PHANTOM OF THE HEART

By Freddie Sampayo

A magnetic woman. A wounded man. A city that never sleeps and a love story that might haunt you forever.

When Jonathan Bradford escapes to Manhattan after a devasta

• Language: English
• Publisher: Freddie Sampayo
• Release date: Aug 8, 2025
• ISBN: 9781088153307

Book preview

PHANTOM OF THE HEART

Freddie Sampayo

Copyright © Freddie Sampayo

All rights reserved.

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1: The Encounter

Chapter 2: Seduction and Deception

Chapter 3:  When in Manhattan

Chapter 4: Beneath The Mask

Chapter 5: Elation

Chapter 6: Intensity

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9 Revelation

Chapter 10: The Phantom of the Heart

Chapter 11: The Dance of Shadows

Chapter 12: The Art of Control

Chapter 13: The Breaking Point

Chapter 14: The Last Words That Haunt

Chapter 15: The Echo of Absence

Chapter 16: Regret

Chapter 17: Breakthrough

Chapter 18 Uncertain Future

Chapter 19: Commotion

Chapter 20: The End of the Road

Chapter 1:

The Encounter

Chapter Description:

A man unfamiliar with the vibrant hum of Manhattan’s Broadway arrives on an early, crisp morning in the metropolitan city, determined to challenge his fate and find some meaningful connections.

The train screeched to a halt, its brakes wailing like a beast in distress. Jonathan Bradford was lost in thoughts of the city he loved—frozen as if an evil witch had cast a spell on him. The forest city had given him plenty of reasons to care about it—from dense, sprawling forest parks and green spaces sheltering hundreds of wildlife species to harboring the state's most delicious lobsters, satisfying his never-ending craving for a fulfilling dining experience. 

Jonathan loved every bit of Portland. The city, situated in the heart of Maine, ironically had given Johnathan the biggest heartbreak of his life. A pain so grave that his friends forced him out of Portland, insisting he needed fresh air and new scenery to help him forget the anguish he was experiencing. The passenger car had transferred Jonathan’s body to Manhattan, but his mind was still lost in the memories of his beloved city. 

The train's whistling stop at the railway station brought him back to consciousness as the thirty-year-old shifted in his seat, feeling the weight of his decision pressing down on him. He rose, gripping his worn duffel bag, and joined the flow of passengers pouring out onto the platform at Penn Station. Jumping down, he cocked his head up to see the giant sphere clock hanging from above the platform's ceiling. It was quarter past nine. Perfect. I could get a coffee in. 

Huh, the city that never sleeps, they said, Jonathan quipped to himself, gazing at a homeless person lying near a buttress. A sudden gust of wind made him cough, reminding him of the complete contrast to his previous surroundings in Portland, where pollution was filtered by large, green trees standing everywhere. He brought out a small handkerchief from his right pocket and wiped his face. 

The air in Manhattan was very different— heavy with a mixture of hot metal, sweat, and distant promises. Reaching the station’s exit, he stood still for a moment, letting the tide of hurried commuters rush past him. He managed to catch a glimpse of a few of their faces. These people were not hesitant or uncertain—they had their eyes fixed on unseen destinations. For them, Manhattan was routine, nothing out of the ordinary or unique. But for Jonathan, a recent dweller of New York City, it was a leap into the unknown. He glanced at the huge, erected buildings that touched the sky, their beams shining with the street lights and history. The towering skyscrapers looming above him made him feel tiny—a single thread in the city’s sprawling landscape. Yet, for him, the smallness was actually freeing. 

In Maine, his acquaintances made hiding difficult, but here in Manhattan, he was no one. He could start new. Though not the biggest fan of bustling streets and continuous happenings, Jonathan admitted to himself that the place was alive and felt electric. He decided to wander outside the station before finding himself a means of transport. As he strolled through the streets, he observed Manhattan stretching out like arteries, pulsing with the lifeblood of the city— cabs honking, vendors shouting, the rumble of distant construction. 

