The night air had grown still, humming with tension. This was not the kind of place a CEO visited late at night without security—or at least not for anything ordinary. Her instincts buzzed with something more sinister.
A man barked orders while another responded quickly—military precision. Whoever Xander was meeting, they weren't amateurs.
Voices echoed in every inch of the room—low murmurs and clipped phrases exchanged in sharp, businesslike tones.
She couldn't make out the words from her position behind the crates , but the tension in the air was suffocating. Every move was methodical. Every word spoken had weight. She could almost feel the gravity of whatever was happening behind that door pressing against her chest.
She needed access to the meeting room, but it was impossible to sneak in with so many people around.
There was no way she could breach the room directly. No amount of stealth or speed could get her past that kind of firepower. Not without giving herself away. And not when she didn't yet know what Xander was involved in.
Then she remembered something her mother had once told her: in operations like these, there was always a separate room for document drafts—a place for prepping the official materials before they went to the table.
Just as her pulse started to spike, she caught sight of a smaller door tucked into a hallway branching off to the left. It wasn't guarded. No cameras pointed toward it. Just an unassuming wooden frame, slightly scuffed at the bottom—as though opened frequently, but without care. Her instincts screamed that this was where she needed to go.
Inside was a smaller room, dimmer, filled with filing cabinets, a steel table, and a printer still warm from recent use. Jackpot.
A draft room. In secure places like this, where secrets were bartered like currency, there was always a backup location where copies and older documents were stored. Not everyone liked putting sensitive information on hard drives—some secrets were safer on paper. Or so they think.
The coldness of the place seeped through her skin and into her bones, raising goosebumps along her arms. The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a single overhead bulb flickering like it was choking on its own light.
Dust motes floated lazily through the air. The smell of old paper and faint printer ink hit her nostrils. Filing cabinets lined the walls, dozens of folders scattered across a long table in the middle of the room. Half of them were open, as though someone had been sifting through them in a hurry.
She went to the table first. She pulled on the sleeves of her coat before touching anything, not wanting to leave prints. The first folder she opened was filled with budget ledgers—normal stuff. Boring, even. But it didn't stay that way for long.
She shifted her attention to the cabinet. Her fingers hovered over the cabinet locks. Most were labeled with codes, but one drawer was slightly ajar. Inside were folders marked with red stamps and strict labels like "PRIVATE" and "DO NOT DISTRIBUTE."
She pulled one free, flipping it open.
Embezzlement reports. Fund transfers masked under dummy corporations. Names she didn't recognize, but the signatures at the bottom made her go still.
Isabella and Victor Volkov.
Xander's parents.
The floor beneath her seemed to sway. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes darted across the figures and annotations. Offshore accounts. Fake contracts. Stolen charity funds.
What the hell was this?
She reached for more documents, her fingers trembling slightly. The deeper she went, the worse it got. There were more off-shore accounts. Laundered money traced to shell companies she'd never heard of. Massive sums rerouted through fake charities. Property bought under aliases.
And on all of it—approval signatures from Xander's father. Some even had his mother's initials scribbled in the margins.
She fumbled for her phone and began snapping pictures, hand slightly trembling. The files were damning. If anyone saw these, the Volkov legacy would collapse. This was enough to destroy their dynasty. One after the other. Each shutter click made her stomach twist with guilt. She didn't know why.
She wasn't the one stealing. She wasn't the one embezzling. She wasn't the one laundering money through fake organizations that promised hope and delivered nothing.
So why did it feel like betrayal?
After the tenth photo, she paused.
Her mind was reeling. Not just because of what she saw. But because of what it meant. Why did Xander have these documents? Why was he storing evidence that could bring his parents down? Was he compiling it… or protecting it? Was he collecting it for someone else? Or was he holding it as insurance—just in case?
And if he really was working against them… why?
That question coiled tighter in her chest as she backed away from the drawer. He hadn't seemed the type to betray his family. Arrogant, secretive, and cold—but loyal? She thought so.
Unless…
Unless he wasn't keeping this as leverage. What if he was investigating them? Or worse—what if he had helped them, then had a change of heart?
She stood still, trying to piece together motives. Xander was difficult to read, but the more time she spent with him, the more he seemed conflicted. Maybe this was why.
Her thoughts were interrupted by sudden shouting outside the room.She peeked through the cracked door—men were running down the hallway.
Her body jerked into motion, heart racing. Her hands instinctively shoved the documents back into place, and she swept the area quickly to erase any signs of her presence. She didn't even have time to process the fear beginning to surge through her chest.
The sound of footsteps—dozens—was closing in. Some fast, some staggering.
And then came the scream.
A man's voice. Familiar. Raw with pain.
Erin didn't wait. She shoved the last folder in place and bolted for the door. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She kept to the shadows, ducking behind crates and metal beams, weaving through the chaos like a ghost.
The scene she stumbled upon nearly stopped her heart.
Xander was lying on the ground, blood pooling around his side.
And he wasn't moving.