TRAVEL ROMANCE SERIES: #6 NEW YORK | DARLING

PROLOGUE

MANHATTAN
In November, Six Years Ago

The man standing inside his penthouse apartment was tall and cultivated, wearing a suit that could match the price of a luxury car, or a quarter of a year's rent on the upper east side of Manhattan. If not for his opulent stature, it seemed like a breeze to wrap him around her finger, for he was no bigger than her thumbnail. The world was her dollhouse.

And tonight, she was free to dream.

Every night for four months, she would climb up the rooftop to watch the New York skyline from her uncle's apartment building. And for some time now, she would often watch this lonely figure of a man, alone in his lustrous office, while the rest of New York City went about its chill, nightly grind. It was him and her and the subdued city setting, awakened senses, perhaps exhausted in spirit, while most residents had retired.

At times, the office was lit and empty. He was probably traveling the world in his private jet. So every night he was there, it gave her a thrilling sensation. She wondered what occupied his mind at this hour, if his pacing back and forth meant a deal was in the works. Or, god forbid, his company had gone bankrupt and a divorce settlement was pending. Obscurity and pessimism seemed to have touched base in her life, so it wasn't a surprise thoughts like these crossed her mind.

Suddenly, a thirty-something-year-old presence appeared next to her by the building's edge, startling her out of her secret after-dark diversion.

"Allie, you almost gave me a heart attack," she heaved a sigh of relief.

"Ya gotta light?" Allie asked as she patted her back pockets, a cigarette stuck in between her lips.

"No," she shook her head, smiling.

"Oh, got it," her friend muttered to herself and lit the stick while finding a spot to sit, a few feet of space in between them.

This wasn't the first time Allie asked this question. In fact, this was the same question she'd asked her when they first met on this very same spot when she just arrived in the city last July. An introverted comic book artist, Allie Tabot, lived with her three cats in an apartment she inherited from her late mother. Her Uncle Rick, his partner Hewitt and their bull terrier, Duster, were Allie's next-door neighbors. Rick was an interior designer, while Hewitt owned a shop that made bespoke suits for New York's richest.

"When are Rick and Hewitt coming back? Not that I want you to leave already. Hey, when are you leaving?" Allie mumbled after exhaling a bout of smoke from her lungs.

She was only meant to spend the entire summer at her uncle's place while the couple traveled around Southeast Asia for six months. But after a complete burnout in college, she extended her stay to ponder on what to do with her life.

"I'm leaving tomorrow night," she said, ignoring the countless times she'd told Allie this.

But of course, she never dared to call her out. Hewitt had mentioned Allie's short-term memory loss before they left. He'd said Allie's forgetfulness may be deliberate and selective. But it had gotten worse after her mother's death two years ago.

"Then who's going to take care of Duster?" Allie asked, a concerned look on her face.

"You," she shrugged, acting like she was giving her new information.

"Shit, you're right," she paused, then shook her head after realizing how she'd missed such an important responsibility.

"No, seriously. You're leaving?" Allie asked again while flicking her cigarette.