When I get home just after midnight, the townhouse lights are on again. Dread pools in my stomach as I slide my key into the front door, but there’s no anticipation. Not really. I already know what I’ll find past the threshold.

The door swings open. My heels click softly against the marble foyer floor, and I tug the belt of my trench coat loose with a sigh as the front door clicks shut behind me. Voices murmur in the kitchen. Music plays softly too, drifting through the townhouse, along with the scent of another luxurious dinner.

Yup.

They’ve done it again. Ordered expensive take-out from one of the finest...