The drive back to the penthouse was wrapped in silence. Not the comfortable kind that came from familiarity, but a strained, suffocating one—heavy with unasked questions and unsaid thoughts. Streetlights flitted across the interior of the car like fleeting memories neither of them wanted to acknowledge.
Erin sat with her back pressed to the door, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her heart was still recovering from the elevator ordeal, but her face was an impassive mask. She didn't glance at him once.
Xander hadn't moved much either. One hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on his thigh. His jaw was clenched, the muscle ticking slightly as though something had deeply unsettled him. He didn't look at her, but he felt her presence in every breath he took. The elevator incident hadn't just rattled Erin—it had shaken something in him too.
He'd held her.
He wasn't supposed to do that. He wasn't supposed to want to.
As they pulled into the underground parking garage, the quiet engine's hum was louder than the tension between them. Neither spoke as they exited the car and entered the elevator—the other elevator. Thankfully, this one didn't make any unexpected stops. Still, Erin's body remained taut beside him.
When they stepped into the penthouse, Erin made a beeline for the hallway without a word.
"Erin," Xander called after her, voice quieter than usual, less sharp, more… unsure.
She stopped but didn't turn. "I'm tired," she said flatly. "Goodnight."
Then she disappeared down the hall.
Xander stared at the empty hallway for a moment before sighing and loosening the collar of his shirt. His shoulders sagged as he moved toward the kitchen, tugging off his blazer and draping it over a bar stool.
He didn't know what he expected—some sarcastic jab from her, maybe, or another tense standoff—but not this silence. Not this… distance.
Erin stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, slowly removing the pins from her hair one by one. Each click of metal against glass felt like a small explosion in the quiet.
She could still feel the ghost of his hand on her back. The warmth of his palm. The firm way he had held her when the elevator had stopped. It had only been a few minutes—ten at most—but those minutes had felt endless. Like being caught in a suspended breath, waiting for it to collapse.
She dropped the last pin onto the dresser and exhaled shakily.
Erin changed into her oversized T-shirt and pajama pants, but sleep felt like an alien concept. Every time she closed her eyes, she remembered that cold, tight space. The metal pressing against her spine. The damp smell. Her seven-year-old self crying out in the dark.
Let me out. Please, let me out.
She shook her head and dragged herself to the kitchen for some water. Maybe if she drank enough, her brain would stop spinning.
Meanwhile…
The kitchen was dimly lit, the cool blue of the moonlight spilling through the large windows. The soft hum of the fridge and the distant sound of traffic below were the only noises in the otherwise silent apartment.
Xander had leaned against the counter, staring at the bottle of whiskey on the shelf, but it wasn't that he wanted a drink. No, he was just trying to distract himself from the storm that was building in his mind. Erin's reaction earlier had unsettled him more than he cared to admit, and now she was avoiding him like he was some kind of plague.
Her refusal to acknowledge the incident made him feel… powerless. She hadn't looked at him with hatred or disdain as he expected; instead, it was the emptiness in her gaze that bothered him more. It wasn't even the way her body had stiffened when he'd touched her, nor the way she pulled away as though his touch burned her. It was the raw vulnerability she had shown in that elevator, a side of her he hadn't seen before.
He sighed and grabbed a glass from the cupboard, the cool porcelain soothing against his fingertips as he poured a drink. The amber liquid shimmered under the moonlight, but as soon as the glass was full, he froze.
It wasn't the drink he needed.
Xander set the glass down with a decisive clink and turned toward the hallway. Without thinking, he walked toward her room, but as he was about to leave, he saw her headed towards the kitchen so he went back.
He leaned casually against the marble counter but his body was far from relaxed. When he saw her enter, his brow arched. "Couldn't sleep either?"
She shrugged, reaching for a glass. "Something like that."
They stood there for a moment, neither saying anything. The air felt heavier than it had at the gala. At least there, she could pretend. Smile. Dance. Here, the silence forced everything out.
