just “intelligence”. It was a calculating edge. And something colder.

They walked through the narrow mud lane, passing a few scattered huts with faded paint and thatched roofs. Chickens clucked around their feet, and an old woman gave them a wary glance before returning to her sewing. Bilal led Raghav toward a small hut near the edge of the field—its walls made of baked clay, its windows covered with jute curtains fluttering gently in the mountain breeze. He stepped forward, heart thudding softly, but… the door was closed and window creaked open to emptiness. Dust particles danced in the golden sunlight pouring through the single window.

As it passed, the rear window slid down halfway. Inside was a woman. Strikingly beautiful in a sharp, maintained way, age rendered ambiguous by excellent care and, no doubt, excellent money. Her gaze swept across our car. It landed on Lochlan with the focus of a laser sight. Lochlan stared back, his face an unreadable slab of granite. The moment stretched, thick with silent communication I wasn’t privy to, then the car glided past. ‘Who was that?’ I asked.