The morning sun filtered through the mansion's long windows in pale gold streaks, crawling slowly across the marble floors and reaching up to the thick curtains of Erin's room. But the light wasn't what woke her.
Her eyes opened with a snap, her heart already racing as if she'd been running in her dreams. She sat up slowly, the sheets tangled around her legs. Her breath hitched for a second before she smoothed her expression with practiced calm. It was a new day, and she had to act like last night hadn't happened.
But it had.
The kiss.
Her fingers unconsciously brushed her lips as the memory replayed with dangerous clarity. The warmth of his hands at her waist. The way time had folded in on itself, the air thick between them. And the worst part was that she had let it happen. Worse still, she had liked it.
"Stupid," she muttered to herself. "So, so stupid."
Erin swung her legs over the bed and stood, letting the cold floor shock her into wakefulness. She wouldn't think about it. She couldn't. Not when she was still on a mission. Not when a letter tucked deep in her drawer reminded her of everything that was at stake. She hadn't touched it since the night she read it, but its words still echoed in her mind, coiling like smoke around her thoughts.
She dressed quickly, deliberately choosing a neutral outfit—something modest, something that wouldn't draw attention. Her hair was tied back tightly, her face devoid of its usual softness. She was determined to maintain control.
But the moment she opened her door and stepped into the hallway, she felt his presence.
Down the corridor, Xander was already awake.
He leaned against the banister, freshly showered, dressed in casual house clothes that somehow still managed to look refined. His arms were crossed, and he wasn't even pretending not to watch her. His gaze followed her quietly, unreadable, and it took everything in Erin not to freeze under the weight of it.
She gave him a quick nod and walked past with a mumbled, "Morning."
He didn't respond. He only tilted his head slightly, watching her like one might a puzzle missing a few crucial pieces.
In the kitchen, Erin lingered by the cabinets longer than she needed to, pretending to search for something. Anything. Maybe an excuse not to sit at the same table with him. Maybe a reason to disappear before he said something she wouldn't be able to brush off.
But the scent of freshly chopped fruit caught her attention. She turned.
Xander was at the counter, cutting fruit.
The image was so foreign that her feet stalled.
He shouldn't have looked so comfortable there, like he belonged. Like he did this every morning. Erin knew he didn't. The first time she met him, she would have bet her life that he didn't even know where the kitchen knives were stored.
But here he was, knife in hand, slicing through mangoes and apples with clean, precise cuts. The fruit was arranged artfully on a white platter—not messy, not clumsy, but intentional.
He caught her staring.
"What? Think I can't feed myself?" His tone was mild, even teasing, but his eyes didn't smile.
"No," she replied, quickly averting her gaze. "I just… didn't expect it."
He didn't say anything to that. Just continued arranging the slices into little fans.
Erin busied herself with pouring two glasses of orange juice, focusing on the way the liquid shimmered in the light, the way it gave her hands something to do. She hated how aware she was of him—every motion, every breath, every glance.
They ate in silence, sitting across from each other like two people who knew too much and yet not enough.
From his side of the table, Xander took calculated bites. But he wasn't really tasting anything
His mind was running.
He had been up long before the sun, seated on the edge of the bed, still fully clothed from the night before. Sleep had evaded him. Instead, his mind looped—over and over—the moment her lips had touched his.
He hadn't meant to kiss her. Not really. Not entirely. It was supposed to be another one of those mocking games—test her reactions, make her flustered, pull back just before anything real could happen. That had been the plan. But he hadn't pulled back.
He'd leaned in.
And she hadn't pulled away either.
That changed things.
At first, it had felt like a lapse in judgment—a moment of weakness, one he'd blame on proximity, tension, curiosity. But as he watched her now, fidgeting slightly, chewing her bottom lip, eyes darting anywhere but his—he knew it wasn't just a lapse.
She wasn't who she appeared to be.
She wasn't after money and she clearly didn't want him. Because every time he touched her, every time they came close to crossing a line, it was always her who pulled away first. It didn't make sense.
If she really wanted something from him, she wouldn't keep stopping.
She was either a very good liar… or genuinely different.
And both options unnerved him.
