The Heart System

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WOMEN - INTERACTIONS

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Jasmine: Interest: 30 / 40★

Kayla: Interest: 5 / 20

Tessa: Interest: 22 / 40★

Kim: Interest: 20 / 40★

Delilah: Interest: 37 / 40★

Cora: Interest: 100 / 100★★★★★

Mendy: Interest: 4/20

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Progress:

★☆☆☆☆ - 20 Interest: Milestone reward

★★☆☆☆ - 40 Interest: Milestone reward

★★★☆☆ - 60 Interest: Milestone reward

★★★★☆ - 80 Interest: Milestone reward

★★★★★ -100 Interest: Milestone reward

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Select a woman to track progress.

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I gave her one last lingering look—her fragile frame, the way she hugged herself now—and slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind me. The hallway felt cooler, quieter.

Penelope was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, her face etched with exhaustion.

"Let's go ask the neighbors if they have cameras installed that see this house," I said, keeping my voice low.

She pushed off the wall, nodding. "Yeah, good idea."

"Actually—you stay with Mendy," I said, holding up a hand. "I'll go talk to them. We don't want her alone right now, in case another attack hits."

"You're right," Penelope agreed, rubbing her temples. "I'll keep an eye on her. Text me if you find anything."

"Will do."

I left the house, the front door clicking shut behind me, and crossed the wet street, my boots splashing through shallow puddles that reflected the overcast sky. The suburban neighborhood was quiet, save for the distant hum of a lawnmower and kids laughing somewhere down the block. I scanned the houses opposite Mendy's—most had porches with rocking chairs or potted plants, but one stood out: a neat two-story with a small black security camera mounted under the eaves, angled perfectly to capture the street and Mendy's front door. Jackpot.

I walked up the short path, the gravel crunching underfoot, and knocked firmly on the door—three solid raps. Waited. Shifted my weight. Knocked again.

The door opened to a middle-aged guy in a faded hoodie and jeans, a mug of coffee in one hand, TV noise leaking from behind him. He eyed me curiously, no hostility, just suburban caution.

"Hey, sorry to bother you," I said, flashing a quick, disarming smile. "I'm a friend of the family across the street—Mendy's place. There might've been a break-in earlier today. No signs of forced entry, but stuff's missing. You got a camera out front? Mind if I check the footage real quick? Just to rule things out."

He sipped his coffee, glanced over my shoulder at Mendy's house, then shrugged. "Sure, kid. No problem. Come on in—don't want to stand in the drizzle."

I stepped inside, the warmth hitting me immediately, smelling of fresh-brewed coffee and faint cinnamon. He led me to the kitchen table, pulled out his phone, and opened the security app with a few taps. "What time frame we looking at?"

"Today, anytime after morning," I said, leaning over his shoulder as he fast-forwarded the feed. The screen showed crisp color footage: the street, Mendy's front door clear as day.

We watched in silence. Mailman at 11:47 AM, dropping a package. A jogger with a dog at 1:12 PM. Penelope's car pulling up around 2:30, her rushing inside. Nothing else. No shadowy figure, no forced entry, no one lurking. The timestamp rolled past 4 PM—still empty.

"See anything?" he asked, pausing the video.

I straightened, rubbing my chin. The camera didn't pick up the back of the house or the sides—blind spots everywhere. If someone came in through a window or the rear, this wouldn't catch it.

"Nah, nothing useful," I said. "Thanks anyway, man. Appreciate you checking."

"No sweat." He pocketed the phone. "Hope your friend's okay. Tell her to get her own camera—cheap peace of mind."

"Will do."

I thanked him again and stepped back into the drizzle, exhaling a long, frustrated breath that fogged in the cool air. No proof. But Mendy wasn't crazy. Something felt off. I just didn't know what…

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Back to my problems now. Guy.

I dropped onto the couch, the springs groaning under me, and flicked open the shop UI. 185 credits glowed in the corner, exactly enough for two Time Stops. Twenty minutes of frozen reality to slip into that penthouse, crack the safe, and pray whatever was inside buried Guy for good. Still felt tight. With the full month I supposedly had to cover the new rent, I could grind a few quick quests, bank another 90c, buy a third Time Stop as insurance. Belt-and-suspenders plan.

A sharp rap at the door cut the thought dead. I rubbed the back of my neck, sighed, and hauled myself up.

Through the peephole: a courier in a brown uniform, clipboard in hand, thick plastic-covered envelope tucked under one arm. Private service, landlord special.

I opened the door.

"Evan Marlowe?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Certified mail. Sign here."

I scrawled my name; he tore off the receipt, handed me the envelope, and vanished.

I tore it the thing open and read it.

EMERGENCY NOTICE OF DEFAULT, IMMEDIATE VACATE & DAMAGE ASSESSMENT

Premises: 1427 Oakridge Lane

Tenant: Evan Marlowe

Dear Mr. Marlowe,

Following your verbal confirmation to our office on 10/05/2025 (recorded call attached), a joint inspection was conducted this morning by the City of Los Angeles Department of Building & Safety (DBS) and our property management team.

Findings (DBS Violation #2025-4872):

- Severe structural damage to load-bearing walls (unauthorized modifications)

- Illegal electrical rewiring (fire hazard)

- Plumbing leaks causing sub-floor rot and black-mold proliferation

- Estimated repair cost: $120,000

Immediate Action Required:

1. Vacate premises within 48 hours for emergency remediation.

2. Tenant liable for full repair costs per lease (Damage & Alterations).

3. Failure to vacate triggers lockout by Los Angeles County Sheriff.

DBS red-tag posted on-site. Entry prohibited until repairs certified.

