I strain to hear more, but their voices are already fading. And I know I should leave it alone. I know I should. I should trust my husband and stay hidden.
But for some reason, I just… can’t.
Maybe it’s the way Mark sounds—controlled, but not as composed as usual. Maybe it’s the way the other man’s voice gives me chills, something dark, something dangerous lurking beneath the surface of the way he speaks.
Or maybe it’s the nagging feeling that, for the first time in a long time, Mark has secrets I don’t know about. And that? That’s not something I can ignore.
Either way, I push the door open just a little, take a step forward, just a little.
And the floor creaks.
I freeze. The sound is small, barely noticeable—but in the silence of the house, it might as well be a gunshot.
Everything goes quiet.
I barely have time to breathe before I hear it—the distinct shift in weight as someone turns.
“Who’s there?” the low voice says.
Footsteps.
One pair moving toward the front door.
The other…
Coming back inside.
“It seems to me like you’ve never been in an old house before,” Mark says. “They tend to creak.” His voice is smooth, dismissive, but there’s a thread of warning beneath it.
Mark? Warning a client like this? Never.
I swallow hard, pressing myself against the wall. My heart pounds as I hear the footsteps pause—then resume. Slower this time. Less… suspicious. Moreknowing.
“That so?” the stranger murmurs. “This house must have a lot of history, then. Maybe I should take a look around.”
I barely breathe.
There's something unsettlingly casual about his tone, like he's just toying with the idea of looking around rather than making a real suggestion. But even from my hiding spot, I can tell—he's testing Mark. And I’ve never met anyone who dared to test him like that. Mark is the one who shines in society. He’s the one who does the testing. Not the other way around.
Maybe that's exactly why my heart leaps into my throat, fear tightening around my ribs. Maybe this is the reason why I'm suddenly so scared.
You're in your own house, Skye, I remind myself.No one can hurt you here—especially not some… client. Or whoever this man is.
But is that really true? Because my body sure as hell doesn't believe it.
Downstairs, Mark chuckles. “I'd rather you didn’t. I like my privacy, and I’m sure you’re a man who understands the value of that.”
Silence.
Then—the sound of heavy boots stepping onto the hardwood.
Mark’s words are not working.
The man is coming here.
I press myself flat against the wall, my breath tight in my throat. Every instinct screams at me—run, move, disappear before he finds me. But I can’t. Not without making noise. And even if I could, where would I go?
This ismyhouse. Staying silent and out of sight is one thing. But hiding? I’m not going to do that.