He glanced up and saw her staring at her food. Not eating. Lost in thought. Her hands were clenched in her lap.
They sat in silence for a while, nibbling at the food. The silence wasn't tense exactly, but it was dense—thick with everything they weren't saying.
Xander watched her chew slowly, then turned his attention to the toast in his hand. He sighed through his nose.
She beat him to it. "So… about last night."
His shoulders twitched. "Yeah."
She gave a small, nervous laugh. "That was unexpected."
He didn't look at her. "Yeah. I didn't… plan it."
"You said it wouldn't happen again."
He glanced at her now. "Didn't you want it to happen again?"
Her lips parted, a flicker of heat rising in her face. But she shook her head. "That's not what I meant."
He leaned back, half-smirking. "No? Then what did you mean, exactly?"
"I meant… you seem very confident about your ability to control yourself."
His eyes glittered. "And you seemed very confident I will try again."
Erin stiffened.
He chuckled. "You did seem so sure of yourself last night."
Her fork clinked against the plate. "It was a moment. That's all. It didn't mean anything."
He tilted his head, still watching her. "Then why are you so rattled?"
She looked away.
He continued. "You keep pulling away. Every time we get close. Why?"
"Because I don't trust you."
"Fair," he murmured. Then softer, "I don't trust you either."
She blinked.
Xander stood slowly and walked over, crouching down beside the couch. "But I want to. And I want you to trust me. Even if that's stupid."
Her breath caught. She looked at him—really looked. And for a moment, she saw something raw in his expression. Not just desire. Not suspicion. Not arrogance.
Sincerity.
"What if…" she said quietly, "you trusted someone who wasn't who you thought they were?"
He stared at her.
"Then I'd want to know the truth," he said simply. "Because lies break everything."
Their eyes locked.
Erin swallowed and looked away.
"Thanks for the breakfast," she mumbled. "It was… good."
He stood again, tone light. "You're welcome. I had help. Indirectly."
She nodded.
But neither of them moved far. Not yet.
In the silence, in the weight of unsaid words, the echo of that kiss lingered between them—flickering like a memory that refused to fade.
The hum of his voice lingered. Erin pushed a piece of mango around her plate. Her appetite had vanished, replaced by the heavy ache of guilt.
She wasn't just lying about her reasons for being here.
She was lying about everything.
Erin excused herself after breakfast, and he let her go.
But he followed. Quietly. She never heard his footsteps as she moved through the halls. He watched as she disappeared into the small study, the door creaking behind her.
Minutes passed.
Inside the study, Erin sat on the couch, notebook in hand. Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened it.
She had a new entry to write, but not about the kiss. She couldn't risk anyone finding out about that.
She needed to write about how blurred everything had become. How hard it was to tell herself he was the enemy. How she didn't know what she hated anymore—the mission, the lies, him or herself.
She pressed the pen against the page, but the ink bled uselessly as the words refused to come.
What would Xander do if he knew who she really was?
Not just a maid. Not just a girl with secrets.
But a royal. A spy.
Would he hate her? Would he expose her? Would he pretend none of it happened? Would he still kiss her again?
Her chest tightened.
She stared down at the page, eyes burning. The ink smudged where her fingers gripped the paper too tightly.
She didn't hear him enter.
"What's that?"
His voice was low, curious. Not accusing. But it sent a shock down her spine.
She froze.
Slowly, Erin lifted her eyes. Xander was standing just inside the room, the door partially open behind him. His arms were folded loosely, but his expression was sharp—too sharp.
The notebook sat like a lead weight in her lap.
She searched his face for any sign that he knew. That he had read over her shoulder. That this was the end.
"It's… just a journal," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
He didn't step forward, but he didn't leave either. His gaze flicked from her face to the notebook and back again.
"You write a lot?"
She nodded, holding his stare like a silent dare.
"What about?"
Erin swallowed. "Things I don't want to forget."
He seemed to consider that. The silence stretched between them like a frayed thread.
Then, with a slight nod, Xander turned. "Don't forget breakfast is your job tomorrow."
And he left.
Erin sat there, pulse thundering in her ears, the notebook still open in her lap.
The truth was catching up.
And she wasn't ready.