The Poison in the Penthouse

"Rent me a luxury townhouse? For only twenty-five hundred a month? Ms. Song, are you kidding me?" Ethan never imagined that one day his good looks would land him such an incredible deal. But as the days went by, his health deteriorated rapidly. He felt utterly drained, as if the life was being sucked right out of him. He went to the hospital for checkups seven times in a row, yet every single test came back completely normal. An inspection of the townhouse didn't turn up anything either. Desperate and terrified, Ethan had no choice but to call the police. "The landlady doesn't come by very often, but if she sneaks in while I'm asleep or out, I wouldn't know. I'm a really heavy sleeper." Hearing this, the officers' faces darkened. But the final result of the investigation was something none of them could have anticipated. Ethan's face drained of all color on the spot. He finally understood the hard way that there was no such thing as a free lunch. Ethan dragged his rolling suitcase behind him, his mood at an absolute low. He had been scouring this city for nearly a week. He had refreshed apartment rental apps endlessly, made dozens of phone calls, and walked until his legs were numb, but he still hadn't found anything suitable. Either the rent was exorbitantly high, or the places were cramped, run-down holes he couldn't stomach. He had just quit his previous job after a nasty falling-out, and all he wanted was a fresh start in a new environment. His bank balance couldn't sustain him for long, though. Finding a decent, reasonably priced place to live had become his most urgent priority. His phone buzzed. It was a message from a leasing agent: "Mr. Shen, someone else just expressed interest in that one-bedroom apartment you saw yesterday. If you want it, you really need to lock it down today." Ethan frowned. That was the best place he had seen so far. It was in an older residential block, but the interior was clean, fully furnished, south-facing, and had plenty of sunlight. Crucially, the rent was twenty-five hundred a month, right at the ceiling of his budget. "Is there any wiggle room on the price?" he asked, clinging to a shred of hope. The agent quickly sent back a grimacing emoji. "Man, that's already rock bottom for this neighborhood. The owner is desperate to rent it out. They won't go a dime lower." Ethan took a deep breath and texted back: "Fine. I'll be there in half an hour. Let the owner know I want to take one last look before signing." Thirty minutes later, Ethan stood in front of the building again. It was an older walk-up with no elevator. The stairwell was dim, the walls plastered with flyers. By the time he climbed to the fifth floor, he was slightly out of breath. He straightened his hair and clothes, then knocked on door 501. While waiting, he was already running the math: signing this lease would wipe out nearly ten thousand right away with the deposit. He'd have to pinch pennies while job hunting. Maybe he could squeeze a small discount out of her after all? The door clicked open. Standing there was a woman in her early thirties, dressed in high-end designer clothes, looking every bit the wealthy socialite. The moment she laid eyes on Ethan, a distinct spark flared in her eyes. "Hi there. I'm the owner, Vivienne Song. You must be Mr. Shen, here to see the place." "Yes, hi, Ms. Song," Ethan replied, nodding quickly. He was used to people lingering on his face when they first met. Ever since he was a kid, being good-looking had been his defining trait. It brought perks, but just as many headaches. "Come on in. No need to take off your shoes." Vivienne stepped aside, her gaze tracing his face once more before moving away. The apartment looked the same as he remembered from yesterday. "I like it. It's clean and has good light," Ethan said honestly. "About the rent, Ms. Song... I'm planning on a long-term lease. Any chance you could do twenty-three hundred?" Vivienne didn't answer right away. She leaned against the bedroom doorframe with her arms crossed, her eyes locked on Ethan again. This time, her scrutiny was far more brazen, tracing his brow, the bridge of his nose, his lips, and down to his sharp jawline. Ethan felt a prickle of discomfort under her gaze and instinctively looked away. "What do you do for a living, Mr. Shen?" she asked out of nowhere. "Oh, I just left my last company. Currently looking for a new role," he answered honestly. "Living alone?" "Yeah. Just me."Vivienne nodded thoughtfully. After a pause, she spoke again. "What do you really think of this place? Be honest. Doesn't it feel a bit cramped? Won't you feel suffocated living here alone?" Ethan blinked, waving his hands dismissively. "Not at all. For one person, it's plenty. Just the right size, and easy to clean." He wondered if she was getting cold feet or setting him up for a price hike. "Is that so?" Vivienne smiled, as if making up her mind. "Truth be told, Mr. Shen, this place feels too small to me. I have another property sitting empty that's miles better. Would you be interested?" "What kind of place?" Ethan was caught completely off guard. "A townhouse. Quiet neighborhood, private little yard, two floors, about three times the size of this