Lynette Moreno leaned on the wrought iron railing of her veranda and looked down to the street six floors below. The last ribbons of daylight were slipping away over the avenue, painting Lyon in an eerie golden glow. Below, the newlyweds she'd charmed earlier were all smiles, their laughter drifting up as they fumbled with the door to a shiny sedan. The husband's recent fortune was apparent in the way he walked and even in the way he placed his confident hand on his wife’s back.
Lynette was thrilled for them. So young, yet they were going to start their life off on the grander side of things. He’d not told her how he’d suddenly come into the money, but she’d picked up enough clues to ascertain that it had something to do with his father and the stock market. Lynette knew that kind of money spoke louder than the most persuasive sales pitch. She allowed herself a small, knowing smile; they'd be signing the lease by tomorrow.
She turned from the view, her heels clicking crisply against the marble floor as she retreated inside. The apartment sprawled around her, grand and silent—a kingdom for one. Her reflection trailed alongside her in the glass walls. Three years had passed since the divorce papers had cut through the silence of this very room, severing ties with a man who loved art more than people. Now, each date she attempted in an effort to find another man seemed to echo that same emptiness, a series of disappointments dressed up as potential suitors.
In her bedroom, Lynette faced the mirror. She unzipped the back of her skirt, letting it pool at her feet, and reached for the silk dress laid out on the bed—a deep red, the color of Bordeaux. It fell over her like a promise, the fabric hugging her curves expertly. Another night, another attempt at finding someone who could stir something within her, anything other than the numbing predictability of her social calendar.
As she fastened the clasp of her necklace, a solitary diamond resting cold against her skin, the quiet of the apartment pressed in on her. The space felt too large, the silence too oppressive. It was as if the walls themselves were holding their breath, waiting for a life to fill them that was more than just high-end furnishings and the ghosts of conversations past. It was nothing new, really. She didn’t exactly miss her ex-husband, but she did tire of being alone.
Which is why she was trying the field again tonight, to see what suitors were out there and if this particular man might be able to meet her posh tastes.
She was daring to think that tonight might be different. The positive meeting with the newlyweds had her in a hopeful mood. She’d worked with multiple tenants before, but there was never anything quite as exciting as getting a newly married couple into the lavish apartment of their dreams. It was a feeling that had her thinking that tonight, the man may actually live up to the profile he’d put on the stupid dating app. Tonight, there was a spark of hope that perhaps she wouldn't return to these silent rooms alone—that maybe, just maybe, the laughter of someone new and intriguing would echo off the marble and crystal.
As she made her way back out to the hallway, wanting a glass of wine to help calm her nerves before she stepped out, her gaze swept across the lavish expanse of her apartment. The door to what had once been her husband’s office was open and from where she stood, she could see the edge of one of his cherished paintings. As one of France's most influential real estate moguls, she had a knack for acquiring properties that whispered of prestige and power. Yet it was the art—her ex-husband’s legacy—that imbued her home with an air of cultured sophistication.
The decision to sell off the collection had been purely pragmatic. With him gone, chased away by his own demons to America, the canvases and statues were mere investments to be liquidated. Each piece that left her walls felt like severing a tie to a past she wished to forget, a silent auction where her memories were the currency. She wished the idiot would just come and get them or at least pay to have her mail it all overseas to him. But as soon as he’d stepped foot in New York, his life in France had essentially dried up and rotted away, even the paintings he’d cared so deeply about.
The fabric of the dress felt amazing against her skin. She hated to feel conceited but she knew she looked good. Hell, she looked great in it. It was yet another reason she had high hopes for the way tonight would turn out. Maybe, just maybe, she would—
A creak from the far end of the hallway pricked at her senses. A slight noise, but definitely there.
She stilled, listening. Her apartment, perched six stories above the city, was impenetrable, or so she believed. She was the only one here. In fact, the newlyweds were the only people other than herself who had been in her apartment for over a month. And she’d only brought them in to achieve a personal touch that she hoped would help seal the deal.
With a cautious step, Lynette edged toward the living room, her heart drumming a quickening rhythm. She’d not yet slipped on her shoes, so she walked barefoot. The marble floor was cold underfoot as she moved, each step deliberate, her mind cycling through possibilities.
Peering out into the corridor, the dim light from the chandeliers cast elongated shapes along the walls. Silence reigned, broken only by the distant hum of the city below. Then, another sound—a subtle shift in the air, the faintest hint of movement.
She was not alone. There was someone, something there with her.
Her throat tightened, pulse hammering in her ears as she took another step. "Who's there?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, yet it sounded thunderous in the stillness.
A shape detached itself from the darkness, a shadow. Before Lynette could react, pain exploded at the side of her head. A heavy blow sent her staggering back, her vision blurring as she crumpled against the wall.
She opened her mouth to scream, but it seemed impossible to make a sound. She'd lost all her breath, and none of her limbs wanted to work.
The floor rushed up to meet her, and she hit it hard, gasping as the impact drove the air from her lungs. Dazed, she tried to lift her head, a metallic taste filling her mouth. The gleam of the chandelier swirled above her, a carousel of light dancing to the rhythm of her throbbing skull.
"Help," she managed, the word a strangled plea lost in the apartment. But there was no one to hear her, no one to come to her aid. The attacker was already fading back into the shadows, leaving her alone with the encroaching darkness and the echo of footsteps that grew fainter by the second.
Lynette's consciousness flickered, a dying candle in a vast darkness. Blood, warm and sticky pooled beneath her. She heard the faintest creak of a floorboard…likely in her ex-husband’s office, as it was the only wooden floor in the place.
The world was slipping, yet a sliver of resolve anchored her to life. Her eyes, heavy as lead, managed a final, desperate scan of her surroundings. The shadows in the room shifted and there, the silhouette of a man – no, the attacker – emerged from the office. In his hands, he clutched one of the smaller canvases, cradled like a precious child. A painting that once whispered of history and grandeur now screamed of betrayal and loss.
Is it him? she wondered. Did the bastard come back just to take a painting after three whole years? And then decide to kill me?
She knew it made no sense, but then again nothing made sense. Her brain wasn't firing properly, and good Lord above, everything hurt.
Her breath rasped through the silence, each inhalation a shard of glass in her chest. Lynette tried to reach out, to stop him, to scream, but her body refused her commands. Her vision blurred further, the edges of reality fraying as the figure approached the apartment's entrance. He paused, tilted his head, as if listening for signs of life.
As the door clicked shut, Lynette Moreno surrendered to the darkness. The last vestige of light from the hallway snuffed out with the soft thud of the closing door. The stolen artwork, which she’d not seen as he passed so she had no idea to know which had been taken, felt almost like a prank against them…one last puzzle to hover over her as the last few breaths of her life were taken in and exhaled out.