Chapter 1 The City Beckons

The bus hissed as it came to a stop on the bustling New York City street, releasing a stream of tired passengers onto the sidewalk. Among them stood Isabella Hart, a small suitcase in one hand and a weathered leather satchel slung over her shoulder. She pulled her cardigan tighter against the chilly breeze, the sounds of honking cars and hurried footsteps reminding her that she was far from the quiet streets of her hometown. She took a deep breath. This was it. A new chapter. A new city. A new Isabella—hopefully one less haunted by memories she couldn’t quite silence. The apartment her sister helped her find was modest, tucked above a corner café in the Upper West Side. It smelled faintly of cinnamon and old books—both things she adored. She didn’t need much: just quiet, a bit of sunlight, and room to breathe. After dropping off her things, she unpacked the envelope containing her job offer. A position at the Blackwood Literary Foundation. Private, exclusive, and according to online whispers, owned by a shadowy billionaire who rarely, if ever, appeared in public. The mystery of it all should’ve made her nervous, but Isabella had been more anxious about crossing the street outside her apartment. Books were her sanctuary. If she could hide among them, she could manage anything. The next morning, she dressed simply: a pale blue blouse, long skirt, and her favorite flats. She braided her dark hair back and packed a small lunch, just in case. Her hands trembled slightly as she rode the subway, knuckles white around the pole. Crowds always overwhelmed her, but she kept repeating her sister Claire’s words in her head: “Be brave, Bella. The world isn’t nearly as scary as it seems. Sometimes it’s just loud.” The building was tucked between two high-rises, a structure of grey stone and ivy-covered walls. It looked more like an old estate than a modern workplace. A man in a tailored suit greeted her at the door, his white hair and kind eyes softening the intimidating atmosphere. “You must be Miss Hart,” he said, offering a polite smile. “I’m Mr. Elias. I oversee daily operations here. Please, come in.” She nodded silently and followed. The library was breathtaking. Two floors of dark wood shelving, golden sconces casting a warm glow over endless rows of leather-bound volumes. A glass ceiling flooded the room with light, and the scent of aged paper made her heart flutter. “This is your space,” Mr. Elias said gently. “Cataloging, organization, and assisting with private requests. We rarely get visitors, but you may be asked to retrieve certain texts from time to time.” She nodded again. “Thank you,” she managed softly. He offered no comment on her shyness, something she appreciated more than he could know. Instead, he simply showed her to a small desk in the corner near a stained-glass window and left her in peace. Hours passed like minutes. Isabella lost herself in the quiet rhythm of sorting, scanning, and shelving. She found ancient poetry collections and rare journals, each one a treasure. Her mind stopped racing. Her hands stopped shaking. By mid-afternoon, she stood on a ladder, sliding a particularly heavy volume into place, when something strange happened. A sound. Soft. Mechanical. She glanced across the library and spotted a narrow elevator door closing in the far corner—one she hadn’t noticed before. For the briefest moment, she caught a figure inside: tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black. Then he was gone. Her heartbeat quickened. She hadn’t heard footsteps. She hadn’t seen anyone enter. Curiosity bloomed, but she shook it off. Probably someone from upper management. Or perhaps the elusive owner himself? No. That was ridiculous. She returned to her work, but her eyes kept drifting toward the elevator. She didn’t see him again that day. Or the next. But the feeling of being watched lingered.