Chapter 3: Welcome to Maple Heights Court

I live in Maple Heights Court.

The name sounds fancy, but it’s just a run-down subsidized complex with flickering hallway lights and a permanent whiff of stale cigarettes. The neighbors barely nod, and the parking lot’s a graveyard for old Fords and rusted minivans.

But to Natalie, it looked decent.

She glanced around as we walked in, eyeing the cracked linoleum and battered mailboxes with a kind of cautious relief. After five years in a cell, even this dump must’ve looked like a palace.

Truth is, aside from my fake identity as a social volunteer, I’m just a loser at the bottom of society.

No money, too lazy to work. I’m the kind of guy who gets ignored at gas stations and remembered only when rent’s late. The only thing of value I own is my ancient Ford Taurus, almost as old as I am.

Short, ugly—no chance of finding a girlfriend the normal way.

But with this trick, I’ve slept with plenty of pretty women with great bodies.

I smiled to myself, remembering how easy it was—a little fake concern, a warm bed, and I could buy what other guys paid for online.

If Natalie hadn’t been to prison, she’d never have given me a second glance on the street.

But now, not only had she gotten into my beat-up car, she’d followed me home to this shabby apartment.

I had ways to make her crawl into my bed on her own, wagging her tail like a dog, begging for my attention.

All it took was patience—a few thoughtful gestures, a gentle hand on her shoulder, and a well-timed compliment. I knew how to make myself indispensable.