The ballroom had grown louder, but not warmer. The absence of the hosting family left a gaping vacuum in the atmosphere—like the party had been assembled but no one had lit the fire. No official welcome. No speeches. Just champagne and tension, and guests trying not to acknowledge that the hosts were simply… missing.
Even Xander's parents had yet to arrive.
It didn't sit right with Erin. Everything about this event had the gloss of high society, but none of the grounding—like a chandelier with no ceiling to hang from.
They'd returned from the balcony less than twenty minutes ago, and already the energy had shifted. Whispers moved through the crowd like smoke. Eyes kept flicking toward her, some sharp, some curious. And Erin could feel every one of them settle like a pin on her skin.
She remained near the refreshment table while Xander had stepped away to greet someone from a partner company. Or so he said. She hadn't asked. And he hadn't offered anything more.
She took a slow sip of water from her glass, trying to shake the unease, when a young woman approached—a long gown trailing behind her like a peacock's feathers, her lips curled in the kind of smile that wasn't friendly at all.
"You're the one who danced with him earlier, right?" the woman asked.
Erin glanced sideways. "I am."
The woman tilted her head, feigning politeness. "No offense, but I don't think I've seen you at any of these events before. Are you from another family?"
Her voice was honey-dipped judgment.
"No," Erin said simply.
The woman gave a light laugh, the kind that disguised condescension as curiosity. "Then… forgive me, but I just don't understand why he chose you. No shade, really. It just seemed… sudden."
Erin opened her mouth to say something—anything—but the truth was, she didn't have an answer. Because even she had asked herself the same thing.
Why her?
Xander could have had anyone. Someone with pedigree, prestige, purpose. Someone who didn't scrub his kitchen and organize his calendar and hide who she truly was.
She said nothing.
But the silence didn't last long.
"Is there a problem?" Xander's voice cut cleanly through the air.
The woman straightened instantly, her faux-smile flickering. "Oh—no, not at all. We were just chatting."
"Were you?" His tone stayed calm, but cold in a way that made Erin feel like the temperature in the room had dropped.
He stepped between them, not rudely, just definitively, then reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a small, velvet box.
Before Erin could speak—or even process what was happening—he opened it and held it out to her.
Inside sat a necklace.
It was delicate and old, clearly antique, with a thin chain and a charm of smooth obsidian framed by silver. Elegant, understated. And yet, unmistakably valuable. It wasn't flashy in the modern sense—but it didn't need to be. Its worth was in its history.
"I want you to wear this," Xander said.
Erin's eyes widened. "What?"
"It belonged to my grandmother," he added. "She wore it at her first gala."
The woman who had questioned Erin just moments ago froze, her face slipping into stunned disbelief.
Erin, however, could barely breathe.
She leaned toward him slightly and murmured, "You can't be serious."
"I am."
"You can't just—Xander, that's—" She swallowed hard, heart thudding. "You know I can't accept that."
"You can. And you will." He didn't raise his voice. It wasn't a command—it was something worse. It was an expectation. "Unless you want to make a bigger scene."
That shut her up.
She could already feel the weight of dozens of eyes on them. The pause in conversation around the room was palpable, like everyone was trying not to be obvious about eavesdropping.
Erin knew enough to understand what a gift like this meant in a room like this. It was symbolic. Possessive. Public.
And irreversible.
She hesitated, every instinct screaming to refuse—but she also knew better than to create an awkward spectacle in the middle of a formal event.
So she lifted her chin, slid her fingers beneath the velvet lid, and pulled the necklace free.
"I'll return it to you after tonight," she whispered under her breath.
"We'll see," Xander replied just as quietly.
Without waiting for her consent, Xander stepped behind her and gently brushed her hair aside. Erin stood still, too stunned to move as his fingers moved with unhurried precision, clasping the cool chain at the nape of her neck. The necklace settled against her collarbone like it belonged there.
"There," he murmured, close enough for only her to hear. "Let them keep guessing."
Then he stepped back, lifted his champagne glass, and addressed the room with effortless poise.
"To choices I don't need to explain—" his gaze swept across the crowd before landing firmly on Erin, "—and to the ones who are worth making them for."