Erin stood before her mirror that afternoon longer than usual. Her eyes, sharp and contemplative, scanned her reflection not with vanity, but with strategy. Something was off about Xander's behavior—he had grown too normal around her, too teasing, too… human. She couldn't decide what unnerved her more: the thought that he was softening or that he had caught on to her secret.
She refused to fall behind.
If he was playing a game, then she would not only match his pace—she would outmaneuver him.
So, instead of her usual plain sweats or oversized T-shirt, Erin reached for something different. Her hand hovered before settling on a pair of snug, high-waisted jeans that hugged her curves comfortably but left little to the imagination. She paired it with a cropped cream sweater that bared just a hint of her waist when she moved. Soft waves framed her face, and she dabbed a faint gloss on her lips—not too much, just enough to shimmer when the light caught it.
It wasn't glamorous. It wasn't over the top. It was just… deliberate.
When she stepped out of her room and passed through the living room, she caught sight of him sprawled on the couch with a thick file in hand, looking like royalty disguised as a bored CEO.
Xander glanced up—and he paused.
Just for a second.
But Erin saw it. The flicker of his eyes as they slid from her head to her toes, the brief tightening of his jaw before he masked it with a familiar smirk.
She didn't give him the satisfaction of a second glance.
Instead, she held her chin a little higher, her steps casual but confident, and made her way into the kitchen.
The satisfying sound of her boots against the marble floor echoed—until it didn't.
Her foot hit something slick. The world spun.
With a gasp and a sharp cry, Erin fell hard onto her side, pain blooming in her ankle like fire.
"Ow!" she shrieked, clutching at her twisted foot.
Xander was on his feet before the sound had even fully escaped her throat. The folder hit the floor as he sprinted toward the kitchen with a speed that didn't match his usual aloof demeanor.
"Erin!"
She tried to sit up, groaning as the pain shot up her leg. Her face twisted with frustration, mostly at herself for letting her guard down.
Xander dropped to a knee beside her, eyes scanning her body for injuries before settling on her ankle.
"What the hell happened?"
She winced. "I think I slipped… The floor—"
He didn't need to hear more. His gaze darted to the pale sheen of moisture on the tiles. The mop had been left leaning against the wall. A bucket with cloudy water sat abandoned nearby.
His expression darkened.
Without another word, he lifted her into his arms with ease and carried her to the couch in the living room, cradling her with a gentleness that surprised even her.
He placed her down with care, his palm brushing against her arm before he straightened, face already stormy.
"Everyone," he barked toward the hallway. "Now."
Footsteps scrambled from every direction. Within seconds, the household staff lined up in the living room, standing stiffly, sensing the brewing fury in his stance.
"Who mopped the kitchen floor this morning?" Xander asked, voice cold.
Silence.
Then a hesitant hand rose. It belonged to Mrs. Halley, one of the older staff members who had been with the house since before Erin had arrived. Her hands trembled as she stepped forward, avoiding his eyes.
"I did, sir."
Xander's eyes narrowed.
"Are you not being paid well?"
Her eyes widened. "N-No, sir. I am."
"Then tell me," he said, stepping closer, his voice low and lethal, "what stopped you from doing your job properly?"
Mrs. Halley wrung her hands together. "I-I got an emergency call from my daughter, sir. I had to leave in a hurry. I planned to return and finish, but—"
"Would you make that excuse if I were the one who slipped?"
She opened her mouth. No sound came.
"Exactly," he said coldly. "Pack your things. You're dismissed."
The old woman dropped to her knees.
"Please, sir. Please! It won't happen again. I swear it on my life. Please…"
Xander didn't move. His face remained impassive, the kind of expression that made people tremble more than shouting ever could.
Erin sat upright on the couch, her ankle still throbbing, but she couldn't stay silent.
"Xander," she said firmly. "Let it slide."
He turned to her, surprise flickering behind his eyes.
"She made a mistake. An unfortunate one, yes. But if she really had a family emergency… maybe she deserves a second chance."
The room fell silent.
Mrs. Halley looked up, her face crumpled with gratitude.
Xander stared at Erin for a moment longer, then sighed, dragging a hand down his face.
"This is the first and last time," he said, glancing back at the old woman. "If anything like this happens again, you won't be getting another warning."
"Thank you, sir! Thank you, Miss Erin!"
Erin only nodded, watching as the staff slowly filtered out.
Xander stood near the window, arms crossed, his jaw clenched.
She studied him for a moment. That reaction of his… it didn't make sense.
He never entered the kitchen unless she was already there. He always waited for her to bring him something, or summoned her when he needed anything. So why did it feel like his reaction hadn't been about the old woman or her mistake?
Was he shaken by the idea that she could've been seriously hurt? Or worse… was he afraid he might've been the one to fall if he'd gone in first?
But he never would have.
He never goes in first.
That confused her.
And when things confused her, she tucked them away. For later. For when she could pull the pieces together and read between the lines.
With her ankle propped up on a pillow and a cold pack resting against it, she leaned back and let out a soft sigh.
Xander returned to his chair but didn't open the file. Instead, he watched her, silent and unreadable.
Erin had propped herself up against the cushions, arms crossed, one foot elevated as she tried not to wince whenever the throbbing returned. She expected him to simply leave now that the commotion was over.
But he didn't.
He strode toward her, silent and purposeful, pulling the coffee table closer and sitting directly in front of her elevated foot.
Before she could say a word, he reached for her ankle.
"What are you—"
"Relax," he muttered, voice low and calm as his fingers brushed her skin, lifting her injured foot gently onto his thigh. "It's not swollen, but it could be if you keep moving like nothing happened."
Erin blinked, stiffening, unsure what to do or say. Her mouth parted as though to protest, but no words came. His hands wrapped around her ankle, warm and unexpectedly careful. His thumbs began to press slow, firm circles just below the twist, easing the tension with practiced ease.
She stiffened even more.
Not from pain.
But from the feel of his hands. They were warm; too warm. Like he was burning with severe fever. But he showed no signs of any distress or discomfort.
God, she hated to admit it—but they felt amazing. Her muscles, wound tightly from the fall, reluctantly began to loosen under his touch. Heat spread up her leg, then higher, flushing her chest and cheeks. She clenched her jaw and forced herself to stare at anything but his face, which remained focused, as if he wasn't aware of the chaos he was causing under her skin.
"Better?" he asked after a long beat, voice quiet.
She didn't answer immediately. Then, finally, she muttered, "It's fine."
He looked up at her, gaze lingering for a second too long, and then resumed the massage, slower now, more deliberate. She could feel her resolve slipping, layer by layer, beneath each touch.
Stop it, she told herself. This is exactly what he wants.
A distraction. A mind game. Maybe he had figured her out after all—maybe this was just his way of keeping her too flustered to think straight. And if that was the case, then she was falling right into the trap.
No. Not again.
She sat back a little more stiffly, subtly drawing her leg back. "Thanks," she said, her tone edged with formality. "But I can handle it now."
He didn't argue. He let go, leaned back slightly, and watched her with that ever-present glint in his eyes—half amusement, half something darker and deeper.
Erin stared right back, determined not to let her mask slip away.
But the warmth on her ankle lingered, and so did the awareness of how dangerously close he was getting to undoing her defenses.