The silence that followed felt deafening.
Erin didn't move.
Her fingers curled into her dress, and her heart was pounding so hard it hurt.
"You alright?" Xander asked, turning toward her.
"I'm fine," she whispered.
But she wasn't.
She didn't know what this meant anymore.
Did he really… mean everything he'd just said?
Because now… now there was no betrothal between him and Lillianne.
And if that obstacle was gone, then everything between Erin and Xander had just changed.
Which meant… she was in deeper trouble than she'd ever planned to be.
She turned away from him, muttering, "I need to go inside."
"Erin—"
But she didn't wait.
She walked briskly back toward the house, slipping through the French doors, the sting on her cheek long forgotten compared to the ache in her chest.
Because for the first time since her mission began, Erin wasn't just pretending to care about the boy she was supposed to manipulate.
She really did.
And that… was dangerous.
The bathroom was lavish, as was expected in a place like this—all marble and gold accents, soft lighting and perfumed air. Erin leaned against the sink, her hands gripping the edge. She took a deep breath and pulled out her phone. A new message from Talia.
We've got everything. Time to leave.
Her heart clenched. That was it. Her mission was complete. The evidence had been retrieved—stolen, really. The job was done. She had done what she came here to do. She could go now, just walk away. No more pretending. No more lies. No more of this growing ache she refused to name.
She stared at the message. Her thumb hovered over the screen. She should be thrilled. Triumphant. But instead, all she felt was…
Empty.
In the hall outside, Xander's phone buzzed in his hand. He glanced at the screen and picked up the call. "Cassian."
Cassian's voice came fast, panicked. "The documents… They were stolen. During transportation. We were transferring them to the vault and someone intercepted. It was clean, almost surgical. Whoever it was, they knew exactly what they were doing."
There was a pause.
"Yeah," Xander said casually, like they were discussing the weather. "I know."
Cassian blinked audibly. "What do you mean, you know?"
"I knew last night."
"And you didn't do anything? Those documents—"
"Don't matter anymore."
Cassian was silent for a moment, clearly stunned. "You spent years collecting that evidence. Years, Xander. What the hell is going on with you?"
Xander didn't respond. His gaze drifted toward the hallway, as if sensing someone approaching.
Cassian stared at the phone screen, even after the call had ended. The dial tone had long gone dead, but his thoughts echoed louder.
He had rehearsed how this call would go. He imagined Xander cursing, demanding a lockdown, yelling at security, maybe even flying into one of his rare, explosive fits of anger. Because that's what any normal person would do after losing evidence they had spent years collecting—evidence that had nearly cost him his life more than once. Cassian knew that. He had been there, in the background, patching wounds, arranging alibis, rerouting guards. He had walked through fire with Xander—literally and figuratively.
But instead of anger, Xander had just said, "I know," like the whole thing had been a weather report. As if it rained and he'd already packed an umbrella.
Cassian sank into the leather chair behind his desk, hands tangled in his hair. "What the hell is going on with you, Xander?" he muttered under his breath.
They'd known each other since childhood. They'd trained together, bled together, survived together. If there was anyone who knew Xander… it should've been him.
And yet, there were moments—like now—when Cassian realized he didn't know him at all.
What kind of man spends years chasing ghosts and risking everything… only to let it go with a smile?
He looked down at the decrypted report again—the stolen data, the timestamp, the names. All gone. The silence in his office was suffocating.
There was only one explanation, Cassian thought grimly.
This wasn't a loss to Xander.
It was a choice.
Inside the bathroom, Erin was still staring at her phone. Her thumb finally moved, not to type, but to lock the screen. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was perfect. Her makeup still intact. But her eyes looked different.
Wary. Conflicted. Torn.
She should go. She knew she should go. But her feet were already moving.
She walked back out, down the hallway, and through the ballroom's side entrance. The moment she stepped in, her eyes found him. Xander was leaning against the wall near one of the tall windows, the light catching against the contours of his face. He had his phone by his side now, and a small, almost disarming smile played at his lips.
He extended his hand.
Her heart thudded. He had to know. He must have heard by now. The evidence was gone. Everything he'd worked for had been stolen. And yet he smiled at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the room.
It should have terrified her. It should have sent her running. But somehow, despite the weight of everything, her hand moved on its own.
And she placed it in his.
He curled his fingers around hers and pulled her close. No words were exchanged, none needed. In that moment, there was no mission. No lies. No war between their worlds.
Only the two of them, standing in the wreckage of truths neither had yet dared to speak.