Page 14 of Auctioned Innocence
I glance at my phone—7:43 p.m.
The housekeeping staff left at six.
Security does perimeter sweeps, not interior checks, unless there’s an alarm.
No one should be moving inside the house right now.
But there it is again.
A sound that shouldn’t be there, like someone trying very hard to be quiet and almost succeeding.
A soft scuff against hardwood.
The nearly imperceptible squeak of the third stair—the one that always betrayed me when sneaking out.
I hold my breath, straining to listen beyond Taylor’s voice.
The security system should have alerted me to any visitors.
I’ve personally upgraded it three times since Marco’s cryptic warning about “staying vigilant.”
There should be no one here but me.
My heart pounds against my ribs as I grab my phone, fingers trembling slightly as I check my family’s locations—a safety measure Marco drilled into me until it became a habit.
No one’s anywhere near the house.
The blue dots showing my family are scattered across the city—Mom and Dad at the Plaza, Marco somewhere in Brooklyn, probably with Dante.
I switch to the security app, scanning quickly through camera feeds.
Nothing on the front drive.
Nothing on the back entrance.
Nothing on?—
Wait.
The feed for the east wing shows a clear view of the garden, but the timestamp is wrong.
It’s showing 7:15, not 7:43.
I swipe through the other cameras.
All running on loop.
All compromised.
I turn down the music, straining to hear…there.
Footsteps on the stairs, pausing every few steps as if testing whether they’ve been detected.
Not the heavy tread of our security team—these are measured, cautious.
Professional.
The sound sends terror galloping through me, a cold sweat breaking across my skin.