place. Fully furnished with high-end appliances. Completely move-in ready." Ethan stared at her in disbelief, then let out a self-deprecating chuckle. "Ms. Song, you're joking. There's no way I could afford a townhouse. Twenty-five hundred for this place is already pushing my limits." "I'm not joking." Her expression turned deadly serious. "If you want it, I'll rent it to you for the exact same price. Twenty-five hundred a month. First, last, and a security deposit. We can sign the lease today." "Twenty-five hundred? For a townhouse?" Ethan's voice cracked. "Why? That makes zero sense! Ms. Song, what's the catch?" Something felt terribly off. He wondered if someone had died there, or if the place was cursed. His mind raced with grim scenarios. He looked at Vivienne with open suspicion and took an involuntary step back, widening the distance between them. Vivienne saw right through his wariness. Instead of taking offense, she let out a soft laugh. "Relax. The deed is clear, the house is pristine, and no one died there. It's not what you're thinking." She paused, her eyes boldly roaming over his handsome features once more. Her tone shifted into something teasing yet oddly genuine. "As for why... let's just say you have a face I really like looking at. It puts me in a good mood. The house is sitting empty anyway. Having a tenant who's easy on the eyes makes me happier than making an extra buck on rent. Can you live with that reason?" Ethan stood there, half-believing, half-doubting. He studied her quickly. She was composed, poised, and perfectly put together. She didn't seem unhinged, nor did she look like a scam artist. His expressions shifted rapidly. Vivienne didn't rush him; she simply watched him with an amused, patient smile. In the end, his craving for a better lifestyle, his frustration with his current circumstances, and a sliver of vanity overpowered his caution. "Alright... sure. Would you mind showing me the place, Ms. Song?" Vivienne's smile deepened. "Just call me Vivienne. Let's go, my car is downstairs." Still in a daze, Ethan followed her down. At the sight of her luxury white sedan, he stowed his battered suitcase into the spacious trunk and slipped into the passenger seat. The car glided out of the old neighborhood, merged into the flow of traffic, and headed toward the wealthy western district.When the white sedan purred smoothly into the gated community, the contrast hit Ethan like a brick wall. Unlike the loud, congested, gritty neighborhood he had just left, this place was draped in quiet, luxurious serenity. A private fitness center, a boutique resident market, manicured courtyards, reflecting pools... It was an entirely different universe from the cramped rooming houses and chaotic flatshares of his past. Vivienne parked in front of an end-unit townhouse with crisp white walls and slate-gray accents. It featured an intimate private yard bordered by low wrought-iron fences, filled with neat, thriving flowerbeds. "We're here," Vivienne said, killing the engine with an effortless breeze. Ethan stepped out like a man walking in a dream. He watched her unlock the gate, then open the heavy front door with another key. The door swung inward, greeting them with a faint fragrance mingled with the cool, crisp air of an unoccupied home. The living room opened up before them with nearly thirteen-foot ceilings and expansive floor-to-ceiling windows. The decor followed a sleek, modern minimalist aesthetic, dominated by cool grays and crisp whites. A plush leather sectional, a designer glass coffee table, an ultra-thin smart TV mounted on the wall, and an open-concept kitchen fitted with gleaming, high-end stainless steel appliances... Everything looked brand new, exquisite, and wildly expensive. "Well? What do you think?" "It's... amazing. Truly incredible," Ethan stammered, his eyes darting around. "Vivienne... are you absolutely sure this is only twenty-five hundred?" He had to hear it again. Vivienne leaned against the kitchen island, watching him with an amused glint in her eyes. "We signed the paperwork and I handed you the keys. Why would I lie? Like I said, I like your vibe. An empty house just gathers dust anyway. You living here brings some life to it." She gave him a brief rundown of the layout. "Upstairs is the primary bedroom and a home office. The bedroom has a walk-in closet and an en-suite bath. Downstairs is the living area, kitchen, and a powder room. The appliances are straightforward, and the manuals are in the media console drawer. Wi-Fi is already active; I'll text you the password. Don't worry about HOA fees or utilities; I'll cover all of that." She paused, then added, "I might drop by on occasion to grab some personal items I left behind, but I'll give you a heads-up first. Otherwise, the place is entirely yours." Everything sounded reasonable, even extraordinarily generous. The lingering unease in Ethan's chest subsided considerably. Maybe she really was just an eccentric, wealthy heiress who didn't care about money. Who could understand the logic of the ultra-rich anyway? "Thank you so much, Vivienne. I swear I'll take great care of the place." "Good." She nodded, satisfied. She picked up her designer handbag. "Take your time getting settled. I've