Eggs should always be on one's shopping list.

Eggs have the uncanny ability to make liquid mixtures more solid, and solid mixtures more liquid. It helps bind things that scientifically should not combine at all. Without eggs, mayonnaise would be a sad sloppy mess of vinegar and oil. Without eggs, cake would feel like an eraser bouncing between teeth rather than the soft crumbly masterpiece that it usually is.

Most importantly, she wouldn't be able to make cupcakes without eggs. Arabella had always made cupcakes when she was feeling feelings. And there were so many feelings going through her right now, as she struggled to understand what was going on for her. Her mind cramped with mixed emotions, but she knew that her cupcakes would clue her in and capture exactly how she felt.

Chocolate cupcakes? She was probably feeling a bit in love.

Lemon cupcakes? Definitely embarrassed.

Vanilla rainbow cupcakes? Obviously bored.

What flavor would be the perfect fit for a recently moved-in ball of nerves? What cupcake screamed: I'm overjoyed to have moved into Manhattan and been given a chance at a fresh start, but I'm terrified beyond words?

What could be—

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sudden jostling of the yellow vehicle that carried her from the grocer to her new home. The driver had run over an empty basket on the road and it now lay in shreds on the cold asphalt ground.

"Sorry 'bout that. Which did you say it was? 42nd or 32nd street?" the driver asked in a rough bullish accent, as he made a sharp turn from the main street.

"It's—"

She was cut off by the sudden movement, her whole body swaying to one side as she braced herself for another turn. "14th street, sir."

They made eye contact in the rear-view mirror, his steely dark eyes meeting her glossy hazel orbs. The driver's confusion was apparent in his scrunched-up expression. His bushy eyebrows met in the middle, forming a straight line as his nose wrinkled in annoyance.

Arabella looked down, embarrassed at what had transpired.

His irritation with her and perplexed expression was quite understandable, as she had realized that she had given him the wrong address.

The apartment on 22nd street was the first apartment she had viewed, but in her daze, she had completely forgotten that she had chosen the one on 14th street instead.

Arabella Washington had just moved from an obscure Northern countryside town to the busy streets of the Lower East Side in Manhattan this morning. Glancing down at her phone and lifting the screen to face her, the light revealed the time to be four in the afternoon. So much time had been wasted by small wrong decisions made here and there.

She should've just asked around or walked around a block to look for a store. Maybe there was a store nearby that would not have required her to take this 15-minute cab ride home.

She finished unpacking a little after noon and had intended to buy eggs at the nearest grocery, but the cab she hailed had other plans. Twenty minutes later, she was transported to a large supermarket blocks or possibly towns away from her apartment.

With butter and eggs in tow, Arabella was now back in a cab waiting for the meter to stop turning and finally be home so that she could start on those cupcakes.

If only she had set up her new sim card with internet data access as her mom had suggested before she moved, she wouldn't have been in this predicament. Like everything else in her life, she had put off some important errands in favor of doing the easier ones, until finally, it was time to move, and her phone was now without a sim card.

At last, the cab stopped with its meter flashing in big angry red lights. Twenty-four dollars for a short cab ride from the grocery.

"Here we are," the driver muttered under his breath as he quietly waited for the payment. A lady on the corner was already waving at him and had started walking towards the vehicle.

Arabella quickly shuffled the bills and wordlessly counted out the correct payment. Handing it over to the driver, she held the door out as the lady stepped in. "Thanks," the woman called out appreciatively and slammed the door in her wake.

As the cab rolled away, Arabella had a chance to view her residence building in its full glory.

With its 10 floors and empty rooftop, Windsor Hall had a beautiful aesthetic. The grand walls were reminiscent of historical paintings, and the broken bricks and ashen windows gave it a unique personality.

Arabella had surprisingly been able to secure 10B almost immediately. The landlady mentioned that they hadn't had a tenant in over 5 years. She couldn't imagine why this was the case when the apartment was not in terrible shape. It was a cozy loft, which had all the essentials of a house for someone living alone. A small bedroom of about 20 steps around the bed hung over the living room and had a full view of the front door. Its attractive kitchen had tasteful striped wallpaper of muted beige and gray. An ancient small chandelier dangled over the living room, and the couches were thick and comfortable.

Its floors were made of hardwood and protected by a thick, albeit balding, Russian carpet. Every inch of the floor was covered except for the marble tiles of the kitchen and the stone parquet of the bathrooms.

It was already semi-furnished—bed, shower, tables, and chairs were included. All of them were new and had never been used as they were installed by the landlady in the hope of securing a tenant in the last 5 years.

How lucky had she been to have found this gem in the middle of a roaring real estate jungle?

It was cheaper than most available modern flats but was roomier than she had expected. With the same rent, she would only have been able to purchase a small cubby-hole in the Upper East Side.

10B was definitely perfect for her.

All it needed was fresh new paint, waxed floors, a little vacuuming, and possibly new plumbing. This was going to be her home and her ticket to a fresh beginning.

