MACEY
I was halfway down the stairs, still rubbing the sleep from my eyes, when I heard laughter drifting up from the living room. My parents’ laughter was loud, full, and familiar, and there was another voice I didn’t recognize. A man’s voice. Deep, easy, confident.
That was new.
I frowned, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was barely past eleven. My parents never had guests this early unless it was family or one of Dad’s old business friends—the kind who talked about stocks, golf, and how “kids these days” were lazy.
I caught one of the maids walking past with a pile of folded laundry. “Hey, who’s downstairs?” I asked.
She smiled politely, shaking her head. “I’m not sure, Miss Macey. They didn’t tell us.”
Great. Mysterious laughter. Always a good sign.
As I got closer,
