The lockbox beeped at 2:11.
I was already in the master bedroom, naked from the waist down, the thin sundress I’d worn over nothing bunched around my ribs. The house was stripped—mattress gone, only the bare platform frame and the echo of empty closets. Afternoon light cut across the hardwood. My phone sat on the windowsill. Mark had texted twenty minutes earlier: Any movement on the private showing? Agent say anything about offers?
The front door opened and closed. Boots crossed the empty great room, then the hallway. Evan stepped into the bedroom doorway and stopped. He looked at me—dress shoved up, thighs parted, the shine already visible between them—and smiled like he’d expected exactly this.
“No panties,” he said. “Good.”
He crossed the room, dropped his bag, and didn’t bother wi
