Morning crept in with a thick, sleepy silence. The curtains remained drawn, but soft light filtered through the slivers, washing the room in a bluish tint. The quiet hum of the AC was the only sound until a low groan escaped from the bed.
Two bodies stirred—almost in sync.
Erin blinked awake slowly, already aware of the heavy gaze she felt boring into her side. She turned—and met sharp gray eyes, awake and alert.
Of course he was already awake.
Xander was lying on his side, head propped on one hand, watching her like someone studying a puzzle that refused to be solved. His expression was unreadable, as always, but his eyes gave away the tiniest flicker of amusement.
For a few seconds, neither of them moved. They just glared.
Erin, refusing to be the one to break eye contact first, held her ground—until she suddenly threw off the blanket and bolted from the bed.
Xander blinked.
The sound of a door slamming shut confirmed her plan—she'd sprinted to the bathroom.
He smirked to himself and muttered under his breath, "Petty."
But it was funny.
Instead of waiting for her to finish, Xander headed for one of the guest rooms and used the spare bathroom. He wasn't about to let a stubborn maid ruin his routine. Besides, he didn't need her permission to use his own house.
By the time Erin came downstairs—dressed neatly and hair damp from her quick shower—Xander was already seated at the long, elegant dining table. He looked up from his phone, hiding his interest behind a lazy expression.
She hesitated for a second at the sight of him, then walked calmly to the chair opposite and sat down, her hands folded as if waiting for someone to serve breakfast.
Xander raised an eyebrow.
"Are you forgetting your place, Erin?" he asked casually. "You're not a guest here. You're my personal maid. Or have you conveniently erased that from your memory?"
She frowned. "What are you—"
"You cook my meals," he reminded, cutting her off. "I told you that days ago. Or did you think I was joking?"
Erin stared at him, stunned for a moment—not because he was lying, but because, in the chaos of everything, she had genuinely forgotten. The nerve of him to remember.
Still, she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flustered.
Without a word, she stood up, turned on her heel, and headed for the kitchen.
Xander leaned back in his chair, grinning as he heard her grumble the moment she was out of sight.
"Arrogant, spoiled, emotionally constipated jerk—'cook my meals,' like I'm his damn chef—ugh, I hope his eggs burn in hell…"
He chuckled.
Inside the kitchen, Erin tied on an apron—reluctantly—and rummaged through the fridge. She wasn't about to serve him burnt toast and instant coffee. No. If she was doing this, she was doing it properly. That would piss him off even more.
She prepared an herb omelet with just the right amount of cheese, golden brown hash browns, and a side of buttered sourdough toast. She added a touch of flair by slicing up some strawberries and arranging them neatly on the plate. A splash of fresh orange juice completed the setup.
Balanced and perfect.
Erin placed the plate in front of him with a scowl that made her nose wrinkle slightly—then sat down again, arms crossed.
Xander looked at the food, then up at her.
"You can cook?" he said, genuinely surprised.
Erin rolled her eyes. "Are you hearing yourself, sir? I'm your personal maid. What makes you think I can't cook? What's a maid if she can't cook?"
He took a bite, chewed slowly, and gave her a slow nod. "Impressive."
"Glad you like it, sir."
"So you're not going to stop, huh?"
"Stop what sir?"
"Nothing." He said but he clearly didn't mean it.
"If so then let's continue with our meal, sir."
And he did. So did she. They didn't speak much after that, but for once, the silence didn't feel like daggers between them. It felt… strangely calm.
No accusations. No fake smiles. Just food, clinking forks, and the low hum of the house waking up around them.
Maybe it was the sleep still lingering in their bones. Or maybe it was the fact that they both held blackmail-worthy secrets over each other now. Whatever it was, something had shifted.
Just as Erin stood to clear the plates, the door swung open.
They both froze.
Xander frowned. He wasn't expecting anyone.
Erin tilted her head, suspicious. The staff didn't use the main entrance —they had their own entrance.
A moment later, a maid scurried into the dining room. "Sir, there's a… guest. She says she wasn't invited, but she insisted."
Erin and Xander exchanged a wary glance.
"Who is it?" he asked sharply.
The maid gulped. "Princess Lillianne Thornwell."
Erin's heart dropped.
You've got to be kidding me.