By the time four o'clock arrived, I had already convinced myself not to go.
This was ridiculous, I couldn't afford the house.
I can't even afford a cardboard box right now.
Yet somehow I was driving across town to look at a Victorian home I'd already lost once.
A home that had practically ruined my life.
"You're an idiot, Harper," I muttered.
The GPS remained silent.
Apparently even technology had given up on me.
Twenty minutes later, I pulled onto Maple Street.
My stomach immediately twisted.
There it was, the same white Victorian with blue shutters and flowers by the window. For a moment, I simply sat behind the steering wheel looking at it.
Memories flooded back.
Being twelve years old, riding my bike past the house. Promising myself that one day I'd live there.
Back then adulthood had seemed so easy.
Get a job. Buy a house. Fall in love. Live happily ever after.
Nobody warned you that adulthood mostly consisted of unpaid bills and panic attacks.
I climbed out of the car. The autumn air felt cool against my skin, leaves danced across the sidewalk.
The house looked almost magical in the afternoon sunlight, like something from a storybook.
A storybook I apparently wasn't rich enough to enter.
"Harper?"
I turned.
A black SUV sat parked near the curb. The driver's door opened, and then a man stepped out. And every coherent thought left my body.
He's damn attractive.
Tall, dark hair, broad shoulders. Expensive charcoal-gray suit, a watch that probably cost more than my monthly rent.
Maybe more than my car.
His sleeves were rolled slightly above his wrists, exposing strong forearms.
Why were forearms attractive? Who decided that?
I wanted answers.
His gaze met mine. Something like recognition flashed across his face. It disappeared so quickly I nearly missed it.
But it had definitely been there.
He walked toward me, confident and calm. As though he had absolutely no idea he looked like that. Which somehow made it worse.
Would someone this rich be the one that had scammed me?
"You must be Harper Bennett." His voice was dangerously pleasant.
I crossed my arms. Defensive instincts activated immediately.
"You already know my full name."
One corner of his mouth lifted. "You're scheduled for a private viewing."
"That still doesn't explain how you know my full name."
The smile widened.
Interesting, apparently he found me amusing.
I wasn't sure how I felt about that.
"I'm the realtor," he said. "Usually that information helps."
I rolled my eyes. "Fair point."
He extended his hand. "Callum Hayes."
For one ridiculous second, I stared at his hand. Then I shook it. The contact lasted less than two seconds. Still long enough for a weird spark of awareness to travel through me.
His hand was warm, and strong.
His gaze briefly dropped to our joined hands, then returned to my face. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes. It made my pulse stumble.
I quickly let go.
Nope, absolutely not. I was not developing inappropriate reactions to realtors. I had enough problems.
Callum glanced toward the house. "Ready?"
No.
"Sure."
He smiled again. The front door opened with a soft click, and the scent hit me immediately. Fresh wood, paint, vanilla.
Home.
My chest tightened. I hated that word home, because I didn't have one, not anymore.
Thirty days, that was all I had left before my landlord kicked me out.
Thirty days before I became officially homeless.
Callum stepped aside. "After you."
I entered slowly. The hardwood floors gleamed beneath the sunlight. The staircase curved elegantly toward the second floor.
Every detail looked perfect and hurt at the same time. Because this house had once been close enough to touch, close enough to believe it was mine.
And then it had vanished, just like my savings.
Callum watched me quietly. "You've been here before."
The statement caught me off guard. "What?"
"You know the layout."
I froze.
Had I been that obvious? Maybe.
My eyes had gone straight to the kitchen. Then the staircase, and fireplace. Exactly as if I'd memorized the photos.
Which I had, thousands of times.
"I liked the listing."
His gaze sharpened slightly. "Only the listing?"
Something specific about the question felt strange.
I looked away. "I almost bought this house."
Silence.
The atmosphere changed. When I glanced back, his expression had changed. The amusement was gone, now he looked….interested.
"Almost?"
I laughed bitterly. "Turns out the seller was fake."
His jaw tightened. So quickly most people would have missed it. The reaction surprised me.
"Forty-seven thousand dollars." I forced a smile. "Poof."
His eyes darkened. "Forty-seven?"
"Yeah."
I walked toward the kitchen island.
"Apparently that's the exact amount required for me to learn life lessons."
Callum remained silent, but a muscle ticked in his jaw.
That's odd, most people responded with pity or awkward sympathy. He looked angry, not at me, but something else.
"You reported it to the police?"
I nodded.
"Lawyers."
Another nod.
"Fraud investigators."
His gaze remained fixed on me. "And?"
I laughed. "And nothing."
The sound echoed through the kitchen. God, I sounded tired. Because I was tired, tired of fighting.
Tired of pretending things would magically get better.
For the first time since arriving, Callum looked genuinely concerned. The distinction unsettled me.
"Harper."
The way he said my name made me look up.
"Are you okay?"
I almost laughed.
Nobody who was okay got chased by loan sharks.
Nobody who was okay got evicted.
Nobody who was okay lost nearly fifty thousand dollars.
Instead I shrugged. "Define okay."
His eyes searched mine. Then my phone rang, the sound shattered the moment instantly. Relief flooded through me.
I grabbed the phone, then my stomach dropped.
Vince.
The call continued vibrating in my hand.
Callum noticed my expression immediately. "Bad news?"
I forced a smile. "You could say that."
The phone stopped ringing, and a text appeared. Then another, and another.
My blood ran cold.
'PAY US.'
Second message:
'HARPER NEXT TIME I FIND YOU, I WILL FUCK YOU UP.'
Third message:
'HARPER JUST PRAY I DON'T FIND YOU.'
The color drained from my face. I quickly locked my phone. Too late, Callum had already seen enough.
His expression became very still. Which somehow felt more dangerous than anger.
"Who was that?"
I looked away. "Nobody."
"Harper."
"It doesn't matter."
"It clearly does."
Frustration surged through me.
I spun toward him. "You know what? No offense, but you're a realtor."
His eyebrow rose. "No offense taken."
"My financial disasters are not your problem."
"No." His voice was measured. "They aren't."
For some reason, that answer annoyed me even more. Because he sounded like he was lying.
As though my problems absolutely were his problem. And I couldn't understand why.
The silence stretched between us. Then finally Callum exhaled all slowly. As though reaching a decision.
When he looked at me again, something had changed. The easy charm, the professional realtor was gone. In his place stood a man who had suddenly become very serious.
"Harper."
The way he said my name made my stomach tighten.
"I think we need to discuss a business arrangement."
I blinked. "What kind of business arrangement?"
His gaze held mine, unwavering.
The corner of my mouth twitched.
"Unless you're secretly giving away houses, I'm not interested."
For the first time all afternoon, Callum didn't smile.
"And if I was offering something better?"
A strange chill slid down my spine.
Because suddenly it felt like this viewing had never been about the house.
Not for him, not even a little.
And for the first time since meeting Callum Hayes, I began to wonder if our encounter had been planned long before I ever clicked on that listing.