After "seeing off" Barbara Miller, the "venture capital consultant," at the coffee shop last time, William enjoyed a few rare days of peace.
He even luxuriously thought that S.H.I.E.L.D. might have finally realized he was just a small businessman trying to make a living and decided to let him off the hook.
It turned out he was ultimately mistaken.
This evening, William was about to go out to restock his fridge.
As soon as he opened his door, he heard the door opposite him also open with a "click."
A woman wearing a gray sports vest and leggings, with her golden hair tied in a ponytail, emerged.
There was a thin layer of sweat on her forehead, clearly having just finished an invigorating workout.
Her physique was firm, and her lines were smooth.
She exuded a sense of strength that suggested she could take him down in one move at any moment.
The woman seemed surprised to see William but then offered a perfectly friendly smile.
"Mr. Rodriguez?"
William's expression seamlessly switched from "going out for a stroll" to "business mode," smiling affably.
"Ms. Miller? What a coincidence, you live here too?"
The little man inside him was already clutching his head, squatting on the ground, and banging it against the wall.
Coincidence?
What a load of bull!
The rent for this apartment was so expensive it could bankrupt a normal middle-class person, and a "venture capital consultant" he'd just met by chance happened to move in right across from him?
Barbara Miller wiped the sweat from her neck with a towel.
Her movements were so natural it was as if she had rehearsed them hundreds of times.
"Yes, I just moved in two days ago, I didn't expect such a fate."
She pointed at William.
"Looks like you're heading out?"
"Yes, to the supermarket."
William Shaking the reusable shopping bag in his hand,Playing the role of a family man who lives a peaceful life.
"Perfect."
Barbara's eyes lit up, and her tone carried a hint of a perfectly appropriate request.
"I just moved, and I haven't set up a lot of things, not even a bottle opener. I just wanted to open a bottle of red wine to celebrate, but I couldn't open it. I wonder… could you help me? And maybe, have a drink as a housewarming gift from a neighbor?"
Here it comes.
William felt his CPU was about to smoke; good heavens, this script was so classic it could be a museum centerpiece.
Next, would she slip him some "truth serum" in his wine and then give him a "physical goodnight" from behind while he admired the night view?
A conflicted yet reluctant expression appeared on his face.
After half a second of internal struggle, he decisively slapped his thigh.
"Of course, no problem! Between neighbors, helping each other is only right! The supermarket can be visited anytime, but helping a beautiful neighbor open wine is a limited edition honor!"
Are you kidding me?
How could he not investigate the information delivered right to his doorstep? How could he face his gossipy… no, his crisis-aware heart?
Barbara's apartment was exactly as he expected.
Several unopened cardboard boxes created a "new resident" atmosphere.
Other than that, everything was in perfect order.
It was as clean as a show home that required payment to view.
William used a Swiss Army knife to quickly deal with the "unopenable" red wine bottle.
His movements were so skilled he didn't seem like an insurance salesman but rather someone who had worked part-time at a bar.
"Thank you."
Barbara handed him a stemmed glass; the dark red wine shimmered under the light, emitting a rich fruity aroma.
"To our chance encounter, cheers."
"To our damned fate."
William raised his glass and clinked it lightly.
The wine was truly good wine.
This sip, to his departed poor youth.
The two sat by the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the Manhattan nightscape and began a high-stakes tug-of-war.
Barbara kept probing indirectly.
She tried to steer the conversation from "New York's public safety" to "the social risks of special individuals."
William, however, parried every move.
He led the topic from "who to claim compensation from when a hero crashes to the ground" to "how to buy demolition insurance for a husky and successfully claim compensation."
The air was filled with the aroma of red wine and a tension named "I guess you're playing me, and you guess I've guessed."
Just as Barbara seemed ready to reveal her true intentions—
On the other side, Jessica Jones stood irritably in front of William's apartment door.
She was in a terrible mood today.
She took a cheating case and ended up getting vomited on by the client's husband.
She just wanted to find a place to have a drink.
And also to bicker with that guy who talked a lot of nonsense but always managed to hit her funny bone.
But, no one was home.
She knocked on the door for a long time, but there was no movement inside.
Jessica impatiently clicked her tongue and pressed her ear against the cold door panel.
For her superhuman hearing, the soundproofing of this building was virtually non-existent.
The hum of electricity, distant sirens, the downstairs couple's argument… and then, a familiar voice.
It was William.
He was next door, talking to a woman.
Their voices were very low, but Jessica heard everything clearly.
Something about "neighborly relations," "chance encounters," "having a drink"… Jessica Jones's brow furrowed so much it could trap a fly.
A surge of anger shot straight to her head, and her blood pressure instantly spiked.
When it came to patience, Jessica Jones was approximately Zero.
In Barbara's apartment, William was about to deliver a profound discourse on "the legal responsibility and insurance claim details for pedestrians slipping due to pet dogs urinating and defecating in public."
Suddenly, a mournful screech of metal being twisted alive came from the doorway.
"Creak—bang!"
Barbara, who had undergone rigorous training, instantly tensed her muscles.
She lowered her body, assuming a defensive stance.
William also jumped, spilling most of the red wine from his glass.
Both looked at the doorway in astonishment.
The "bank vault-level" security door, which the salesman had praised to the heavens, now hung open at a bizarre angle, like a violently torn-open package.
The door frame was severely warped.
Pieces of the high-tech electronic lock were scattered on the floor.
Standing at the doorway was a woman in a black leather jacket and jeans.
Her hands were in her pockets, and her face was expressionless.
Her gaze, like tempered ice, was fixed on William's startled face.
Jessica Jones tilted her head, her tone as flat as if she were asking about the weather.
"I knocked, but no one answered."
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