Initially, she had her sights set on the apartment on 22nd street that had a small bakery beside it. But one viewing of this 14th street apartment through video call changed her mind. Before she knew it, she was already making the initial deposit for this pretty little enclosure.

And now, she was already falling in love with it.

The elevator hummed loudly as she pressed the button for the 10th floor. The doors closed at an exaggerated sluggish pace so as not to cause any accidents involving the older tenants of the building. Everything about the building was ancient, save this elevator, which was said to have been installed a few years ago.

And by a few years, Arabella was sure that the landlady meant 10-15 years.

"Hello, Mrs. Rothschild," she greeted the elderly lady in 10D from across the hall. There were only 4 apartments to a floor, and 10A and 10C were currently being used as storage rooms.

The old lady looked at her as if to acknowledge that she had indeed heard something, but she tapped her ears to remind her that she was hard of hearing.

Remembering Mrs. Rothschild's declining hearing, Arabella cleared her throat and greeted her in a much louder voice, "HELLO, MRS. ROTHSCHILD!"

The old lady smiled and slowly lifted her wrinkled hand for a wave before going into her own apartment.

Sliding the keys effortlessly, Arabella entered the loft and was instantly filled with pride. With the help of her grandmama's inheritance, she had rented this new beginning for herself.

Richard was never going to find her here.

After all, she had colored her hair from a dark brunette to a copper-red shade and had already thrown out her signature black-rimmed glasses in exchange for a bare-faced look. Due to the sizeable inheritance, she had also undergone LASIK early last year and walked out with 20/20 vision.

The windows of her new home were not as clear as she would have hoped, but they did their job of blocking out the busy sounds of city life and muffled the sirens of police patrol. The steady buzz of the refrigerator's compressor oddly comforted her amidst the silence. She pulled its door open and was greeted by a copious amount of food and take-out containers that her mother had sent her this morning.

She shoved the butter inside the frigid compartment and settled the eggs on top of the kitchen counter. Day 1 of living alone and she was already feeling blissful.

Sighing contentedly, she arranged the refrigerator magnets in order of size and alphabetically-organized the letter magnets on its door. She had a magnet for each school she graduated from, and a magnet from Disneyland, a nice remembrance from when her grandmama was still alive and could take her on fancy trips. "Thank you, grandma," she whispered wistfully.

Without her inheritance, she wouldn't have had the courage to do this. People joked about how alcohol was considered to be liquid courage, but money, this was definitely courage personified. While liquid courage gives you a push, money walks with you, allows you to be in places and experience them in its full form. Money makes your dreams into a reality while alcohol only gives you a mirage.

At 25, Arabella thought that the end goal was to get married and have children, but since having financial freedom, suddenly a new world had opened up to her. She could have dreams, bigger than what the small town had offered. She now felt empowered to pursue whatever she was passionate about—never mind that she still didn't know what that was.

It was only mid-afternoon, but she felt tired and too lazy to start on the cupcakes. Her new employer had allowed three days, including the weekend, for her to settle in before coming in to work.

Maybe a nap wouldn't hurt?

Giddily, she moved to the front door and pushed the rusted button in. With the mover's help this morning, she had successfully installed a second and third lock as well. Pulling the chain and sliding the metal rod in place, she felt secure enough in her humble space.

Climbing up the wooden stairs to her bedroom was a short affair, and not before long, she was fast asleep, face first on top of the cotton duvet that wrapped her in comfort and security.

Silence in Manhattan apartments can never be bought. There was always some commotion happening around, what with cars forcefully trying to navigate the busy streets at every hour. The city sounds faded into the background and helped lull her to sleep.

In just a few hours, loud ringing woke Arabella from her peaceful slumber and brought her to a mixture of panic and confusion.

She woke with a start, blinking her eyes rapidly and rubbing her face with both hands. The telephone was ringing, clamorously echoing in the apartment as she struggled to remember where it was.

Waking up with her hair springing out the top of her head, she glanced around the dark and searched for a source of light.

"Where is that fricking phone?" Her palms grasped for her phone blindly.

The light flashed to her face showing her the time. She used the phone to illuminate the path to the short flight of stairs. The incessant ringing continued, and she was convinced that it was getting louder by the second.

Landing on the main floor, she deftly flicked the light switch and the blinding light revealed a sight that curdled her blood and strangled a scream deep in her throat.

It was only when she saw the state of her kitchen that she remembered that she wasn't in her mother's house anymore.

That and the fact that she didn't own a telephone.

The egg carton had been hastily opened. All of the eggs bought earlier were now broken on the counter, its contents spilled on the legs of the table and on the floor.

And as she approached the eggs, the ringing finally stopped. She could hear Mrs. Rothschild's loud voice screaming hello in the distance. She could almost picture her receiving the call.

Looking at the mess, Arabella forgot how to breathe.

There could only be two explanations for this mess.

One, she might be harboring a rat inside the apartment. Or two, which she absolutely refused to accept, was that Richard might have found her after all.

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A/N: Edits have been applied May 4, 2020. 

Thank you to all those who commented, voted, and read! This chapter passed round 1 of ONC 2020! I can't wait to write more.