Not Who She Seems

Marcy bounces up the steps with her backpack riding her shoulder. Dylan opens the door in his business suit and gets hit with all that warm, bubbly energy. She asks if he’s the cool guy hosting her. He’s a little thrown by how cute she is, but he smiles and says that’s him. Offers her the guest room instead of the couch. Marcy’s all smiles until his back is turned. Then her eyes go sharp, clocking every expensive thing in sight. She follows him down the hall, giggling when he shows her the room. She thanks him with a big hug, plays the grateful traveler bit. Once he leaves she drops the act, texts “I’m in!” and grins like the job’s already half done. She drifts into the kitchen, phone out, snapping shots of anything worth money, especially that fancy camera on the counter. When Dylan mentions her boyfriend she just laughs, says he doesn’t mind her wandering. Every time he looks away she steals another picture. He suddenly checks the time, swears he’s late for work. Marcy shoos him out the door, sweet as pie, and the second he’s gone she checks her phone again. A new text tells her to hit the bedroom. Drawers, closets, nothing worth grabbing until she spots a box under the bed. She’s stretching for it, phone on the floor, when Dylan’s voice cracks like a whip behind her. He’s back. Briefcase in hand. Eyes cold. She stumbles through a lie about a lost earring, but he already knows. He scrolls her phone, sees Leo asking about valuables, and the whole scam falls apart. Marcy drops to her knees, begging. No cops, she’ll do anything, just don’t ruin her. Dylan watches her squirm, then lays it out plain: she’s got one way out, and it’s between her legs. She’s got a boyfriend, she protests, but the look in his eyes says the choice is already made. She can fuck him quiet or she can wear cuffs. Marcy swallows hard, already knowing which one she’s picking.