Grant took a step backward, his leather shoes squeaking on the polished oak floor.

“Who authorized you to come in here?” Vanessa demanded, her voice sharp.

The man in the doorway lowered the flashlight slightly.

“Security dispatch, ma’am,” the man said.

I recognized the low, raspy tone immediately.

It was Miller, my external tactical support agent.

He was wearing the uniform of the private security firm that monitored the estate.

“The gate alarm went off,” Miller said. “We have to secure the perimeter.”

“Then do it outside,” Vanessa snapped, her fingers clutching her phone.

“We need to check the interior access panels first,” Miller replied.

He stepped into the library, his boots heavy on the rug.

His movement drew Grant and Vanessa’s attention away from the window.

“Just hurry up,” Grant muttered, rubbing his temples. “We don’t have time for this.”

Miller nodded once, his eyes scanning the room.

He did not look directly at my curtain, but his shoulder shifted in a subtle signal.

The distraction was active.

“I will check the terrace doors,” Miller said, walking toward the opposite side of the room.