Damn Oliver. He wasn't even that handsome. But the bastard had been cheating on me for over a year.
I turned back for the third time while my feet kept moving. My instinct told me something was following me-or someone.
This was all because Mr. Newman had forced several staff members to work overtime for the past three days. And today was the worst of it; we were only able to leave at eleven-thirty at night. Me, Oliver, and a few other staff members.
Unfortunately, no buses were operating this late, and waiting for a taxi would take even longer. So, stupidly, I decided to walk.
"This is a really bad idea, Ella," I muttered to myself. I should have been patient and just waited for a taxi.
I had passed this way a few times before because it was the fastest walking route to my apartment. The street was lined with shops selling food and goods from Mexico, which I remembered always being crowded during the day. Sadly, the daytime atmosphere was a stark contrast to tonight.
Every shop had ceased operations and was closed tight. I could only see light from a few storefront windows and street lamps. The rest was pitch black.
The sound of my heels-which weren't very high-sounded faint as they tapped against the pavement. For some reason, the fine hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I entered this cursed street.
I forced my eyes to look straight ahead; only a hundred meters left until I emerged from this terrifying road. I promised myself I would never pass through here again at night.
Suddenly, a piercing scream shattered the silence around me, causing my steps to halt in place. The sound was agonizing, as if the owner of the voice was in true pain.
It was a sharp contrast to the silence I had heard before.
Every hair on my body stood on end as the instinct in my head screamed for me to run. But a part of my conscience told me to turn back and help.
This is one of humanity's weaknesses: trusting conscience over the brain. If this were a horror movie, I'd definitely be the first to die a gruesome death.
My heart pounded hard in my chest as I turned back. No matter how loud the instinct screamed in my head, I stepped toward the source of the sound.
The place where the voice came from was an alley. It fell silent again.
I narrowed my eyes toward the dark alley, hoping to see more clearly. This alley wasn't very big-exactly like the alleys in horror movies where Jack the Ripper emerges from the shadows with a bloody knife after butchering his victim.
With my hands still trembling slightly, my fingers pressed 911, and then from the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow moving in the darkness.
"Hello?" suddenly a man's voice echoed in the alley, nearly making me drop my phone in shock.
I looked up to see the silhouette of a man walking toward me. This time I followed my instinct; my feet stepped back a few meters.
The man wore a white shirt with a black leather jacket and jeans. He clearly didn't look like Jack the Ripper.
"Are you okay?" the man asked with a small smile. The smile on his face looked a bit strange, so I stepped back again.
"What was that sound?" I asked with a slightly panicked voice. My heart was racing so fast I could almost hear it in my ears.
The man stopped a few meters in front of me, right under a street lamp. The light illuminated his face clearly.
His slightly long black hair touched the collar of his shirt. His strange black eyes stared at me. He fell into the category of handsome.
Or very handsome, if we had met in a normal situation.
But there was something strange-something wrong about him. The man smiled again when he saw my expression.
"What sound did you hear?" He tilted his head slightly to the right; his deep voice sounded almost pleasant.
My mouth opened to answer, then I closed it again. If he was a killer, then telling him wasn't a good idea. I gripped my phone tightly.
"Ummm, I think I misheard," I murmured, preparing to turn around.
"Wait a moment, Miss." The voice sounded commanding as it called out to me, making me freeze in place again.
"Is someone following you?" he asked in a worried tone while glancing behind me.
Reflexively, I turned my head back to look, but there was nothing there.
"Ah, I guess I miscalculated." Suddenly the voice sounded very close, making my heart leap in my chest. When I turned back, he was already right in front of me.
"Tsk. Sweet lady, I'm a bit sorry I have to hurt you." He said it with a lazy voice before smirking slightly; a pair of fangs appeared from behind his lips.
His hand moved just as my mouth opened to scream. And in just one second, his warm, wet lips touched my neck.
A pair of sharp fangs tore into the skin of my neck painfully. My mouth was open to scream, but no sound came out.
The last thing I remember was the bright light from the street lamp and the sound of a terrifyingly loud gulp.
(6 months later)
"I've already asked Oliver to book a plane ticket for you, Eleanor." Mr. Newman's voice sounded final. I could only look at my manager with a look of despair.
He returned his gaze to his desk, a silent signal to dismiss me from his office politely.
I stood up from my chair quietly. Regardless, I wasn't going to be childish and beg Mr. Newman again. Once was enough.
Without looking at him again, I walked out of his room and headed toward Oliver's desk.
