The car eased to a stop in front of the grand Volkov estate, headlights cutting through the dusk. But no one reached for the handle.
The air inside the vehicle was thick with silence—not hostile, just unbearably awkward. Erin sat pressed into the far corner of her seat, arms folded, jaw tight, eyes fixed out the tinted window. Xander was still beside her, one arm slung over the backrest, staring blankly at the dashboard like it was going to say something to save him.
Neither moved.
He cleared his throat softly. "So…"
Erin didn't respond.
"That didn't happen."
Still nothing.
"I mean—" he shifted in his seat, suddenly hyperaware of how close they were. "That wasn't supposed to happen. We're not talking about it. Ever."
A beat passed. She turned, expression unreadable. "Right. A mistake."
Xander flinched at the word. "That's not—what I meant to say. I just—" He exhaled. "Look, I'm not great with words, okay? I wasn't trying to insult you."
Her voice was low, almost flat. "No offense taken, sir."
God. That sir again.
He opened his mouth to argue but stopped himself. She was already reaching for the handle, moving to get out and walk around—probably to open the door for him. But he beat her to it, slipping out his side and coming around swiftly to hers.
Erin paused, brows furrowed. "What are you doing?"
"I got the door."
"You're not letting me do my job now?"
"It's not that—" he rubbed the back of his neck, frustrated. "It just… it feels wrong. Because you're a..."
She stepped out and faced him, her jaw cocked slightly in challenge. "Because I'm what? A woman?"
He blinked. "I mean… yeah?"
"I'm working. Gender doesn't apply here."
He frowned. "So you're a feminist."
She tilted her head. "Is that a bad thing?"
"No, I just—" He looked at her, then let out a short breath. "You've got a sharp tongue."
"I can't help it if the truth is harsh."
He chuckled under his breath despite himself. "You really don't hold back, do you?"
"Nope."
He ran a hand through his hair. "You know… it's only your first day here."
She lifted a brow.
He sighed. "I mean the office. Work. All this."
"Feels longer."
"Exactly. The drama we've already been through…" He looked at her like he still couldn't quite believe it. "It's been, what—three days since we met?"
"Only three," she echoed, crossing her arms.
"And in those three days, I've been drugged, trended on the internet, forced to accept a personal assistant, and—" his voice dipped, "—kissed someone I was supposed to hate."
She looked away.
"I just… don't get it."
She looked back, eyes narrowed. "Get what?"
"You," he said simply. "You're not married. You're not dating anyone. You've made it clear you're not interested in anything with anyone. And yet…" He trailed off.
She was watching him closely now.
"So I came up with a theory," he added.
"Oh, this should be good."
"You're a lesbian."
She blinked, then burst out laughing—sharp and unamused.
He frowned. "What?"
Her smile vanished. "Here's another theory: I just don't like you. Is that so hard to understand?"
Xander reeled back slightly. That one hit.
She stepped forward, lifting her chin. "Why are you so obsessed with trying to figure out why I don't like you? Do you think the entire world is supposed to fall at your feet?"
He didn't respond.
She rolled her eyes. "Please."
He exhaled. "You're not like the others."
That made her pause.
He met her gaze directly. "But you will be. You'll fall. They all do."
Her lips curled into a smirk. "You've known me for three days, but I'm pretty sure you know I'm different."
"I do."
"And you're still betting on that?"
He stepped closer, voice quieter now. "I'm not betting. I'm promising."
"You better put on your best behavior then," she said sweetly, "Because I won't."
They stood there, toe-to-toe in the descending twilight, matching fire with fire. Neither moved.
And for the briefest moment, Xander forgot about control, games, or dominance. He just saw her—unshakable, bold, and the first person in his life who didn't want him for what he had or who he was.
It unnerved him.
And intrigued him.
Without another word, she turned on her heel and started walking toward the mansion.
He followed a beat later, still processing the sting of her words—and the fact that, for once, it didn't make him want to retaliate.
It made him want to understand her.
And that scared him more than anything.