got errands to run, so I'll take off. If anything comes up, just message me." Ethan walked her to the gate. Watching the white sedan vanish down the lane, he finally let out a long, slow breath. He turned back and stared at the stunning property that, legally speaking, was his for the near future. A wave of delayed euphoria crashed over him, washing away his final shred of doubt. He walked over to the fridge and opened it. Aside from a few glass bottles of premium artisan water with elegant branding, it was empty. If he remembered correctly, each bottle of that water cost around seventy dollars. He ran his fingers over the sleek glass, then snapped a picture to keep. Bounding up to the second floor, he stood by the hallway window, pulled out his phone, snapped several pictures of the interior and the yard, and fired them off to his group chat with his closest buddies. Predictably, the chat blew up instantly. "Bro, did you hit the lottery?!" "Is that a townhouse? You rented that? How much?!" "Spill it, did you land yourself a sugar mommy? How sweet is that sugar, huh?" "Dude, are you sure this isn't some new kind of scam? Watch your back!"Reading their envious, teasing comments, Ethan chuckled aloud. "Face card never declines, boys! The landlady liked my looks, simple as that. Can't help being naturally blessed!" Over the next few days, Ethan moved all his belongings in. Just as promised, Vivienne barely disturbed him, only shooting him a text every couple of days. "Settling in alright?" "Temperature is dropping these days. Make sure to turn on the radiant heating. The control panel is on the living room wall." "If you notice the flowers in the yard drying out, could you give them some water for me?" Ethan always replied promptly and politely, thanking her every time. Everything was going swimmingly. But about a week into his stay, things began to shift. He woke up one morning feeling completely devoid of his usual refreshed energy. Instead, a bizarre, suffocating fatigue weighed him down, as if he had just run a nighttime marathon. His limbs felt like lead, protesting every single movement. His head felt hazy—not the throbbing ache of sleep deprivation, but a hollow, disorienting fog. Assuming he was just taking time to adjust to the new environment, or that the excitement of moving had caught up with him, he dragged himself out of bed. While brushing his teeth, he stared at his reflection. His face looked slightly pale, with faint shadows bruising the skin under his eyes. "Must just be poor sleep," he muttered to himself. Over the following days, the exhaustion didn't fade; it intensified. His appetite dropped off a cliff. He lost interest in his favorite foods and felt a wave of nausea whenever he caught the smell of cooking oil. Focusing became a battle. Staring at his phone or laptop screen for even a short while left his eyes stinging and his dizziness worsening. He had to cut back on his job interviews and spent most of his days resting on the couch. Yet rest brought no relief. The house was enormous and eerily quiet—so quiet that it made his skin crawl. The vast emptiness felt like a physical weight, pressing down on his chest. Another week passed. Along with the perpetual weakness and vertigo, new symptoms cropped up. Out of nowhere, whether sitting or lying down, his heart would suddenly flutter and race, leaving him breathless and gripped by a fleeting surge of panic. His complexion deteriorated visibly. The dark circles under his eyes deepened into sunken bruises. His once bright, lively gaze turned dull and lifeless. He looked completely worn down. "I need to see a doctor," he finally decided. He figured it was just burnout from job-hunting stress and an erratic schedule, or maybe the onset of a stubborn bug. He went to a nearby clinic, laying out every single symptom to the physician. The doctor listened patiently and ordered a full battery of routine tests. Ethan trudged between the clinic's labs with his paperwork. When drawing his blood, the nurse took one look at his ghostly face and asked with concern: "You look awful, sweetie. Have you been pushing yourself too hard lately?" He managed a weak, bitter smile. The results came back quickly. He carried the folder back into the exam room, watching the doctor flip through each sheet. "Well... your blood panel is largely normal. A slight touch of anemia, but nothing alarming. EKG looks fine, just a bit of sinus arrhythmia, which is very common in young adults. Chest X-ray is clear." The doctor delivered his conclusion. "No structural or organ damage. You're likely dealing with acute burnout and chronic fatigue. Stressed out? Make sure you get plenty of rest, don't stay up late, eat well, and get some light exercise. I'll prescribe some multivitamins and mild sedatives." The advice sounded authoritative and standard. Ethan breathed a sigh of relief. He really had worked himself up over nothing; he was just exhausted. Holding the small bag of supplements, he walked out of the clinic. His body still felt overwhelmingly heavy, his pulse slightly elevated just from walking across the lobby. The stone that had briefly lifted from his chest settled right back down, uneasy and cold. Was it... truly just fatigue?