The sound of the bathroom door creaked open, and Erin glanced up from where she sat curled under the covers. Xander stepped out, drying his hands with a small towel, a neutral expression on his face. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, his hair slightly damp from the steam.
"You're not getting out of bed," he said casually.
Erin blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," he said, walking over and tossing the towel onto the nearby chair. "The doctor said the hangover will wear off in a few hours — but if you start moving around too much, you'll get dizzy again. So…" He gestured toward the mattress like it was some grand throne. "You're officially bedridden."
Erin narrowed her eyes. "You can't be serious."
Xander raised a brow. "Dead serious."
She scoffed. "I'm not a patient, Xander."
"No, you're a stubborn person who's going to make this worse if she pretends to be fine."
She sat up straighter. "I am fine."
"Then stay in bed and prove it." He turned toward the door.
"You're being ridiculous—"
He paused at the threshold, glanced back, and without a word, turned the lock with a faint click.
Erin's mouth parted in disbelief. "Did you just… lock me in?"
"I'll unlock it when I get back," he said smoothly, "Try not to jump out the window or crawl through the vents."
"You're unbelievable!"
He grinned faintly at the door. "Thank you."
And then he was gone.
Erin sat in stunned silence, blinking at the door like it had personally insulted her. Locked in. Like a fragile doll.
"What the hell is wrong with him?" she muttered under her breath.
Her eyes drifted toward the window, toward the ceiling, and then slowly… inward. Why does he even care if she gets dizzy? Why does he care at all?
The same question from the night before crept back into her thoughts. This man — this cold, unreadable, calculated man — had taken care of her, carried her to bed, made sure she was okay, and now was making sure she didn't worsen her hangover.
It made no sense.
And yet… it made too much sense.
She closed her eyes and sighed into the pillow. "Don't let that thought cross your mind again, Erin," she whispered to herself. "You're here for a reason. Remember why you're here."
As if to distract her own spiraling thoughts, a knock tapped against the door. It opened slightly — just enough for a hand to poke through, balancing a tray.
"Breakfast in bed," came Xander's voice, muffled by the half-closed door.
The tray was placed gently on the side table. Coffee, toast, fruit, eggs — warm and perfect.
"I'll be in the study," he added. "Try not to stage a jailbreak."
Erin didn't respond. She just stared at the tray.
And the closed, still-locked door.
Later, when she heard the faint sound of his footsteps moving away, she pushed the tray aside and stood up carefully. Her head still ached slightly, but she could walk.
She moved to the corner of the room, grabbed her phone, and sent a quick message to one of the staff — someone who owed her a favor.
"I need yesterday's hallway footage. Please. Quietly."
Minutes later, a flash drive was slipped beneath the door.
Erin plugged it into the laptop on the desk and fast-forwarded through the footage until she found it — around the early morning.
There she was. Disheveled, bleary-eyed. Walking slowly down the hallway, dressed in oversized clothes, heading straight for Xander's room.
Just like he said.
Every part of the story lined up. Every detail.
She sat back in the chair and stared at the screen, the clip now frozen.
He didn't lie. Not even a little.
Her throat tightened, and she looked toward the door again.
…
Blinded by her frustration, Erin had forgotten that she was still in his room.
For a long time now, Xander's room had been off-limits. It wasn't just private — it was sacred territory. No one was allowed in. Not staff, not colleagues, not even Cassian, from what she'd heard. And that made it all the more alluring. If there was anything she could find to use against the Volkovs, she always believed it would be here — tucked behind the cold man's pristine walls.
But now… here she was. Trapped, yes. But for the first time, not resentful of it.
Erin sat up in bed slowly, her body still aching slightly from the hangover, but her mind sharpening with purpose. This wasn't just about being locked in. It was an opportunity — one she couldn't waste.
She climbed off the bed, bare feet making no sound against the soft flooring. The room was immaculate, every item placed deliberately, the air still holding faint traces of his cologne — a clean, expensive scent laced with something darker underneath. Leather and spice, maybe. It fit him.
Her eyes scanned the bookshelves first — legal texts, business development volumes, a few classics. Pride and Prejudice was tucked between finance journals. That nearly made her chuckle. The Xander Volkov reading Austen? Doubtful. Probably gifted. Still… amusing.
She moved to the dresser. Nothing unusual — cufflinks arranged in black velvet, watches all in pristine condition. No hidden compartments, no suspicious drawers. Just precision.
Then, she saw something — a framed photo on the far wall. She stepped closer.
It was of Xander and his parents. At first glance, it looked like a standard family portrait, taken years ago. But something about it felt… wrong.
His mother stood to the side, elegant but cold, her hand barely touching her son's shoulder. His father, Darius Volkov, looked stiff and formal — the kind of man who only smiled for business deals. And Xander… he didn't smile at all.
His expression was flat. Eyes lifeless. Almost like he was being forced to pose for the camera. Erin's brows furrowed as she studied it closer. The tension in his jaw. The slightly hunched posture. This wasn't a boy proud of his family — this was a child enduring something.
She stood there for a long moment, the weight of it sinking in. Come to think of it, no one ever saw him with his parents. And it was common knowledge that there was no love lost between them — especially his mother. No one knew the story, and strangely, no one seemed to care.
Erin stepped back. Whatever had happened between them, it wasn't her concern — not now, at least.
She continued searching. Nothing under the bed. Nothing in the drawers that screamed "evidence." No hidden safes, no suspicious folders labeled World Domination Plans.
Just… things.
His cologne bottle, nearly full.
A notebook with clean handwriting — mostly daily tasks, some philosophical musings scribbled in the margins. One quote stood out:
"There's no prison greater than duty."
— Written in his own hand, underlined twice.
Erin's eyes lingered on it.
So he felt caged too?
She snapped the book shut, pulse ticking a little faster. This wasn't what she was looking for — but it was something. A crack in the wall. A reminder that behind all his control, Xander Volkov might just be… human.
When the lock clicked from the outside, she darted back to bed, pulling the covers over herself just in time.
Xander walked in with a tray in hand, completely unaware of what she'd just done. She stared at him, heart still racing — not from fear, but from something much more complicated.
The more she saw, the less she understood.
And that… was dangerous.