Molly walked into the kitchen, carrying Ivy against her shoulder.

She took one look at my face and set her coffee mug down on the counter.

“Tessa, what is it?” she asked.

I turned the screen of my phone so she could see the live stream.

On the screen, Brent set his car keys on the cherrywood console table I had imported from Italy.

He walked into the living room, threw himself onto the white leather sectional, and kicked his loafers off onto the rug.

“He’s making himself comfortable,” Molly said, her voice dropping an octave.

“He thinks he won,” I said.

My thumb hovered over the screen, watching him scroll through his own phone.

A second later, my phone vibrated, interrupting the feed.

It was Jennifer.

“Tell me you have good news,” I said, answering on the first ring.

“Elliot just confirmed the buyer’s proof of funds,” Jennifer said.

Her voice was crisp, the background noise of her office humming behind her.

“They are offering cash, no contingencies, and they want a forty-eight-hour close,” she said.

“Forty-eight hours?” I repeated.