Chapter 1

The Elevator at 12:07

Paris...

During the day, the city was filled with tourists, cafés, and laughter.

But at night...

Paris became an entirely different story.

The golden lights along the Seine reflected across the dark water. Ancient balconies watched the city in silence. Somewhere in the distance, a piano played softly from a late-night café while rain-soaked cobblestone streets shimmered beneath the streetlamps.

People called Paris the City of Love.

But every city had secrets that only the night knew.

And Paris...

Paris knew how to bury its secrets deep.

In the heart of the city stood an old building.

Beaumont Building.

A century-old structure.

From the outside, it looked no different from the other historic buildings surrounding it. Yet the locals often whispered strange stories about it.

They said the building's old elevator started moving on its own every night at exactly 12:07 AM.

Without a passenger.

Without anyone pressing a button.

And the strangest part...

It always stopped on the thirteenth floor.

Even though the building didn't have a thirteenth floor.

Most people dismissed it as nothing more than an urban legend.

Except those...

Who had seen it with their own eyes.

"Isabelle, you're late again."

The museum supervisor glanced at her watch.

Isabelle Laurent offered an apologetic smile as she gathered her papers.

"I know."

"If you keep working like this, one day this museum will become more important to you than your own home."

A small laugh escaped Isabelle.

"I think it already has."

The woman shook her head and walked away.

A few minutes later, the museum was nearly empty.

Isabelle slung her bag over her shoulder and stepped outside.

The rain had just stopped.

The streets were damp.

The scent of coffee and wet stone lingered in the cool night air.

At twenty-four, Isabelle Laurent possessed a quiet elegance. Her hazel eyes seemed darker beneath the city lights, and her dark brown hair fell in soft waves past her shoulders.

She wore a long black wool coat, a red scarf wrapped around her neck, and brown leather boots.

Old buildings.

Forgotten stories.

Silent nights.

Those were her greatest weaknesses.

She loved Paris after midnight.

Because at night, the city spoke less.

And Isabelle liked quiet things.

Lost in that silence, her gaze drifted across the street.

Beaumont Building.

She paused.

She had heard its name before.

Especially the stories about the mysterious elevator.

A faint smile touched her lips.

"People really do invent the strangest stories."

She was about to turn away when suddenly—

A light flickered on inside the building.

Her eyes narrowed.

The elevator.

The old elevator with its golden iron gates.

It was moving.

Slowly descending.

A frown formed on Isabelle's face.

The building was closed.

The street was nearly empty.

So why was the elevator moving?

She glanced at her wristwatch.

12:07 AM.

Exactly 12:07.

A strange chill crawled down her spine.

The elevator reached the ground floor and stopped.

The doors slowly slid open.

Isabelle froze.

Because the elevator wasn't empty.

A man stood inside.

Tall.

Dressed in a black coat.

Dark hair.

Ash-gray eyes.

For several moments, he simply stared at her.

Isabelle was certain she had never seen him before.

And yet...

There was something strangely familiar about him.

As if he had known her for years.

Then his lips moved.

"Meministine me?"

A crease appeared between Isabelle's brows.

She had never heard that language before.

Not French.

Not English.

Not any language she recognized.

"What...?"

she whispered.

But the man didn't answer.

He simply kept looking at her.

As though he knew her.

As though he were staring at a memory he had lost long ago.

Then suddenly—

The elevator lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

And everything went dark.

Isabelle jolted upright.

Her breathing was uneven.

The room was dark.

Rain tapped softly against her bedroom window.

For several seconds, she couldn't understand where she was.

Then her eyes landed on the digital clock beside her bed.

12:07

The color slowly drained from her face.

Because it was the same time.

The exact same time she had seen in the dream.

The silence in the room suddenly felt heavier.

And for the first time...

Isabelle wondered if it had really been a dream at all.

To Be Continued... 🚪🕛✨

Chapter 2

The Man Who Knew Her Name

Paris was as busy as ever that morning.

The streets echoed with the sound of traffic.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifted from crowded cafés.

And the city moved forward with its usual rhythm.

But for Isabelle Laurent, this morning felt different.

The strange dream from the previous night still lingered in a corner of her mind.

Vague.

Blurred.

And deeply unsettling.

Isabelle Laurent was an Art History Researcher at one of Paris’s renowned museums.

Most of her days were spent studying centuries-old paintings, historical manuscripts, and forgotten stories buried beneath time.

Perhaps that was why the past had always fascinated her.

She was the kind of person who could find mysteries hidden even within old pieces of paper.

Today, as always, she was dressed in her usual elegant simplicity.

A beige trench coat.

A black turtleneck sweater.

Dark blue jeans.

And brown leather boots.

Her chestnut-brown hair fell in soft waves below her shoulders, while her hazel eyes carried their familiar quiet curiosity.

From a distance, one might mistake her for a writer or an artist.

Yet despite the open book lying before her, her thoughts were elsewhere.

An old building.

A silent hallway.

And an elevator.

She blinked.

Then closed the book.

It was only a dream.

She told herself that.

Yet for some reason, her heart refused to believe it.

She remembered someone speaking to her in that dream.

But in what language?

What had he said?

Who was he?

She couldn't remember.

It felt as if someone had stolen the most important pieces of her memory.

---

A small apartment in Montmartre had been her home for the past three years.

A lonely home.

A lonely life.

Her mother, Emily Laurent, had passed away from cancer many years ago.

Her father, Étienne Laurent, a respected historian, had died of a heart attack five years earlier.

After losing them both, Isabelle was left with nothing but memories.

Perhaps that was why she found it impossible to let go of the past.

---

The day passed like any other.

Yet every few hours, her mind drifted back to the dream.

Evening faded.

