I live alone. At eleven o'clock on a rainy night, an unexpected call came through.

The voice on the other end said my car window was left open and urged me to go downstairs.

Cautious as a woman should be, I didn't act rashly. Instead, I called the property security office, only to discover that even the security was fake.

It hit me suddenly—I was ensnared in a vast conspiracy. Someone was orchestrating all of this. But for what purpose?

I live alone.

At eleven o'clock on a rainy night, my phone rang unexpectedly.

"Are you the owner of the car with license plate 9537? Your window's open, and it's pouring outside," said a woman's voice.

I thanked her repeatedly and was about to head downstairs, but work held me up.

Ten minutes later, the same number called again.

I picked up, intending to explain the delay.

But the moment the call connected, a different man's voice came through.

"Wait, tell her like this..."

Then the voice abruptly cut off.

Why was there a man?

After a brief pause, the previous woman's voice returned. "Hello? Why aren't you coming down yet? Your car's getting soaked!"

The sound of rain was still in the background, steady and relentless.

This time, her tone carried a hint of impatience.

Was she still by my car?

The ticking of the clock in my living room felt unusually loud.

It had been over ten minutes since her first call. And judging from the sound, it didn't seem like she was alone near the car.

A vague sense of unease stirred within me, like a thread being pulled taut in my mind.

I calmed myself and found the number for the property management office.

While texting them for help, I kept the woman on the line.

"Oh, I just found my keys. I'm heading down now," I said casually, then probed, "It's raining pretty hard out there, isn't it? It's not safe for a girl to be out so late."

I hit send on my message to the property management.

At that moment, the rain sound on the other end of the call briefly faded, as if someone had covered the receiver.

When the woman spoke again, her voice sounded slightly off.

"Ah, I'm waiting for someone downstairs and happened to notice your car window was open. You didn't come down for so long, so I thought I'd remind you again."

Then a man's voice chimed in.

"Oh, so you're standing here. No wonder I didn't see you earlier. You've been waiting a while, haven't you? Let's go."

I stayed quiet, listening to the distant sounds of footsteps approaching on their end of the line.

Just then, a message came from the property management, saying they were on their way to check the situation.

Relief began to settle over me.

The woman on the phone was saying her goodbyes.

"I'll leave now, but don't forget to close your window."

"Got it, thank you," I replied.

Maybe it really was just a misunderstanding.

After hanging up, I called the property management office to confirm.

But no one picked up.

I tried a private number for a manager I knew there.

He answered quickly, "I'm here now. The window really is open—it's already wet inside. Come down and take a look."

I laughed at myself for overthinking.

Maybe the woman was genuinely trying to help.

"All right, wait for me there. I'll come down now."

Just as I reached for the door, my phone rang again.

It was the property management office's landline.

"Hello? Ma'am, you called earlier—what's the issue?"

I smiled. "Oh, it's nothing. I think I left my car window open, but I already asked Wayne to check for me."

There was a brief silence on the other end before the voice asked, "Ma'am, by Wayne, do you mean Wayne Shenton?"

"Yes, him," I replied, puzzled. "He's waiting for me by the car."

"Ma'am," the voice said slowly, "Wayne resigned last week."

The rain outside was coming down harder, the sound of it relentless against the windowpanes. The glass trembled under the combined assault of the downpour and the wind's howling shriek.

I clutched my phone tightly, my hands trembling.

"Cough… so, uh, why is he helping me check on my car?" My voice faltered, growing smaller, until the last syllables snagged in my throat, trapped by an unnameable dread. I already knew the answer, but denial lingered, stubborn as a shadow at dusk.

"Don't worry, ma'am," the voice on the phone was steady, like an anchor thrown into a stormy sea. "How about I come over and accompany you to check? Would that help?"

In that moment, his calm assurance was like a lifeline, something solid to cling to in the rising flood of unease.

"Yes, please come! I'm in Building 3, Unit 304. I'll wait for you!"

I ended the call and moved to the foyer, sitting on the edge of the shoe bench.

The silence in the apartment stretched unbearably, every faint noise from beyond the door twisting my nerves tighter. My mind raced with self-reproach. Why had I chosen to buy in this new complex, with its dismal occupancy rate? If more people lived here, maybe it wouldn't feel so desolate.

The minutes dragged. The more I thought about it, the less sense it made. If Wayne was no longer working security, why had he offered to check my car? Was he just pretending to be a guard?

A chilling realization hit me like cold water. If the man and woman from earlier really meant me harm, was Wayne somehow involved with them? I stared out into the night, every shadow suddenly a potential threat.

