His head tilts slightly, unreadable behind the mirrored lenses, as if he finds something about this amusing. But he doesn’t say a damn thing.
Rude.
I reach for the door handle, yanking it just to prove a point, but it doesn’t budge. Locked again. Of course. My jaw tightens. Before I can decide whether kicking it would be excessive, the driver steps out and, in an infuriating display of efficiency, opens the door for me.
I blink, caught off guard by the unexpected courtesy.
It’s not just the gesture—it’s the ease, the silent command in it, like this is just how things are done in Konstantin’s world. He’s tall—too tall, like six-foot-plus of pure muscle packed into a black suit. Built like a bull, shoulders wide enough to block out the sun.
And, of course, Mike and Peggy see it happen.
They immediately clock him, their reactions a mess of poorly concealed emotions. Mike stiffens, lips pressing into a thin, ugly line, while Peggy does this nervous little twitch, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She’s calculating. Processing. Trying to placehim.
The driver gives me a polite nod before stepping back to the car. Then, without a word, he slides back into the car and pulls away, leaving me standing there like some mob wife whose security detail just dropped her off for brunch.
Mike and Peggy don’t move, don’t blink, don’t breathe, just stand there openly gawking as the car—Konstantin’s car—pulls away. The way their heads turn in unison, eyes trailing after it like they’re watching some rare beast slip back into the wild, makes my skin crawl.
I can see it happening in real-time—the math ticking away behind their beady little eyes. The calculations, the judgments. The inevitable, insufferable questions.
And then, right on cue—
“Well,” Peggy drawls, her lips curling into a saccharine smile. “That was quite the entrance.”
Mike snorts, all fake amusement and barely veiled hostility. “Didn’t know you had a chauffeur service these days, Bella. Business must be booming.”
I ignore the way my pulse spikes, the way their smugness creeps under my skin like an infection. I keep my face blank, unreadable.
They want a reaction.
They’re not getting one.
Instead, I shift my attention to the woman standing beside them.
Blonde. Mid-forties. Crisp, navy suit tailored within an inch of its life, subtle designer logo on the lapel. Her hair is smoothed back into the kind of bun that screams competence and a complete lack of patience for bullshit. And those shoes—sleek black pumps with the signature red sole.
Realtor.
A high-end one.
I know the type. Iamthe type.
Recognition flickers through me, sharp and cutting. Not just any realtor—she’s their realtor.
My stomach turns to stone.
They weren’t supposed to be here.
They weren’t supposed to have made it this far.
“What. The. Fuck. Are you doing here?” I bite out, my voice razor-sharp.
Peggy blinks, her fake-surprised expression so practiced that it almost looks real. Almost. “Language, Bella. No need to be hostile.”
Mike shakes his head like I’m some unruly child. “We’re just doing what’s necessary. Unlike you, we don’t have the luxury of playing pretend anymore.”
I take a slow, deliberate step forward. “Explain.”
Peggy exhales, exasperated, like she’ssotired of having to spell things out for me. “We’re evaluating the house.”
