Cassidy
The woman standing in their home didn't belong there.
Cassidy knew it the moment she saw her.
"Cassidy, this is Mr. James," Markus said casually, as if introducing a coworker at a dinner party. "He brought me my wallet. And this is Ms. Kim. She made sure I got home safely."
Ms. Kim gave a small, polite smile.
Cassidy didn't return it.
Her eyes locked in immediately.
Ms. Kim wore a long black-and-white dress that fell cleanly to her ankles, fingerless gloves wrapped neatly around her hands, and a structured hat angled just slightly to the side like she had stepped out of a different era. Elegant. Controlled. Intentional.
Not someone who "dropped off a drunk man from a bar."
Mr. James stood beside her in a dark tailored suit, gloves matching his polished look, a hat pulled low over his brow. Everything about him screamed expensive—not casual, not local, not "parlor worker."
Cassidy's stomach tightened.
Tony's Parlor wasn't a place like that.
And then it clicked.
Faint. Unwanted.
Familiar.
The way Mr. James stood—straight posture, measured calm—reminded her of something buried in her memory. Somewhere she had tried to forget.
Her father.
A weekend hotel.
A place full of chandeliers, smiles that didn't reach eyes, and rooms where conversations always stopped when children walked in.
The kind of place where people didn't ask questions… because answers cost too much.
Cassidy's gaze sharpened.
So that's why Ms. Kim's scent had been in their bedroom.
She had been there.
In their space.
Too comfortable. Too familiar.
Cassidy sat slowly on one of the kitchen stools, deliberately composed, listening as Markus and the two strangers exchanged light conversation. Politics. Weather. School systems.
Small talk.
But Cassidy heard something else underneath it.
Careful wording. Measured pauses. Nothing said by accident.
Twenty minutes passed.
Cassidy decided they had overstayed their welcome.
She pushed herself up from the stool.
And the room changed instantly.
Mr. James looked at her.
Not casually.
Not politely.
Directly.
A sharp, assessing stare that made Cassidy feel like she had stepped into a test she didn't remember signing up for.
Still, she didn't flinch.
She placed a hand lightly on Markus's shoulder, anchoring him beside her.
"We actually have dinner plans tonight," she said smoothly, voice steady. "So if you'll excuse us."
Markus turned his head slightly, confusion flickering across his face—because they absolutely had not discussed dinner.
But he didn't speak.
Not yet.
Ms. Kim inclined her head. "Of course. We'll be leaving now."
Mr. James gave a brief nod, still watching Cassidy a moment longer than necessary. Then he turned away.
And just like that, they left.
The front door shut.
Silence snapped into place.
Then—
BANG.
Cassidy slammed the door harder than she intended.
Markus turned slowly from the hallway, Doritos bag already in his hand like this was a completely normal moment.
"Are you stupid, Markus?" she snapped.
He paused mid-chip.
A long beat.
Then he crunched anyway.
"No," he said flatly. "And you don't get to stand there calling me stupid like I'm your child."
"I just want to know how random people know our address."
"I met them at Boomtown Casino," Markus replied, shrugging. "They seemed cool."
Cassidy stared at him.
Of course he did.
Of course that was his explanation for strangers appearing in their home like they belonged there.
"They're not your friends," she said more sharply. "You don't even know them."
"I know enough."
"No, you don't."
Markus exhaled, already done with the conversation, and grabbed his chips and water, walking past her toward the couch. "You just want to argue, Cassidy. I'm not doing it today."
She followed him anyway.
Her voice softened—but only slightly. "I'm serious. How did they get our address?"
"They had my wallet."
"That doesn't explain it."
"It does if you stop thinking like everything is a conspiracy."
Cassidy stopped walking for a second.
Because that was the problem.
She did think like everything was a conspiracy.
Because she had learned, a long time ago, that people smiled the most right before they lied.
Still, she let it go—for now.
Instead, she changed direction.
"We're going out to dinner," she said.
Markus blinked. "We are?"
"Yes," she replied calmly. "Because I burned the steaks."
That part was simple.
That part was true.
The seafood restaurant was dimly lit, tucked into a quiet strip near the water. They were seated in a corner booth—isolated enough to talk without being overheard, but close enough to watch everyone coming and going.
Cassidy liked corners.
Corners meant control.
The server arrived quickly.
"What can I get you two?"
Markus didn't even look at the menu. "Seafood platter. Fish, grits, fried okra. And a Long Island iced tea."
The server nodded and turned to Cassidy.
"And for you, ma'am?"
"The same," Cassidy said without hesitation.
Once the server left, Markus leaned back, arms crossing over his chest. "So. How was work?"
"Productive," she replied. "I closed the deal on one of the mansions off Heights Avenue."
"Nice," he said, impressed. Then smirked slightly. "So that means dinner's on you tonight, darling."
Cassidy exhaled through her nose.
Of course he'd latch onto that part.
"That being said," he added, leaning forward just a bit, voice lowering, "you owe me something tonight."
His eyes lingered in that familiar way—too confident, too sure.
Cassidy smirked faintly.
So predictable.
He thought he already knew where this was going.
She let him believe it for half a second longer.
"Mm-hmm," Markus murmured. "So what do I have to do tonight, darling?"
Cassidy tilted her head slightly.
And for a moment, the warmth in her expression shifted—just barely.
Not softer.
Sharper.
"You're going to stay in," she said simply. "With me."
Markus raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for the rest.
Cassidy leaned back in her seat.
"I want to watch Evil Dead Rise tonight."
A beat.
Then another.
His expression shifted—confusion first, then mild disappointment.
Cassidy sipped her drink when it arrived, watching him over the rim.
Because Markus wasn't the only one with secrets.
He was just easier to read.
Ms. Kim's presence in their bedroom hadn't been an accident.
Mr. James knowing their address hadn't been a coincidence.
And Cassidy's instincts weren't paranoia.
They were memory.
A memory tied to that hotel.
That hotel her father used to take them to on weekends—where everyone smiled too perfectly… and doors locked a little too quietly.
Cassidy set her glass down.
Whatever Mr. James and Ms. Kim were involved in…
It wasn't new.
It was familiar.
And worse—
it was already inside her life.