"You panicked," he said suddenly.
Her fingers tightened on the glass.
He didn't say it like an accusation. It wasn't mockery either. Just quiet observation.
She turned to the sink. "So? You planning to fire me for being claustrophobic?"
"No," he said. "Just wondering what caused it."
Erin didn't answer. She couldn't. If she opened her mouth, it would spill out, and she wasn't ready for that. Not with him.
He didn't push. Just took another sip of his drink.
"Thank you," she murmured.
His head tilted. "For what?"
"Not… questioning me. Not making it worse."
He nodded once. "You looked like you needed an anchor."
She blinked at him. "That's surprisingly poetic for you."
He smiled, but it was subdued. "Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to keep."
Erin looked down into her water. For a second, they weren't maid and master. Weren't enemies forced under the same roof. Just two people with too many secrets.
"Do you always pretend to be so cold?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer right away. Then he said, "Do you always pretend not to be scared?"
She looked up sharply. Their eyes met.
"You don't have to pretend with me," she said, her voice quieter now, almost vulnerable in a way that made his chest tighten. "I know what this is. You're just doing what you've always done: keeping everything about yourself locked up and away from anyone who might actually care."
He felt the sting of her words, sharper than any of the barbs she'd thrown his way before. But she was right. He had built walls around himself, too many of them to count, and he wasn't sure if he even remembered what it was like to let anyone past them. It wasn't just her. It was everyone. He had shut himself off from the world long ago, and it was easier that way.
But now, in her presence, he felt something stir. Something he couldn't quite define.
"You don't know anything about me," he said quietly, the words coming out more defensively than he intended. "You don't know why I do the things I do."
Her eyes softened, and for the first time since the elevator, she stepped closer. Her presence seemed to fill the space between them, but it wasn't overwhelming. It was simply there—steady and grounded.
"No," she admitted, her voice gentle. "But I'm starting to."
They stood there in the silence, the space between them charged with an unspoken tension. She was right. He didn't open up to people. Not to anyone, let alone her.
Erin took another step forward, and for a brief moment, it almost seemed like she was going to reach out. But she didn't. She stopped just a few inches away, the distance between them almost maddening. She wasn't pulling away—she was waiting.
He had no idea what she was waiting for.
But before he could process any further, he heard it—a faint sound from the hallway, a soft click of the door. His attention snapped toward it. Someone was outside.
Erin's eyes darted toward the door, her posture immediately stiffening.
Xander's instinct kicked in, and before he could think, he moved toward the door and opened it just a fraction. His eyes narrowed when he saw who it was.
"Is everything alright, sir?"
It was his assistant, standing just outside the door, looking between him and Erin. The interruption cut through the moment, pulling them both back into reality.
Xander clenched his jaw, irritated by the timing but understanding the necessity of the question. Still, a part of him didn't want the moment to end. He didn't want the conversation to shift, to become the awkward routine they'd been stuck in since the beginning.
He glanced at Erin, seeing her frustration mirrored in her eyes. She seemed to recognize that this was the end of whatever fragile connection they'd just started to form. Without a word, she stepped back, pulling herself further away from him, retreating into her own world.
"Everything's fine," Xander said curtly to the assistant, stepping back inside the room, though his eyes never left Erin. "You can go now."
The assistant gave a polite nod, but as he left, Xander felt the heavy weight of Erin's gaze on him.
But the moment shattered with the sudden buzz of Xander's phone.
He pulled it from his pocket, frowning. His expression darkened.
Erin watched his features harden as he read the message. The softness vanished.
"What is it?" she asked.
Xander didn't answer immediately. He just stared at the screen, jaw clenched.
Then he muttered, "We have a problem."
Erin's heart stuttered. "What kind of problem?"
Xander looked at her, gaze unreadable.
"Lilianne's parents just called. They are coming. Tonight."
Erin froze.
"Why?"
His voice dropped to a murmur. "Because she told them I assaulted her."