A cold breeze bit at his cheeks, but the energy of the city kept him from breaking his stance. Maine had been quiet, too quiet, ever since Lily had left. There, every street corner, every cafe, every stretch of rocky shoreline whispered her name. Here, in the chaos of Manhattan, he hoped those whispers would be drowned out. He fixed his trench coat and walked over to the station taxi, dragging his luggage. 

Hey there! Hope you are not waiting on someone, Jonathan said, climbing into the back seat. The driver glanced Jonathan through the rear-view mirror. 

Waiting for customers, as always, he said, smiling. 

So, where to? Hey, uh, I’m new here, Jonathan started, his voice laced with a mix of excitement and nerves. 

I’m looking for a good café, something nearby. Not too fancy, though—just somewhere I can grab a solid cup of coffee. And please, he added quickly, nothing that’ll cost an arm and a leg. 

The driver, a middle-aged man with a gray goatee, nodded without missing a beat. I know just the place, trust me. There’s a great spot just a few blocks away. Good coffee, cozy atmosphere, and it won’t have you handing over your entire paycheck. You’ll find it’s just what you need. 

As the cab weaved through the bustling streets, Jonathan felt a small wave of comfort wash over him. Maybe this city wasn’t as intimidating as it first seemed. 

So, you here for a meeting or you’re just touring? The middle-aged driver asked, glancing through the rearview mirror. 

None. I am here to settle. This would be my new city. Jonathan said, gazing out the window. Uh, nice. Hope this city treats you right; it certainly treated me well. 

Jonathan, under his breath, Oh, don’t I wish that. The driver paused before speaking again, If you don’t mind me asking, where are you from originally? 

Portland, Maine. 

"Oh, the lobster capital of America. Love

that city." 

The taxi driver continued expressing his love for seafood and the city as Jonathan nodded, indulging in the conversation. A little twenty minutes and a discourse on the best seafood dishes later, the driver parked his ride right outside a place called Boulevard Coffee. 

That’s your destination, my friend, the humble middle-aged man said. 

Care to join me inside? I will pay. Jonathan offered. I would love to, but the thing is, I told my wife I’d pick her up from her evening school. She’ll be waiting for me right about now, the taxi driver said, declining the generous offer. Oh, understandable. Here’s the fare; Keep the change. And best of luck with your MasterChef audition! 

Thanks, man, much appreciated. Thanks for the coffee invite, too! The driver shifted the gear into drive and drove away. Jonathan grabbed the handle of his luggage and turned to face the door of the coffee shop. With his hands covered in fur gloves and his breath forming clouds in the crisp November air, he pushed open the glass door to step inside. He was greeted by the small chime of a bell hanging and the aroma of brewing tea leaves and coffee beans. Smells nice. The small café had a warm glow inside, with chatter filling the entire room. The post-office hangout spot was cozy, with wooden tables polished to a warm sheen and shelves lined with mismatched books. Patrons sipped their drinks and chatted quietly, adding to the relaxed atmosphere. After taking a moment to observe the gathering, Jonathan walked over to the ordering station and requested a black coffee from the female barista wearing Jennifer as her name tag. 

Just a moment, sir, Jennifer said, turning around to fetch Jonathan's coffee. Meanwhile, Jonathan, elbow on the counter and leaning on his back, began scanning the room to spot an empty seat. That was when he saw her. She sat by the window, a novel in her hand, her dark hair cascading over one shoulder. The dim light cast soft shadows on her face, highlighting the sharp angle of her cheekbones and the slight curve of her lips. She was wearing a knee-length frock with petals printed on a yellow and white background. Her lively dress illuminated the brightness Jonathan was desperately seeking in his life. 

A sandstone colored fedora rested on the woman’s table, besides it a pair of Versace dark black sunglasses. Jonathan instantly imagined how pretty the woman would look eating the hat and the glasses. A thin diamond necklace adorned her neck, enhancing the appeal of her sharp collarbone.

