Love Story9–Chapter 1
A complaint from my neighbor lit up my phone at midnight:
“Miss Property Manager, the couple in 301 won’t stop their… activities every night. My kid has college entrance exams next month and can’t focus on studying. Can you do something
about it?”
I quickly replied: “On it! I’ll handle this right away!”
A week ago, I finally found my biological father after growing up in foster care.
Turns out he’s a real estate mogul.
The apartment building where my husband and I were renting? It’s one of his properties. He gave me the entire building as a gift.
I quit my job to manage the property full–time.
I created a tenant group chat under an alias as the property manager to handle any issues.
The woman in 302 must have reached her breaking point to message me this late.
Living in 401 myself, I realized 301 was directly below my unit.
I remembered the tenant in 301 from our brief encounters in the elevator.
She was in her early twenties, dressed provocatively, with curves that would make a snake
jealous.
And yes, her… enthusiasm was quite noticeable. Every night, the sounds from below would drift up through my floor.
I found her contact info in the tenant database and sent a friend request.
Once accepted, I sent a polite message:
“Hi! We’ve received noise complaints about nighttime activities from your unit affecting others. Would you mind keeping it down a bit?
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10:12
Too Late to Say Sorry
BR 11
Love Story’s Chapter 1
She quickly sent back a voice message.
I nearly dropped my phone when I played it the audio was definitely NSFW!
She immediately deleted it.
Then sent another sweet–voiced message: “Listen, my place is perfectly quiet!”
I pressed my phone against the floor and recorded their nocturnal symphony, then sent it
back.
“This was recorded from upstairs. It’s definitely coming from your unit.”
The bed–banging sounds instantly stopped.
I lay on the floor listening until I confirmed they’d gone quiet, then messaged 302 that the issue was resolved.
Not thirty seconds later, the woman downstairs started up again, even louder than before,
as if deliberately trying to provoke me.
I could feel the vibrations through my floorboards.
My phone buzzed with another message. Her breathy voice matched the rhythmic thumping from below:
–
“Sorry hun, can’t help it my boyfriend’s just too… energetic. Why don’t you talk to him
about it?”
When I saw the contact card she shared, my smile vanished.
I knew that profile all too well.
In my contacts, he was saved as: “Hubby”
