13/9/25
I would not move here
Ryan was supposed to fix a leaky faucet, but instead he cracked open my privacy like it was part of the job. He rifled through my drawers, swiped a pair of headphones, and somehow walked off with my spare keys. A week later, rumors started swirling—he’d been bragging around the building about things he “found” in my place, twisting harmless details into gossip that made me look reckless. Friends stopped dropping by. Neighbors gave me side-eyes in the hallway. Ryan didn’t just steal my stuff—he... stole my peace of mind and left my reputation in shambles.
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