They stood on the sidewalk, craning their necks, staring up at the gleaming façade of the high-rise. Its modern architecture, a blend of polished, reflective glass and intricate, gray-brown brickwork, seemed to touch the low-hanging clouds, a stark, almost blinding contrast to the decaying, smoke-stained buildings of their old neighborhood. The sheer verticality of the structure was staggering, a monument to money and power. The street itself was immaculate, the asphalt newly paved and unsullied by litter. The delicate trees that lined the curb were perfectly pruned, their small, dark leaves rustling gently in the cool evening air, which felt cleaner, lighter, and strangely scentless.
"Wow," Lily breathed, her voice a hushed whisper that sounded tiny against the urban backdrop. Her eyes were wide with unadulterated awe, reflecting the shimmering glass. "What are we doing here, Winsten? What is this place?"
Winsten himself was taken aback, the reality of it still incredibly difficult to absorb. The internal part of his brain, the one wired for survival and suspicion, kept trying to reject the image before him, searching for hidden flaws, the inevitable trick that would expose them as trespassers. But it was undeniably real. "Let's go," he said, his voice a little hoarse, pulling his gaze away from the skyscraper's summit. He gripped Lily's hand, needing the physical connection to anchor himself.
As they approached the building's entrance, a uniformed security guard stood by the revolving door, impeccably dressed in a dark, tailored suit, his posture ramrod straight. Winsten tensed, every muscle preparing for the familiar challenge, the immediate question about their purpose that people like him always received in places like this. But the guard merely offered a polite, almost imperceptible nod as they walked past, his gaze moving right through them without pause. Their presence was either expected or deemed utterly insignificant.
Inside, the lobby was a revelation. It was vast and airy, filled with the hushed murmur of affluent living, a low-volume hum of luxury. Another security guard stood near a bank of gleaming, stainless-steel elevators, his presence more of an accent piece than a deterrent. The floors were polished marble, reflecting the soft, warm glow of elegant chandeliers suspended far above. Plush, oversized sofas, upholstered in a pale, buttery leather, were arranged in tasteful seating areas, surrounded by lush, vibrant plants that looked too perfect to be real. The air smelled faintly of expensive wood polish, fresh-cut flowers, and something clean and subtle, a blend of affluence Winsten couldn't name. Lily spun slowly, her small jaw slack, her head tilting back to take in the sheer scale of the space, a landscape utterly foreign to her.
Winsten, despite the AI's promises and the legal papers secure on his phone, felt a familiar, crushing wave of nervousness. His worn clothes—the heavy, faded jeans, the thin t-shirt—and the faint smell of gasoline and city grime that clung to him, suddenly felt acutely out of place, screaming his true identity. He squared his shoulders, trying to project a confidence he didn't possess, and walked toward the polished counter where a receptionist sat, framed by a wall of frosted glass.
She looked up as he approached. Her gaze briefly, professionally swept over his appearance, but her expression remained perfectly professional, her smile fixed and welcoming. "Hello, how can I help you?" she asked, her voice calm, modulated, and entirely without judgment.
"Uh, yes," Winsten stammered, feeling awkward and clumsy. "I recently got an apartment here. Winsten Stone."
"Can we see your ID, please? And your phone number?" she requested, her fingers poised gracefully over a high-end keyboard.
Winsten fumbled in his wallet, handing over his driver's license and reciting his number. The receptionist typed, her eyes flicking between the screen and his documents. To Winsten, the three minutes she spent verifying his information stretched into an eternity of silent dread. Each second amplified his anxiety. He waited, sweat pricking his collar, entirely convinced she was about to look up and tell him there was a mistake, that he had the wrong building, that he should leave immediately.
Finally, she looked up, a pleasant, genuine smile gracing her lips. "Ah, Mr. Stone. Welcome to The HighRise Building." She pushed two sleek, magnetic key cards across the counter, keys that felt impossibly light and smooth. "Our staff member will show you to your residence, 7A. We hope you find your new home comfortable."
As if on cue, a friendly staff member in a neat uniform—a woman with short, practical hair—appeared from behind a hidden door, smiling warmly. "Mr. Stone? Ms. Lily? Right this way, please." She guided them toward the elevators, the doors sliding open silently to reveal a luxurious, wood-paneled interior that smelled faintly of expensive cedar.
