Erin froze.
There, sprawled across the cold cement ground, Xander lay deathly still. A pool of blood bled into the dust beneath him—too red, too much. His shirt was soaked, clinging to his skin as if the very fabric was trying to hold him together. The world tilted on its axis. For a moment, she couldn't breathe.
"Xander?" Her voice broke the silence like glass.
She dropped to her knees beside him, hands trembling so hard she could barely reach for his shoulder. Her fingers touched the sticky, warm wetness—her breath caught. The coppery scent of blood clung to the air like smoke after a fire, choking her.
"Xander!" she cried, louder now, her voice shaking. "Hey! Hey, wake up!"
No answer. His face was pale, ghostly pale, too pale for someone like him. The arrogant glint that always lingered behind his eyes, the slight smirk that played on his lips even when he was teasing her—gone. Completely gone. In its place was a deadly stillness. It terrified her more than she could explain.
"You idiot," she whispered, brushing his hair from his forehead. "What were you doing here? Why are you—why now—?"
Her hands trembled violently as she pressed against the wound. The blood seeped through her fingers. It wouldn't stop. It wouldn't stop. And her heart wouldn't either—racing, pounding, screaming against her ribs.
The sound of footsteps rushing over gravel made her head jerk up.
"Boss!" one of the guards shouted, his voice sharp with panic.
More followed. A wave of black-suited men surrounded them like a tide, but none of them touched him. They just stared, frozen.
"What happened?!" one finally asked, crouching beside her.
"He's bleeding," she snapped, her voice higher-pitched than she meant. "Can't you see that? Get help!"
"We'll take care of it," the man muttered quickly. He motioned to the others, who sprang into action, pulling out walkie-talkies, barking commands into them. A small med kit appeared in one man's hands.
"He needs a hospital!" she said. "He's losing too much blood—"
"No. No hospital."
She blinked. "What?"
"We can't risk outside attention," the man said firmly. "We'll take him back home. Our doctor is already headed there."
Erin stared at them, incredulous. "He might die!"
The man hesitated. "He won't."
She felt the words choking her. She could argue. She could scream. She could force them. But she didn't. Instead, she looked back down at Xander's face, her hand still cupping his jaw. He looked… serene. Like he was just sleeping. Like he wasn't hanging between life and death.
And that's what scared her most.
Because she didn't want him to die.
They lifted him carefully, gently, like he was glass. She rode with them in the backseat of one of the black sedans. Her knees touched his. Her hands were folded tightly in her lap to keep them from shaking. They'd managed to slow the bleeding with gauze and tight wrapping, but he hadn't stirred once. Not a twitch. Not a blink. His lashes stayed still over closed lids.
She stared at him.
Then stared out the window.
Then back at him again.
"Why did I do that?" she murmured.
Her voice was barely audible. No one responded. She didn't expect them to.
She leaned back in the seat, fingers curling into her skirt. "Why did I run to him like that? I'm supposed to hate him. I do hate him. He's arrogant. He's rude. He never thinks before he speaks— His family destroyed mine." She sighed heavily.
But he bought her a bed. Even though she refused it. Even though she slept on the couch anyway, he never said a word. He let her have that space.
"I should be glad he's hurt," she whispered making sure she wasn't heard.
But the image of him lying there wouldn't leave her. The silence. The blood. The limp weight of his head when she lifted it. The chill that ran through her veins when he didn't move.
What if he had died?
She pressed her hands to her face and let out a shaky breath. Her chest felt heavy. Tired. Drenched in guilt and confusion.
She didn't know how long the car ride lasted. The streets blurred by in gray streaks. Eventually, the mansion gates loomed ahead, tall and black and indifferent as ever.
The car stopped.
The guards jumped out, opening the door for her. She climbed out numbly. They carried Xander inside, like a prince in some tragic story, bleeding but still beautiful. Erin followed behind them slowly, her feet dragging.
Inside, the hallway smelled faintly of lemon wax and roses. Familiar. Safe.
She hated it.
The men moved quickly, disappearing up the stairs with Xander's body. A maid offered her a glass of water. Erin didn't even look at her.
She walked into the living room. Stood in the center of the rug. Stared at nothing.
What just happened?
Why did it shake her so deeply?
She clenched her fists. Her chest ached. Her stomach churned.
"Get a grip, Erin," she whispered. "You're not supposed to care. You're not supposed to panic over him."
But she had. And she couldn't explain why.
As the sun dipped beyond the horizon, the room darkened.
And Erin was still standing there, lost in the shadows of her thoughts, questioning everything she thought she knew about herself.