Chapter 1 — The Door

The apartment was quiet.

Not the comforting kind of quiet.

It was the kind that settled into the walls, filled every room, and lingered long after voices had disappeared.

Morning light filtered through the cream-colored curtains, casting warm streaks across the wooden floor. Dust floated lazily through the air, dancing in the sunlight as though time itself had slowed inside the small apartment.

It was a beautiful place.

Not luxurious.

Not modern.

Just... loved.

Every corner carried memories.

A faded sofa where movie nights had once lasted until midnight.

A bookshelf overflowing with novels her mother had collected over the years.

A dining table with four chairs that now seated only one.

Family photographs still decorated the walls exactly as they had years ago.

Nothing had changed.

Iris Bennett had made sure of that.

She liked pretending that if everything stayed the same...

Maybe a part of them had never really left.

She stood barefoot in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to whistle.

The silence wrapped around her like an old blanket.

She wasn't lonely anymore.

Loneliness had become familiar.

She poured hot water into her favorite chipped mug—the one with tiny blue flowers painted around the rim. Her father had bought it during a weekend market years ago because she'd insisted it looked "happy."

It still did.

A faint smile touched her lips.

"Good morning," she whispered toward the framed photograph resting on the kitchen counter.

Her parents smiled back from behind the glass.

For a brief moment...

The apartment didn't feel so empty.

"I have my first day today."

She laughed awkwardly at herself.

"I'm... talking to a picture again."

Her fingers gently brushed away a speck of dust from the frame.

"I wish you were here."

Silence answered.

It always did.

...

Breakfast was simple.

Toast.

A boiled egg.

Tea.

She wasn't very good at cooking, but she'd learned enough over the years to take care of herself.

After washing the dishes immediately—because leaving them in the sink made her strangely anxious—she walked toward her bedroom.

Neatly folded clothes covered the bed.

She had spent almost an hour deciding what to wear.

Too formal?

Too casual?

Too bright?

Too plain?

She finally settled on a crisp white blouse tucked into a black knee-length skirt with a light beige cardigan.

Professional.

Simple.

Invisible.

Invisible felt safe.

She stood before the mirror.

Dark brown hair fell softly over her shoulders.

Her eyes looked tired despite sleeping well.

Nervousness always stole the color from her face.

She reached for the small bottle of migraine medicine on her bedside table.

Just in case.

She slipped it into her bag beside her sketchbook, headphones, wallet, charger, and a tiny notebook where she wrote reminders whenever anxiety made her forget things.

She checked the notebook one last time.

• Phone ✔

• Wallet ✔

• ID ✔

• Medicine ✔

• Office documents ✔

• Don't forget to breathe.

That last reminder made her smile.

"I can do this."

Her voice sounded uncertain.

She tried again.

"I can do this."

Better.

Not convincing.

But better.

...

The apartment was hers.

It had belonged to her parents.

After everything that happened, it became the only place in the world that still felt familiar.

She didn't have to worry about rent.

She was grateful for that every single day.

But life was never free.

Electricity bills.

Water.

Internet.

Building maintenance fees.

Groceries.

Transportation.

The savings her parents had left behind had slowly disappeared over the years.

She had tried earning money from home by taking small freelance graphic design jobs online.

Some months were enough.

Most weren't.

When Volkov Industries announced an opening for a junior graphic designer, she almost ignored it.

A company that large...

People that important...

It sounded terrifying.

But the salary could finally give her stability.

So she applied.

To her complete surprise...

They accepted.

Today was her first day.

And she had absolutely no idea what she was doing.

...

She glanced at the clock.

8:02 a.m.

Her bus would arrive in thirty minutes.

Her stomach twisted.

Too many people.

Too many strangers.

Too many conversations she didn't know how to have.

Her breathing became shallow.

No.

Not today.

Please...

Not today.

She closed her eyes and counted slowly.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

By ten, the tightness in her chest eased just enough for her to breathe normally again.

Progress.

Small.

But progress.

She picked up her backpack.

It felt heavier than it actually was.

As she walked toward the entrance, her eyes landed on another family photograph hanging near the door.

It had been taken years ago during autumn.

Her mother was laughing.

Her father had an arm around both of them.

Sixteen-year-old Iris stood between them with messy hair and an embarrassed smile because she'd hated having her picture taken.

She reached up and gently straightened the frame.

"I'll come home later," she whispered.

The words escaped before she could stop them.

Home.

This apartment had always been home.

No matter how frightening the world outside became.

No matter how many years passed.

This place waited for her.

Always.

She slipped on her sneakers.

Picked up her keys.

Then accidentally dropped them.

"...Of course."

The keys clattered loudly against the wooden floor.

She crouched to pick them up...

Only to bump her forehead against the shoe cabinet.

"Ouch..."

She rubbed the sore spot and sighed dramatically.

"Great start, Iris."

If anyone had seen her, they probably would've laughed.

Fortunately...

No one ever did.

She finally unlocked the front door.

The hallway outside stretched before her.

It wasn't very long.

Just a narrow corridor with cream walls and neatly numbered apartment doors.

Yet somehow...

It looked enormous.

She couldn't move.

Her hand tightened around the doorknob.

The sounds drifting from distant apartments—footsteps, doors opening, someone talking on the phone—felt unbearably loud.

Her heartbeat echoed inside her ears.

She stared at the hallway.

The hallway stared back.

Five seconds.

Ten.

Thirty.

A full minute passed.

"I'm okay," she whispered.

"You've done harder things."

Had she?

She wasn't sure.

But standing here forever wasn't an option.

She thought about the unpaid maintenance bill sitting neatly on the kitchen counter.

The nearly empty refrigerator.

The emails reminding her to confirm her employment.

She needed this job.

Not because she wanted a glamorous career.

Not because she dreamed of working for one of the country's biggest companies.

Simply because she wanted to keep living in the only home her parents had left behind.

Taking one deep breath...

Then another...

She stepped across the doorway.

The apartment door clicked shut behind her.

For the first time in what felt like forever...

Iris Bennett didn't look back.

She tightened her grip on her backpack straps and walked toward the elevator, every step uncertain but determined.

She was terrified.

She was overwhelmed.

She wanted to turn around at least a dozen times before reaching the end of the hallway.

But she kept walking.

Because sometimes courage wasn't the absence of fear.

Sometimes...

It was simply choosing to move despite it.

And somewhere across the city, in a glass tower that touched the morning sky, Alexander Volkov was beginning another ordinary workday..

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