To Deny Or To Confess? (Editing)

Chapter 1

It was a surprisingly sunny day for a place like London, where, I'd heard it was always humid or cloudy. Cold and wet. Not my favourite weather, at all, but I couldn't be bothered by it when I had such an amazing job to look forward to.

I text Jake that I'm on my way to the apartment and ask him to resend the address, just so I can confirm it's right. I'm exhausted and I can't wait to crash on the bed of my new apartment. Everything else can wait.

I look out the window, to distract myself, looking at the modern jungle of skyscrapers so high, they maKe me feel insignificant and small. And the fact that I am already too short as a person, doesn't help at all.

The cab comes to a stop right outside a building. The building is tall and looks as if it's been freshly painted in white. I step out of the cab and pay the driver, who then helps me unload my two suitcases from the back of the car. Taking a suitcase in each hand, my large Louis Vuitton bag already weighing me down on my left shoulder, I make my way towards the main gate. The words Gardenia are engraved on a piller right beside the gate. I struggle to open the gate with my hands full until the guard finally decides it would be nice to help me and does it for me. I drag my luggage to the main door and make my way in to the lobby.

The lobby is a small blue room, the only furniture in it being a fancy red couch and the front desk where a girl is furiously typing away at her computer. I walk up to her, my knuckles now aching, and ask for my apartment number.

"Name?" She asks in a rude tone, clearly annoyed at being disturbed.

"Sharon Wells. Someone from the Modest Management must have-"

"315 B-block. Do you know how to read a map?" She spits at me, throwing the keys along with something that looks like a brochure.

I nod, taking it. I don't bother to ask for someone to help with my luggage. I decide I don't want anything to do with the rude girl from the front desk anymore. I let the bags stand by themselves for a moment as I try to locate my apartment in the map. Once I know where I'm going, I resume my journey.

The B block is amazing. It has European style windows facing out into the city. Elegant and cream-coloured, the building was much like the ones I have only seen in movies before.

A man in his 30s, I assume, guides me over to the elevator and I thank him as

I step onto the elevator, adjusting my handbag and luggage. The man asks for my apartment number and when I give it to him, presses the 14th button.

I feel a bit excited to see my new home. And just as nervous about my new job. What if they realize they don't want me? What if they think I'm not good enough? What if I screw up?

"You have always underestimated yourself Sharon. It's high time you changed your ways of thinking."

I remember my mom saying these words from when I was little. I'd graduated from a good university in Australia and I still couldn't help thinking lowly of myself. But it had become a habit. I couldn't help feeling insecure. Especially in a city this big. Especially when all I had here was my new job.

I snap out of my thoughts upon hearing the ding of arrival. I step out in the hallway and drag my luggage down the hallway, my eyes dancing from one apartment to another, looking for the nameplate with 315 on it.

I notice that there are 5 apartments on one floor. How they could manage to make it spacious and a place of luxury truly amazed me. Three apartments down, I finally find mine. Setting down my luggage for a moment, I fumble with the keys and unlock the wooden door.

My jaw nearly drops to the floor as I take in the inside of my apartment. To say it was huge, would be an understatement. Six people could easily have shared this with me without even having to have the daily who-gets-to-use-the-bathroom-first fights we had back at college. .