The tension between the two of them was thick enough to choke on.

They weren’t speaking. They weren’t even making eye contact. Poverty, it seemed, was the ultimate buzzkill in paradise.

I didn’t panic. I didn’t run. I calmly set my pruning shears on the brick retaining wall, wiped the dirt from my gardening gloves, and walked up the steps into the house, quietly engaging the heavy security latch just before they reached the porch.

Three frantic, heavy knocks vibrated through the wood. “Olivia!” Ethan shouted. I leaned against the wall, breathing steadily. “Olivia, her car is in the driveway! I know she’s in there!”

Only then did I unlock the primary deadbolt, pulling the door open just wide enough for the security chain to pull taut. Ethan’s face appeared in the crack, a desperate, manufactured smile plastered across his lips.

“There you are.” I stared at him, my expression utterly blank. “What is your business here?” The fake smile vanished, replaced by petulant annoyance. “The credit cards are dead. All of them.”