Night arrived.

And then...

11:50 PM.

Isabelle stepped out of the museum.

The air was damp.

The rain had stopped only a short while ago.

Golden reflections shimmered beneath the street lamps.

She started walking toward her car.

But after a few steps, she stopped.

She checked the time.

11:50.

Then her gaze drifted toward the distance.

The same street.

The same direction.

The same building.

A quiet breath escaped her lips.

"What exactly am I trying to prove?"

She asked herself.

No answer came.

Yet moments later, her feet carried her in that direction anyway.

---

Ten minutes later, she stood before the building.

In the darkness of the night, it looked even more abandoned than before.

Its windows were black.

The front door hung half open.

As though no one had bothered to close it properly for years.

An uneasy feeling settled in her chest.

For a moment, she considered turning back.

Then she shook her head.

"If nothing happens, at least I'll finally have peace of mind."

She stepped inside.

The lobby was silent.

Unnaturally silent.

So silent that even the sound of her own footsteps felt unfamiliar.

Damp stains marked the old walls.

A single light bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a weak yellow glow.

And somewhere in the distance...

A clock was ticking.

Isabelle glanced at her watch.

12:05.

Only two minutes left.

A nervous laugh escaped her.

"I'm actually losing my mind."

But the smile faded almost immediately.

12:06.

Tick...

Tick...

Tick...

Every passing second seemed to make the air heavier.

Her eyes slowly settled on the elevator.

Then...

12:07.

A sudden metallic grinding sound echoed from somewhere above.

Isabelle froze.

Her heart pounded against her ribs.

Another sound followed.

As if an ancient machine had finally awakened after years of silence.

And then...

Ding.

The elevator indicator lit up.

Her lips went dry.

This wasn't a dream.

The elevator was moving.

She instinctively took a step back.

But she couldn't look away.

The elevator descended slowly.

The flickering floor numbers glowed one after another.

As though something in the darkness was making its way toward her.

Then suddenly—

It stopped.

Silence filled the lobby.

Deep.

Unsettling silence.

And then...

The elevator doors slowly opened.

Isabelle's breath caught in her throat.

A man stood inside.

Tall.

Dressed in a black coat.

Dark eyes.

And a strange calmness on his face.

As though he wasn't surprised to see her.

As though he had known she would come.

For several moments, neither of them spoke.

Then the man slowly lifted his head.

His gaze locked onto hers.

And in a low voice, he said:

"You're late, Isabelle."

The color drained from her face.

Her hands trembled.

Because she had never told him her name.

To Be Continued...

Chapter 3

The Man Beyond Time

The silence inside the abandoned building suddenly felt heavier.

For a few endless moments...

Neither of them spoke.

Isabelle Laurent stood frozen where she was.

Her fingers trembled ever so slightly.

Her heartbeat echoed so loudly in her chest that she feared the silence itself might hear it.

The stranger inside the elevator never looked away.

It was as though...

He had been waiting for her.

For a very long time.

There was no surprise in his eyes.

No confusion.

Only an unsettling sense of recognition.

The kind that made Isabelle's heart race even faster.

She swallowed hard before finally forcing the words out.

"Who... are you?"

Silence answered her.

Then, at last, a faint smile appeared on the man's face.

"I was beginning to wonder..."

His voice was calm.

Almost impossibly calm.

"...what had taken you so long."

A chill ran through Isabelle's body.

"I... I don't even know you."

She whispered.

"Then..."

"How do you know my name?"

Her question echoed through the empty lobby.

The silence grew even deeper.

Finally, the stranger spoke.

"Because..."

"...I've known you for a very long time."

Isabelle immediately shook her head.

"No."

"That's impossible."

"I've never seen you before."

For the first time...

A shadow of sadness crossed the stranger's face.

"I wish that were true."

Those five words pierced her heart for reasons she couldn't explain.

Suddenly...

A sharp pain spread through her head.

Blurred images flashed before her eyes.

Rain.

A hand reaching toward her.

And a familiar voice...

Calling her name.

Then...

Everything disappeared.

Isabelle stumbled backward and caught herself against the cold wall.

"What..."

"...what is happening to me?"

The stranger simply watched her.

He didn't move.

He didn't try to help.

Almost as if...

He had seen this moment before.

After several seconds, he finally spoke again.

"My name..."

"...is Vincent Beaumont."

The name meant nothing to her.

And yet...

The moment she heard it...

Her heart skipped a beat.

Vincent slowly stepped aside inside the elevator.

The old ceiling light flickered above him.

Then he looked at her once more.

"Come with me."

Isabelle stared at the dark elevator.

"What is this place?"

Vincent's eyes shifted toward the ancient doors.

"You shouldn't be afraid of this place..."

He paused.

"...You should be afraid of the truth waiting inside it."

Silence returned.

Somewhere in the distance...

An old clock continued ticking.

Tick...

Tick...

Tick...

Vincent met her eyes one final time.

"If you step inside this elevator..."

"...your life will never be the same again."

Isabelle turned toward the building's entrance.

One step...

And she could walk away.

Back to her ordinary life.

But something...

Something stronger than fear...

Was pulling her toward the mysterious elevator.

Perhaps it was the search for answers.

Perhaps it was fate.

Or perhaps...

It was the man who seemed to know her better than she knew herself.

Slowly...

She took one step forward.

Then another.

Finally...

She stepped inside the elevator.

The doors began to close.

Clang...

A second later...

The elevator started moving.

But not upward.

Downward.

Far below the ground.

Isabelle's eyes locked onto the floor indicator.

One by one...

The numbers disappeared.

Until only a single message remained.

"12 Years Ago..."

Her eyes widened.

The elevator shook violently.

To Be Continued...