The moment Xander and Erin stepped into the grand marble foyer of the gala venue, a wave of hushes and stares rolled across the crowd. Erin's arm looped through his, her gown flowing like midnight shadows as she tried not to flinch under the weight of their attention.
Chandeliers bathed the hall in warm gold, reflecting off glittering champagne flutes and crystalline laughter. Waiters glided by like whispers, and socialites paraded around in curated perfection. But none of it dulled the intensity of the whispers that followed their entrance.
"Is that the maid Lillianne was talking about?"
"No way. That's the girl from the event."
"Didn't they say she slapped Lillianne?"
Erin ignored them. Or at least, she tried to. But she could feel the gazes slicing across her skin, cold and sharp. Still, she held her head high and walked with the poise of someone who was used to pretending.
Xander didn't seem to mind any of it. If anything, he looked pleased by the discomfort he was causing. He leaned close as they made their way past the crowd.
"Let them talk," he murmured. "It makes it harder for them to bite."
She almost smiled. Almost.
They stopped near a marble column, where soft music played and glasses of wine shimmered on silver trays. Xander leaned against the pillar, hands in his pockets, casually owning the entire room. Erin stood beside him, feeling like a flame in a field of frost.
Then her phone buzzed again.
She didn't need to check it. She didn't even move.
She just slipped her hand into her clutch and held it there.
Xander glanced at her. "Same friend?"
Her stomach twisted. "No. Just… reminders."
His eyes held hers for a second too long.
Then he smiled faintly. "Right."
But before she could unpack the look he'd just given her—or the way her throat tightened at it—the room shifted.
The doors at the far end burst open.
Lillianne Thornwell had arrived.
She stood in a scarlet gown that clung to her like fire, her curls piled high on her head, her face a portrait of venomous beauty. People parted around her like waves. Her gaze scanned the room—and landed on them.
She walked forward, every step like a declaration of war.
"Erin Lane," she said, voice like shattered silk.
Erin barely had time to blink.
The slap came fast.
Sharp. Ringing. Hot.
The entire room gasped.
Erin's face snapped to the side, the sting blooming across her cheek. Her body froze. Her mind blanked.
Then came Lillianne's voice, loud enough for the entire room to hear.
"You seduced him," she hissed. "You wretched little snake. He's mine. He was always mine. You think you can just walk into our world and ruin everything?"
Erin blinked.
For a moment, her thoughts weren't on the sting. They were on the word mine.
And the awful realization that hit her. She had completely forgotten about Lillianne's engagement to Xander.
What have I done?
She had let herself forget.
Which meant Lillianne wasn't entirely wrong.
But Erin composed herself. Slowly.
She stood straighter, ignoring the eyes boring into her. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, her voice remarkably steady.
Lillianne scoffed—and pulled out her phone.
She held up a photo. Erin didn't need to look too closely. She remembered that moment well.
Xander, smiling faintly at her on the swing.
Her leaning into his embrace.
Too intimate.
And absolutely real.
She opened her mouth—maybe to explain, maybe to defend herself—but she never got the chance.
Xander stepped forward.
"Enough," he said sharply.
His voice sliced through the room like a blade.
Lillianne turned to him, eyes wide with disbelief. "You're really going to stand there and defend her?"
"She's not the one who seduced anyone."
"I'm the one who's betrothed to you!" Lillianne snapped. "You're supposed to protect me! You're supposed to be loyal to me!"
Xander tilted his head. "Am I?"
She blinked.
"I don't mind," she said quickly, desperate now. "You can just get rid of her. I'll forgive everything. We can go back to the way it was. I'll even—"
Xander chuckled.
It wasn't warm.
He raised one hand and snapped his fingers.
The nearest screen—originally looping family logos and silent classical art—suddenly shifted.
A photo appeared.
Lillianne.
In a luxurious hotel bed.
With a man clearly in his forties, shirtless, his hand resting too familiarly on her bare shoulder. The date in the corner: three months ago.
Gasps exploded around the room.
Erin stood frozen.
Lillianne turned ghost-white.
"That… that doesn't mean anything!" she cried. "I wasn't thinking clearly—I was angry. But I'm willing to change! You cheated too! With her! So that makes us even!"
"No," Xander said, stepping forward.
"It doesn't."
"Because the moment you slept with someone else, you violated the betrothal terms. You ended it. Officially."
Lillianne stared at him, lips trembling.
"And that means," he continued, glancing calmly at Erin, "that what I do now—who I choose to be with—is not cheating."
The silence was absolute.
"Y-You can't do this to me," Lillianne whispered. "I'll change. I'll be better. Just don't—don't throw this away."
Xander didn't answer.
She turned to the crowd. "My parents will never allow this! Our cooperation with your family—our alliance—gone, if you walk away!"
He shrugged, completely unmoved. "Then let it be gone."
Lillianne's expression twisted with fury.
She whirled on Erin again, venom in her eyes. "This is your fault—"
Her hand shot up.
But it never landed.
Xander caught her wrist mid-air, tight.
"That slap earlier caught me off guard because I wasn't looking," he said coldly.
"But this?" His grip tightened. "This is your last chance. You ever try to lay a hand on Erin again—"
He didn't finish.
He didn't have to.
Lillianne wrenched her arm free, shaking, red-faced and humiliated.
Then she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, dragging scandal and silence in her wake.
Erin stood there, still frozen, as Xander exhaled and turned back to her.
And for the first time, she didn't know what scared her more:
The fact that he had defended her so fiercely.
Or the fact that he had meant it.