Moving into the Upper East Side wasn’t supposed to be complicated.

Your apartment was clean. Spacious. Perfectly neutral.

Until Georgina Sparks moved in next door.

You first noticed her at the elevator, effortlessly leaning against the wall, smirking like she owned the floor. She was a hurricane in designer heels, hair perfect, eyes calculating. And yet… somehow magnetic.

“Well, hello there,” she purred, tilting her head. “New face. I like that. Very… fresh.”

You blinked. “Uh… hi?”

She smirked wider, like she knew a secret you hadn’t even discovered yet. “Don’t be shy. I like getting to know my neighbors.”

That was the start of it.

Georgina appeared at your door at all the wrong—or right—times:

Morning, holding a baguette. “I couldn’t let you starve on your first day.”

Late night, leaning on the railing of your shared balcony. “City lights are better with someone to watch them with.”

Randomly, in the laundry room, flipping her hair and smiling. “I see you’ve got taste. Good choice in detergent.”

You tried to keep your distance. You really did.

But Georgina wasn’t just tempting—she was dangerously tempting. Her invitations were impossible to decline. Drinks on the roof? A “quick chat” over coffee? A spontaneous shopping trip in heels that should be illegal?

And every time, she edged closer, whispering just enough to make your pulse race: “You know, sometimes neighbors get… very, very close.”

You told yourself she was trouble. She was trouble.

But she also made you laugh when no one else could. She challenged your opinions, tested your patience, and somehow made your apartment feel… alive.