Attached was a grainy photo of a red DBS tag slapped right on my front door, timestamped 9:14 AM today. On the next page, a transcribed call log with my name, yesterday's date, and one damning line:

Tenant Marlowe: "Yeah, go ahead and send the inspectors. I'm good with it."

Bullshit. I never said a word like that. Hell, I didn't even pick up an unknown call yesterday.

I sank onto the couch, the notice rattling in my grip. Forty-eight hours. 120k in damages. Forged consent, city red-tag, sheriff waiting in the wings. All legal, all airtight. Guy didn't just jack the rent; he staged a full-blown health-and-safety emergency and hung it around my neck.

Two Time Stops. One shot.

"So he faked documents," I muttered, crumpling the notice in my fist. "That's not playing dirty… that's just being a dickhead."

Forty-eight hours. I needed to make every second count. So—I was going to arrange a meeting with Guy. In his penthouse. Tell him I wanted to apologize for everything, grovel if I had to. Then, once inside, I'd hit Time Stop and tear that safe apart.

I dialed Anotta's bodyguard—hoping he would pick up as I stepped out of the door.

Click.

"Hey," I said. "I need to talk to Anotta ASAP. It's about Guy."

Silence. Then shuffling. A woman's voice, sharp and cool.

"This is Anotta. Evan?"

"I need to talk to Guy," I said, already heading down the stairs, slipping on my gloves. "You said you'd help. Convince him to let me in his place. I'll kneel, beg, whatever it takes."

"Are you giving up?" she asked, suspicion thick.

"The opposite." I smirked, pushing through the building's front door. "Let me know when it's set. I'm heading there now. Bye."

I stepped outside—and froze.

Guy Nolin leaned against a black SUV parked at the curb, flanked by two slabs of muscle in dark suits. The door behind me creaked shut on its own. He looked up, saw me, and laughed—low, mocking.

"That was your plan?" he said, pushing off the car. "Rummage through my safe?" He opened the back hatch, pulled out a small, brushed-steel box. "You'd never get past security. But hey—indulge the fantasy, Marlowe."

He handed the safe to one of his bodyguards. The guy carried it over, held it out. I took it. Guy pulled out his phone, opened an app, pressed his thumb to the screen. A loud beep. The lid popped open a crack.

I lifted it fully. Empty. Just a pair of cheap earrings and a few stacked hundreds.

Guy whistled, tossed me his phone. I caught it mid-air. The app showed the safe's access log: opened once—the day it was purchased. Never again.

"In case you think I emptied it before coming," he said, "I never touched it after setup."

"What the hell are you doing?" I growled.

His smile vanished. He lunged, grabbed my collar, slammed me back against the door. His face inches from mine, a vein throbbing at his temple.

"You have two days to fuck off, Evan," he hissed. "You and that whore next door. Jasmine. Thought I wouldn't find out?"

"She's got nothing to do with this," I said, meeting his glare.

"I'll make her a deal," he sneered, lips curling. "One night with me—maybe I let her keep the house."

I dropped the safe and phone. Shoved him hard.

The nearest bodyguard drove a fist into my gut. Air exploded from my lungs. I hit the ground. Before I could breathe, a boot slammed into my ribs. Once. Twice. I curled, gasping.

Guy crouched, yanked my hair, forced my head up.

"I'll take everything you have, Evan," he whispered. "I swear it."

He let go of my hair, my scalp burning where his fingers had twisted. He rose slowly, brushing invisible specks from his tailored suit jacket as if even touching me had contaminated him. His eyes never left mine—cold, triumphant, the look of a man who'd already won.

"Two days," he repeated, voice low, almost conversational now. "Clock's ticking. Oh, and, keep the safe. You might need it."

He turned his back on me like I was nothing. Gestured sharply to his men. The bodyguards fell in step behind him, one of them grabbing the phone, their polished shoes crunching on the loose gravel. The SUV's doors opened with synchronized thuds. Engine growled to life. Tires spun once, kicking up a spray of dirty water from a puddle, then the vehicle peeled out, taillights vanishing around the corner.

Silence rushed in.

I stayed on the ground a moment longer, ribs throbbing, breath coming in short, ragged pulls. The metallic taste of blood coated my tongue, I probably must've fell face first.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my glove—clean, no prints—and stared at the safe lying a few feet away, lid still ajar, mocking me with its emptiness.

Then I laughed.

It started as a cough, a wheeze, but built into something real. Low. Rough. Unstoppable.

The safe. His safe. Hand-delivered. Touched by him—thumb on the scanner, fingers gripping the edges, palms pressing the lid. And me? Gloves from the second I left the apartment. Not a single print of mine anywhere on it.

I pushed myself up, knees shaky, and walked over. Picked it up. Turned it slowly under the dim streetlight. Brushed steel, cool to the touch. His fingerprints would be all over it.

I tucked it under my arm, the weight of it grounding me. The pain in my ribs faded to background noise.

Jasmine. He'd dragged her into this. Threatened her. Thought he could dangle her like bait.

Big mistake.

"Oh, you bastard," I said, voice steady now, a grin splitting my bloodied lip. "You just handed me everything."

Like I said.

Game on.

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