The evening wind drifted softly through the hallway as Erin limped slowly toward the study, her ankle still sore but slightly better after elevating it like Xander told her to. She hadn't meant to return to the study—but something about the silence tugged at her. Or maybe it was curiosity. Or restlessness. She wasn't sure anymore.
The study door was half open, and the golden glow from the floor lamp inside spilled out like a trail guiding her back into his world. She stepped in quietly, expecting to see him seated at his desk or lounging on the sofa, phone in hand, sarcasm primed and waiting.
But he wasn't there.
Her eyes flicked across the room—then caught movement just beyond the glass doors of the balcony.
She froze.
Xander stood outside.
Right at the edge.
Her breath caught in her throat.
The floor they were on was the highest level of the estate—the fourth floor. The kind of height that made your stomach twist just from looking down. And Xander… Xander was standing right at the railing, too close, dangerously close, his eyes glazed over and unfocused. He didn't even seem to be breathing properly. His arms hung at his sides, limp. Like he wasn't really there.
"Xander?" Erin called out instinctively, but her voice barely escaped as a whisper.
He didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't even twitch.
Panic exploded in her chest, and without thinking twice, she hobbled forward, dragging her injured foot with her until she reached the doors and flung them open.
"Xander!" she called, louder this time.
Still nothing.
And then, with no warning, he shifted.
He leaned slightly forward.
Not fully, but just enough to send terror lancing through her veins.
"Xander!" she screamed.
She ran.
Completely ignoring the stabbing pain in her ankle, she surged toward him, grabbed his wrist with both hands, and yanked him backward with every ounce of strength she had left. He stumbled slightly, jolted back from the edge, and she immediately stepped in front of him, gripping his arms tightly.
His eyes were wide now.
But he didn't seem to be looking at her—more like through her.
"Xander," she gasped, her voice trembling. "Hey—hey! Look at me."
No response.
"Xander!"
She shook him—once, then twice—until his pupils finally shifted and locked onto hers.
His brow furrowed. Confusion slowly spread across his face. "Erin…?"
"Yeah. Me." She was still holding his arms, still breathing hard. "You almost—what were you doing out there?"
He blinked again, then looked over his shoulder. His expression darkened, like someone had slapped him awake from a fog. "I don't… I don't remember coming out here."
Erin pulled back slightly, heart pounding. "You don't remember?"
"I was in the study. I was just thinking. About—" He stopped short, his jaw tightening.
"About what?"
He didn't reply.
Erin stared at him for a long moment. "You weren't thinking, Xander. You were about to fall."
His face twitched. "No, I—no."
"Yes," she said, stepping back from him. "You were. I had to pull you."
He didn't look at her. He just walked past her, quietly re-entering the study, and gestured for her to follow. "Come with me."
"What?"
"We're checking the CCTV."
She hesitated, still stunned by the entire moment, but hobbled in after him.
Down the stairs and around a dim corridor, Xander led her to the security room. The staff must've already turned in for the night because the place was empty. With a flick of his wrist, he punched in a code, turned on the monitor, and fast-forwarded to just minutes ago.
Erin crossed her arms. "You really didn't believe me?"
He didn't answer.
The footage loaded. The moment played.
There he was—walking out to the balcony with slow, distracted steps. He reached the railing and… froze. Then leaned forward.
Then Erin appeared—bursting out, grabbing him, pulling him back.
Xander stared at the screen like it was showing someone else. Someone foreign.
When the footage ended, Erin turned to look at him.
"So?" she asked, voice softer now. "Do you believe me now?"
He didn't speak.
For a moment, she actually felt sad. She'd saved him—pulled him back from a fall that could've ended everything—and the first thing he did was doubt her.
But at least now, she thought, now that he knows the truth, he'd thank her. Or at least say something decent. Something human.
But instead, he turned toward her, eyes sharp with frustration.
"Why would you do that?" he asked, his voice suddenly angry.
Erin flinched. "Do what?"
"Run after me like that. You could've hurt yourself even worse—"
"Are you serious right now?" she snapped, eyes wide. "You were about to fall off a fourth-floor balcony, Xander!"
"And you could've broken your ankle or your neck trying to stop me!"
Erin took a step back, stunned. She searched his face for a sign of sarcasm, some hint that he was just saying it out of embarrassment—but there was none. He looked genuinely furious.
"You're angry that I saved your life?" she asked, incredulous.
His jaw flexed, like he didn't have an answer.
Or maybe he did.
Maybe he just didn't want to say it.
He ran a hand through his hair, muttering something under his breath, then looked at her again.
And that's when it hit her.
He wasn't mad because she'd witnessed a vulnerable moment.
He was mad because she could've gotten hurt.
The thought froze her completely.
He didn't even mention himself.
Not once.
Her legs weakened slightly beneath her. The realization sank in with terrifying clarity. He was more upset about her getting hurt than the possibility of falling himself.
It didn't make sense. It didn't make any sense. This wasn't part of his personality. He was supposed to be distant, detached, unconcerned—especially when it came to her.
But all his actions lately…
She couldn't even finish the thought.
Xander noticed her silence and glanced at her.
She still hadn't said a word. Her mouth was slightly parted, expression frozen.
"Erin?" he said, quieter this time.
No response.
And that's when he realized what he'd just said.
Out loud.
To her.
His expression shifted instantly, all the fire extinguishing into something unreadable. He didn't try to explain. Didn't attempt to cover it with a joke or sarcasm like he usually did.
He simply turned, walked up to her, and without a word, picked her up again.
"Xander—" she began, but her voice was faint. Dazed.
"You're not moving from the bed until I come back."
Her heart was still thundering in her ears, but she couldn't find her voice to stop him.
He carried her in silence back up the stairs, his grip careful and steady. When they reached her room, he laid her gently on the bed, tucked the blanket around her, and stepped back.
His eyes met hers one last time—cool but conflicted.
Then, without waiting for a response, he turned and left.
The door closed quietly behind him.
Erin lay still, barely able to blink, her mind swarming with a thousand questions, none of which had answers.
And somewhere in the middle of that storm, one thought rose above the rest.
What is happening to him?
And perhaps more urgently…
What is happening to me?