My phone rang, shattering the silence.

It was Wayne.

My chest tightened as I stared at the screen. He didn't know I had discovered his resignation. What could he possibly want now?

After a long pause, I answered.

"Hello? You haven't come down yet?" Wayne's voice was casual, almost too normal, but the quiet in the background was unsettling. It was so silent, I could sense an undercurrent of tension, like a hidden wire humming with energy.

"I'm… I'm busy right now. Thanks for your help, but I won't be able to come out tonight." I forced my voice into a semblance of calm.

"Ah, well, if it keeps raining like this, your car's going to be flooded by morning."

There was a pause.

Longer than it should have been.

"What are you so afraid of?" he asked. And then he laughed.

Not loudly, not joyously, but softly, restrained. It was the kind of laugh that didn't belong in casual conversation, the kind that made your skin crawl because you knew something was not right.

"What do you want?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

He didn't answer right away. The laugh faded, replaced by a tone so calm it was almost more unnerving.

"How about this," he said. "I'll come upstairs, grab the keys, and handle it for you. Wouldn't that be easier?"

He wanted to come up.

He knew where I lived.

My mind raced. I could almost feel the gears turning in his head, each word he spoke perfectly calculated.

"No, it's fine," I said quickly. "I won't be driving tomorrow. My boyfriend will take me." I emphasized "boyfriend," hoping it would deter him, force him to rethink whatever plan he might have.

Wayne chuckled again, the sound hollow and strange, echoing like a void.

"I remember now," he said. "Building 3, Unit 301… 302… 304. Yes, 304. You bought that place yourself, didn't you?"

He knew. He knew everything.

And then, suddenly—

Bang, bang, bang!

Knocks pounded on my door, sharp and forceful.

Was he here?

I jumped to my feet, heart slamming against my ribs. My phone slipped from my grasp, clattering onto the floor, spinning until it landed near the door.

"Hello? What's that noise?" His voice, still on the line, crackled faintly.

Bang, bang, bang!

"Open the door!" A voice called out from the other side.

The overlapping voices echoed in my head, a cacophony that left my brain buzzing.

A wave of weakness surged through my legs, an electric numbness crawling up my spine and pooling at the base of my skull. My body felt like it might give out any moment.

I didn't have the strength to keep up with Wayne on the phone.

"I'm busy. I'll hang up now. Thank you," I managed, my voice flat, drained.

"I'll come up—"

I ended the call.

The sounds vanished abruptly, leaving a vacuum behind, filled only by the ticking of a clock mingling with the relentless pounding of my heartbeat.

Bang, bang, bang.

"Property management here, ma'am. Could you open the door?"

Another wave of panic hit me, sharp and consuming. I held my breath, rooted to the floor, unwilling to make a sound.

After a moment, I regained some composure and, moving cautiously, pressed my face against the peephole.

Outside, someone stood too close for me to make out their face—just a smudge of gray and yellow.

"Are you from property management?" I asked, my voice steadying despite the storm within.

"Yes, ma'am," came the reply. "We're here to accompany you to check the car windows."

The figure took a step back, revealing the full uniform.

Relief washed over me, loosening the tight coil of fear in my chest. Whatever Wayne or that man and woman were planning, I couldn't imagine them trying anything with two other men by my side.

Grabbing my umbrella, I prepared to open the door. But just as my hand reached the lock, an odd feeling seized me.

Acting on instinct, I glanced through the peephole once more.

And that's when I noticed it.

The rain outside was a torrential downpour, yet their clothes were bone dry. Not a single drop marred the fabric—it looked as though they had just changed into them indoors.

My hand froze on the lock. Slowly, I leaned against the doorframe, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves.

"Oh, just a moment," I called out, forcing a casual tone. "I need to change first."

I stepped away from the door and headed to the bathroom. Once inside, I quickly dialed the property management office.

This time, they picked up almost immediately. The background noise was chaotic, the kind of din that only a busy office could produce.

"Hello, haven't you sent someone yet?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral.

"Hello? Oh, it's you," the man on the line said, sounding distracted. "Sorry, we've had an emergency here. It might take a while longer for us to get to you."

They hadn't sent anyone.

So who was outside my door?

My heart tightened, a vise squeezing harder and harder until the pressure became unbearable. It pounded against my ribs, wild and unrestrained, as if it wanted to escape.

Bang, bang, bang.

The knocking came again, sharper this time, with a hint of irritation bleeding through.

"Ma'am, how much longer are you going to take? Could you hurry up?"

The voice—it sounded like Wayne.