Erin walked through the garden, her boots crunching softly against the gravel path as she tried to get her mind to shut up.
But it wouldn't.
The hurt in Xander's voice. The heat of his words. The way the pendant had cracked like something sacred—and the way he'd looked at her, like she'd touched a wound he never meant to show anyone.
But more than anything else, she was mad at herself.
She never should've asked. It wasn't her place. He was right—he didn't owe her an explanation. And she… she wasn't someone important to him.
She wasn't his friend.
She wasn't his confidante.
She was a maid. A personal maid—fine. But still a maid, and worse, a spy planted with a mission.
The reminder burned through her like acid.
The cool air of the garden helped clear her head, and as she wandered past the carved stone benches and ivy-wrapped trees, she pulled out her phone. Her fingers hovered for a long moment before dialing the private number she swore she'd delete.
It rang once.
Twice.
Then—
"Erin."
The woman's voice. Smooth, cold. A reminder of everything she was supposed to be.
"I have it," Erin said before she could stop herself. Her voice was flat, emotionless. "I have the evidence. The papers. Everything."
A pause. Then the man spoke this time. "You're ready?"
She stared at the roses, blooming bright and vicious.
"In three days. Come to the back of the mansion. At night. I'll hand it over."
"Good girl."
They hung up.
She stood there a moment longer, phone still in hand, not quite sure why her chest felt heavier instead of lighter. This was what she'd wanted. What she was trained for. What she had promised.
So why did it feel like a betrayal now?
She didn't go back to the mansion right away. She couldn't stand the idea of walking past his window and seeing him standing there—watching her. Judging her. He walked away after she saw him staring at her like he didn't care.
That hurt more than she liked to admit.
She walked past the walls and the iron gate, down the road until the breeze cleared her head a little. Just enough to function. Just enough to pull herself back together.
By the time she returned, the sky had darkened, the first stars blinking awake.
She slipped through the doors quietly, hoping not to bump into anyone, and headed up to their room.
But as she stepped in, she stopped.
There, sitting on the bed, was a box.
Elegant, dark velvet. Definitely not something she left there.
Her brows furrowed. She stepped closer, fingertips just brushing the lid—when the door clicked open behind her.
"Where did you go?"
She turned. Xander was there, arms crossed, brows drawn tight.
"Why do you care?" she asked coolly.
He frowned. "Because it's late. And you didn't say anything."
She didn't look at him as she replied, "Well, the same way you don't owe me any explanation… I don't owe you one either."
That shut him up.
For a moment, silence stretched between them.
Then he walked past her, picked up the box on the bed, and opened it.
Inside, nestled in black silk, was a necklace.
Not flashy or gaudy—but elegant. A delicate chain of silver, and at its center, a soft glimmer of a moonstone caught the light. Ethereal. Beautiful. And not cheap.
Erin blinked. "What… is that?"
He didn't look at her. "An apology."
She stared at him, stunned.
"You didn't have to—"
"I know." His voice was quiet now. "But I wanted to."
And just like that, the steel around her heart cracked.
She hated how easily he could do this—undo her resolve with a gesture, with a look. He stepped closer, holding the necklace in his hand, and she couldn't move when he raised it.
"May I?"
She hesitated. Then slowly nodded.
He came behind her, and she lifted her hair without thinking. His fingers brushed her neck—warm, steady—and she shivered.
The clasp clicked.
He didn't say anything. Neither did she.
But something had changed.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror. The necklace sparkled faintly at her collarbone.
She was supposed to betray him.
She had called them.
But suddenly, she wasn't sure anymore. Her throat tightened with guilt. This was wrong. All of it. She shouldn't have said yes. She shouldn't have called. She shouldn't have—
She looked at him in the mirror.
And for the first time, she knew with certainty—
She couldn't go through with it.
Not anymore.