They rode up to the 7th floor, the ascent smooth and quiet, entirely devoid of the rattling and lurching Winsten expected. When the doors chimed open, the staff member gestured down the softly lit hallway. "Before you enter your residence, I'd like to remind you of some of our amenities. We have a fully equipped, modern gym; a fantastic restaurant on the ground floor; and both outside and inside seating areas for you to relax or dine. Your residence has laundry facilities, but you can also call us for comprehensive laundry and dry-cleaning service. We have a kitchen downstairs that will deliver directly to your room, which you will be charged for, of course. And if you need anything else at all—from dog walking to securing theater tickets—please don't hesitate to let us know. We aim to make your stay as comfortable and seamless as possible."
Winsten and Lily stood there, utterly shocked. The sheer level of service, the effortless amenities, the promise of a life devoid of chores and small anxieties. "I can see why it's $6,000 a month," Winsten mumbled, the words escaping before he could stop them, his habitual arithmetic of scarcity asserting itself.
The staff member smiled, a tiny correction in her voice. "Sir, this particular apartment is $7,000 a month."
Winsten's eyes widened. Seven thousand? He was instantly confused, the anxiety returning with a physical jolt. He had only been told six.
He heard the AI's voice, calm, flat, and unhurried, cutting through the rising panic in his mind: I changed it last minute. A superior apartment opened up in the same building for $7,000, so I upgraded it. The building owners were actually happy because they didn't have to search too long, so they let us upgrade you. I didn't notify you because you would've panicked at the thought of $7,000 a month. That price is negligible.
Winsten shook his head, a bewildered sigh escaping him. This AI was truly acting like $7,000 wasn't the total sum of his savings multiplied by three, but a meaningless fraction. Its perspective was terrifyingly alien.
With a final, conscious, deep breath, Winsten used the key card to open their apartment door. The moment it swung inward, they stepped into another realm. The apartment was nothing like their old, cramped, dimly lit space. Everything was so fancy, organized, and meticulously clean, bathed in the soft, warm glow of recessed lighting. The living room was spacious, featuring a plush, modern, slate-gray sofa and a large, flat-screen TV set up on a minimalist stand that seemed to hover on the wall. The kitchen boasted glistening white marble countertops and a sleek, stainless steel fridge that looked like something out of a magazine, totally untouched. There were no broken cabinets, no peeling paint. The floors were beautiful polished hardwood with a subtle blue design woven into the grain, adding to the elegant aesthetic. The bathroom was huge, sparkling clean, and undeniably sophisticated, with gleaming chrome fixtures and a large, walk-in shower encased in frameless glass.
They moved into the two bedrooms, both remarkably spacious, one clearly intended for Lily. To Winsten's astonishment, it seemed the AI had already taken care of everything. The beds were made with soft, pristine linen; the rooms were perfectly set up, as if new furniture had just been delivered and arranged by a professional designer. Each bedroom had a generous closet, and in one of them, tucked neatly behind a sliding door, was a modern washer and dryer—the height of luxury in a New York apartment. Beautiful window curtains framed views of the city below, adding another layer of serenity. The entire apartment felt impossibly clean, organized, and serenely quiet.
Lily walked through the rooms, her initial amazement giving way to a bewildered stillness. She stopped in the center of the living room, her small backpack falling to the floor with a soft thud. "Ah, why are we here?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, still refusing to believe everything she'd heard the receptionist and staff member say. It was too much to accept. It was too good to be true.
Winsten knelt, taking her hands, his voice thick with emotion that had been building for days. "Lily," he said, his gaze locked on hers, forcing the impossible truth into her reality. "This is it. This is really where we will be living. Our new home."
Lily's face remained still for a moment, her features struggling to process the information. Then her eyes welled up. Tears began to stream down her cheeks. "Brother," she pleaded, her voice cracking, "Please don't try to prank me. I don't want to get my hopes up." She covered her face with her hands, the sobs starting to shake her small frame.
"Lily, look." Winsten took her hands again, gently pulling them away from her face, and showed her the heavy, gleaming magnetic keys and the official, tangible legal papers confirming his residency on his phone. "It's real, Lils. It's really ours."
At that, Lily broke down completely, burying her face in his chest, her thin shoulders shaking with silent, relieved sobs. Winsten wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, feeling the frailness of her body against his. And then, he felt his own eyes burn. Tears began to pour from him too, hot and unstoppable. They were tears that carried the brutal weight of how hard life had been, the crushing difficulties they had endured, the endless, grinding struggle for her safety. They were tears for Lily, who was so keenly aware of his burdens, and for his own silent sacrifices. Tears flowed and flowed, a torrent of cathartic release, until their hearts, battered and bruised but suddenly hopeful, finally accepted that things, truly, were going to be better. The weight was lifted, at least for this golden moment.