Erin stood at the threshold of Xander's bedroom door, staring at the still, unconscious body on the bed. The sunlight filtered through the half-drawn curtains, casting long shadows that stretched over his pale face. His breathing was shallow but steady now—a soft rise and fall of his chest, like a whisper against time. The bruises that marred his side had begun to fade, though the bandage where the bullet had been removed remained stark and cruel against his skin.
She hadn't stepped into that room since they'd returned. Something about seeing him there, lifeless and vulnerable, sent her heart into fits she couldn't explain. Even now, from the hallway, her hand hovered in midair—undecided, trembling. She could walk in and sit by his side. She could pretend she didn't care and inspect the damage out of sheer curiosity. But instead, she turned away.
The maids had it covered. That's what she told herself.
She needed air.
The mansion's gates felt suffocating lately. Everywhere she looked, something reminded her of that night. The blood. His mocking smile, even as he lay bleeding. Her own trembling hands as she screamed his name and shook him, her voice raw with fear she shouldn't have had.
So she left.
It wasn't difficult. She didn't need to explain where she was going. The guards were focused on tightening security, the maids were whispering tales of an "accident," and no one seemed particularly interested in the maid who didn't do anything but follow the boss around and didn't quite fit in and was always cold towards everyone.
The city beyond the gates was a comforting chaos. Car horns, chatter, the aroma of grilled street food mingling with exhaust fumes. For a moment, she allowed herself to be swallowed by the crowd.
But she had a destination in mind.
Tucked between a vintage bookstore and a flower shop, nestled beneath a teal-striped awning, was a pastry store with a name that read more like poetry than branding: Sugar & Thorn. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon greeted her like an old friend as she stepped inside. It was charming in the most misleading way—white brick walls, golden lighting, glass display cases filled with croissants, berry tarts, and flaky danishes that practically glowed.
But Erin knew better.
This place wasn't just a pastry shop. It was a front.
Her mother had established Sugar & Thorn years ago, and behind its saccharine disguise, it served as a front for something bigger and dangerous hidden in plain sight. And because it functioned so flawlessly as a business, no one had ever suspected a thing.
Erin took her usual seat by the bay window, the sun warming the glass behind her as she ordered a lavender macaron and a cappuccino. She didn't have to wait long.
The bell over the door jingled, and in walked a girl with copper-blonde curls and oversized sunglasses. Her name was Heather. She was never the same girl twice a week, not exactly—different hairstyle, different voice, different attitude. But Erin always recognized her by the ring she wore: a thin gold band with a single opal. That was the code.
Heather slid into the seat across from her, setting down a chocolate éclair she didn't touch.
"You look tired," she said quietly, keeping her eyes on her coffee.
Erin offered a weak smile. "You have no idea."
They sipped in silence for a beat.
"Did you find anything?" Heather asked finally.
Erin hesitated.
She reached into her bag, fingers brushing the phone that now held photos of documents so damning, they could bring the entire Lancaster name crumbling down. Papers stamped with bank seals. Signatures. Transactions traced with meticulous accuracy. Embezzlement on a grand scale.
She should hand it over. That was the mission.
But she didn't.
"I think…" she began slowly, "His parents are involved in something shady. Financial. I don't have all the details yet. But it's big. I think we should look into it."
Heather blinked at her. "That's it?"
Erin nodded, taking another slow sip of her drink.
"Did you get proof?"
A pause. "Not yet."
Heather studied her, as though trying to read past the calm expression Erin wore like armor.
"You know how important this is, Erin. If you find something, you need to share it."
"I know. But if I go to you with unverified suspicions, you'll jump the gun. You'll act before I get the chance to understand what it means. And I need to know what it means."
Heather tilted her head. "Is this about that man?"
"No," Erin said quickly.
Too quickly.
Heather's expression didn't change, but Erin could feel the shift in atmosphere. Her words were being weighed, examined. A misstep here could unravel everything.
"I'm just saying," Erin added, softer now, "if they really are guilty, don't you want more than just evidence? Don't you want to know why he has it? Why he kept it hidden? Maybe there's something more going on."
Heather leaned back, sighing. "Fine. But don't let it get personal. You're a—" she halted, as if she just remembered something important. "This mission is bigger than your feelings."
"It's not personal," Erin lied.
After their brief chat, Heather left with nothing more than a wave and an untouched pastry, leaving Erin alone at the window. She sat there for another hour, chewing slowly on her macaron, watching people walk past on the street. Lovers. Businessmen. Teenagers with music blasting through headphones. None of them knew who she really was.
And for a while, she didn't either.
Her phone buzzed with a message from the mansion staff, letting her know that Xander's condition remained stable, but unchanged.
Still unconscious.
Erin stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over it. She didn't know why she cared. She didn't know why it scared her so much to see him like that. All she knew was that she couldn't get the image of him lying in that pool of blood out of her head. She saw it every time she closed her eyes.
She finished her cappuccino in silence, guilt curling in her stomach. Not because she'd withheld information—but because she'd wanted to.
Because a part of her, no matter how small, didn't want Xander to be her enemy.
Not anymore. And she didn't know why.