She looked stunning from every angle, but it was her eyes that captured Jonathan's attention most—green and piercing as if they held a secret meant only for him. Sir, Sir… SIRRRR, Jennifer, the barista lady, loudly said, breaking Jonathan's train of thought. He had almost forgotten that he was inside a coffee shop and placed an order for a black coffee. Thanks, he said, bringing the cup up. Lily, his former love, had been the only true love interest in his life. Sure, Jonathan had had romantic flings with certain partners, but they had been exactly that—fleeting. He couldn't forget the moments he had spent with Lily, and those memories had been the catalyst for him leaving Maine. 

Before journeying all the way to Manhattan, Jonathan was unsure if he could ever interact with an adult woman like a normal person, let alone consider a romantic partnership. But at that moment, inside the cozy confines of that small café, all of that could change. Seated a few tables back was a gorgeous woman, and if not for romantic reasons, she could become Jonathan's first friend in the big city. She could help him find a way out of the baggage he was carrying, offering a connection that might ease the weight of his past. Win-Win situation. Jonathan felt his feet move before his brain could catch up. He wove through the tables, as water does between complex and confined areas, clutching his coffee like a lifeline until he stood at hers. It was as though the woman had a gravitational pull, and Jonathan was the strongest conductor. Nothing in his thirty years of life had made him act so swiftly, yet now, with each table, each chair he passed, it felt as though something—fate, perhaps—was guiding him. 

Excuse me, he said, his voice low but

steady. Mind if I sit here? 

The woman looked up slowly, her gaze locking onto his. For a moment, she didn't respond as though weighing him, measuring him against some unseen standard. Then, she smiled—a small, enigmatic curve of her lips that didn't quite reach her eyes. 

Be my guest, she said, her voice smooth, with a faint accent, Jonathan couldn't place. He slid into the seat across from her, setting his coffee on the table. Up close, she was even more striking. Her features were delicate but sharp, her presence commanding despite her quiet demeanor. A certain intangible positivity emanated from her, and the perfume she was wearing could make the angels shy – lavender fields under a summer sky, with an undertone of sea shells, like the fresh, clean air of the shore. Now, finally seated across from her, Jonathan had crystallized the scientific fact and literary expression like a moth to a flame. 

Jonathan offered a tentative smile. Thanks. It’s... pretty busy in here. 

Is it? she asked, her tone playful. I hadn’t noticed. 

He chuckled, unsure of how to respond. She seemed at ease, her attention drifting back to her book as if his presence were an afterthought. He took a sip of his coffee, letting the silence stretch between them. 

What are you reading? he mustered the guts to continue their conversation. She closed the book slightly, just enough for him to see the title on the spine: The Great Gatsby. 

A classic, Jonathan said. 

I imagine you've read it before, the woman said without looking at him. 

I have, he admitted. "But not in a long

time." 

Perhaps it’s time you revisited it, she said, her eyes glinting with something unreadable. Jonathan found himself leaning forward, drawn into her orbit. He felt an inexplicable pull toward this gorgeous woman. There was something alluring about her, and Jonathan couldn’t put a finger on it or identify it. It wasn’t just her beauty—it was the way she seemed to exist apart from the world around her, as though she were part of a different reality entirely. 

I’m Jonathan, by the way, he said, offering his hand. She regarded it for a moment before taking it, her grip cool but firm. 

Elena. 

Elena, he repeated, the name lingering on his tongue. 

They fell into conversation as Elena placed her book down on the table. Leaning back in his chair, Jonathan casually asked, So, what do you think about The Great Gatsby? His tone was casual, but his eyes were probing. 

Elena, tilting her head slightly and lips curving into a faint smile, I don’t think it’s about the American Dream, as everyone says. 

Jonathan raised his eyebrow, intrigued by her take. 

Interesting take. So, you don’t buy into the whole doomed romance angle? 

Elena chuckled softly and gazed at the ceiling-to-floor window before answering, Oh, I believe in doomed romances. But Gatsby wasn't chasing love. He was chasing an illusion of himself—a version he thought Daisy could complete. People are always chasing something, aren't they? Jonathan nodded. 

That is one way to look at it. She stirred her coffee and then looked Jonathan right