Oliver Sheldon Wright was my ex-boyfriend and the assistant manager at the accounting firm where I worked. I remembered the first time I met him, when I was still an intern and Oliver was a junior accountant.
I once thought I truly loved this man, before his mistress came to my apartment and slapped me.
That bastard. What a jerk!
I clenched both my fists tightly and stopped in front of the assistant manager's desk. Oliver was focused on his computer screen; a few strands of his light brown hair fell onto his furrowed brow. Then, slowly, he looked up at me and gave a small smile.
"Is there something I can help you with, Els?"
Els. He always called me by that annoying name when we were dating.
"Mr. Newman said you're the one handling my plane tickets." I tried to force my voice to sound as neutral as possible.
We had ended our relationship more than 6 months ago. Although I still wanted to punch his face every time I saw him, I had to remain professional at the office.
He took an envelope from his desk drawer and handed it to me, still smiling. "Sorry, Els. Actually, Mr. Newman asked me to go, but I can't, so you're forced to replace me. Well, have fun-I heard there's a big festival in Manhattan."
I grabbed the envelope from his hand and didn't even bother to look at his face before turning back toward my desk with a muttered "thanks."
I wasn't going to be childish anymore. Oliver's words, after I told him about the woman who came to my apartment and slapped me, echoed back in my head:
'You're being too dramatic, Els. Don't be childish.'
I opened the envelope in my hand angrily. Inside were two tickets and a hotel reservation. My eyes stared at the departure date and the destination: Manhattan.
I hate Manhattan.
I put the tickets back into the envelope and took a deep breath. As an auditor, I actually didn't mind business trips like this.
It was just that usually Mr. Newman sent a team. If he only sent one auditor like this, the job was guaranteed to be annoying. Work like this usually took at least 2 weeks, depending on the size of the company being audited.
I exhaled again. I hate going alone. To be precise, since 6 months ago, I've hated being alone. My thoughts went back to that night-the quiet street and the scream of pain that suddenly shattered the silence.
The fine hairs on my neck stood up again. Although I didn't clearly remember the man's face, I still remembered his voice. And I remembered those strange black eyes.
My stomach felt nauseous thinking about it again. I couldn't remember what happened after the man approached me, but strangely I woke up the next morning in my apartment as usual.
The only sign that convinced me it wasn't a dream were two red dots and a bruise on my neck; even now, that mark hasn't completely disappeared.
"Eleanor? Want to grab lunch?"
I looked up at Christine, who was standing in front of my desk with her wallet tucked under her arm, her hand busy typing something on her phone. One corner of her mouth was chewing on the tip of her blonde hair.
"Oh, okay," I replied before taking my wallet and walking beside her. Christine put her phone back in her pocket.
"Mr. Newman assigned you alone?" Christine asked suddenly. I groaned at the question.
"Ouch. I thought he would give that task to Oliver," she continued. We stopped in front of the elevator.
"He was supposed to, but Oliver dumped it on me," I replied, folding my arms across my chest. "I don't even know who the client is yet."
"You don't know? Shaw & Partner. I heard Mr. Newman and Paul talking about it. They specifically refused a team and requested just one auditor. I think Shaw & Partner wants to do a confidential audit," Christine replied, shrugging her shoulders.
I groaned again. "Is the company big?" I asked as I stepped into the empty elevator.
Christine turned to me with a furrowed brow. "You don't know Shaw & Partner?" Well, I was only familiar with the names of banks and financial firms, so I shook my head at her.
She rolled her eyes. "You need to watch the news more often. Are you sure you've never heard the name Nicholas Shaw? Gregory Shaw?"
I shook my head again.
"Of course, I forgot your taste is on Oliver's level," Christine grumbled. "He and his brother are lawyers. They founded Shaw & Partner. In recent years their company has skyrocketed; now Nicholas and Gregory Shaw are lawyers for several giant companies in America. They are billionaires, Els."
"Maybe. But the two of them are very..." Christine paused for a moment, as if searching for the right word, "Very yummy."
My brow furrowed slightly at her description. "Yummy" sounded disgusting to me.
"But you should stay away from Nicholas Shaw. Some tabloids say he's gay; he's never been seen with a woman. Very different from his brother, Gregory," she continued.
I rolled my eyes as I heard it. I never cared about someone's sexual orientation; besides, most likely I wouldn't even meet them.
An auditor only deals with the finance manager and their ilk. Not the boss. And I really didn't care if this client was incredibly handsome; work is work.
One thing I knew for sure: the job waiting for me in Manhattan was going to be very annoying.
NEXT CHAPTER
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