Chapter 18, Xan
I’m lost in the haze of my thoughts, considering the next steps are tangled in the aftermath of everything. The hotel room, the dangerous tension, the whispers of power. But there is something else I need to handle.
“I must call Zoey… and my work. They are going to freak out if they don’t hear from me soon.”
Xan’s gaze sharpens.
“You’re not going to just disappear, are you?”, he says, teasing, but there’s an edge, a reminder of who he is. A predator. And I’m still his prey. I know he watches me with that unsettling intensity.
I roll my eyes. “Of course not. They might think I’m dead. I just…” I pause, trying to gather my feelings, but they feel scattered. “I need to clear things up with them. Especially with Zoey. She must be worried sick.”
I glance at him, unsure of how he will react. He says nothing for a long moment, then, with a slight shrug, he speaks again, his tone a mix of exasperation and amusement.
“And what exactly are you going to tell her? ‘Oh, sorry, I was just kidnapped by some dangerous guy, huge cock though, but hey, let’s get a drink tomorrow.’”
I cannot help the laugh that bubbles up from my chest. It is bitter, laced with the tension I am still fighting to push down.
“Something like that, yeah.”
Xan leans back, his eyes scanning me as if he is weighing the consequences of this conversation.
“Just make sure she doesn’t ask too many questions. We do not need anyone poking around and getting too curious.”
I nod, feeling a pang of guilt for dragging Zoey into this mess. But she is my best friend. I cannot just cut her out, not completely at least.
“How about the apartment?” Xan asks with concern. Or maybe it is just the usual control he so effortlessly wields. “Are you going to go back there?”
I hesitate. The thought of Julian’s things, the mess of him that still clings to that place feels like a burden on my chest.
“Yeah. I need to get his stuff out. I can’t have his ghost haunting in the background, not when… everything is changing.”
I meet his eyes for a moment, challenging him to question it. Xan’s smirk is back, that dark, confident expression I have come to expect from him even through his mask.
“You want me to come with you? Make sure things don’t get… complicated?”
I raise an eyebrow at him, fighting the smile that wants to creep up.
“You mean you want to come for the fun of it, don’t you?”
He shrugs, unbothered. “It’s not every day I get to watch you clean up after your little shitty ex. I’d call it a sport if I wasn’t already busy with more important things.”
I roll my eyes, but cannot help the amusement that flickers in me.
“Fine. But you will have to stay still while I actually do the cleaning. No way I’m letting you touch anything. Especially not his stuff.”
Xan leans forward, suddenly quieter, more serious.
“You’re not really going to let her in on all this, are you? Zoey, I mean. It’s too much. If she finds out the truth… well, let’s just say we don’t need to add another loose end to tie up.”
I feel a flash of anger.
“She’s my best friend, Xan. Ignoring her is not an option.”
“I’m not saying you should. But you need to keep a tight grip on what you tell her. Things are already fucked enough.”
I look at him, frustration rising.
“I know what I’m doing, Xan. I’m not some na?ve idiot.”
He leans back again, watching me like he’s waiting for me to crack. “We’ll see,” he mutters, the sharpness in his gaze never leaving mine.
How fucking dare he?
“I swear to God, Xan—try me. I am not in the mood to be disrespected, not by you, not by anyone,” I respond with fury—barely leashed, seconds from snapping.
I am not stupid, geez. I am fully aware I cannot let a soul know too much.
“Alright,” I finally say, standing up and pulling my coat tighter around me. “I’ll call Zoey and I will get this done. But I’m not doing it alone.” I look at Xan. “So, you can either stay out of the way or come along for the ride. I don’t care.”
He smirks, clearly enjoying this. “You’ll have to take me along then. Would not miss it for the world. Can’t wait to piss on his pillow.”
I roll my eyes, though part of me braces—because I know he’s joking. At least, I hope he is. Xan rises too, stretching his arms high above his head—damn it, I catch myself admiring all the way down to the sharp V of his lower abdomen disappearing beneath his waistband.
Despite the attitude problem, the god complex, and the overall infuriating aura, he somehow manages to redirect my focus to his redeeming qualities… like being a fiercely protective menace and a walking, talking, brooding human red flag with muscles.
“Careful, soon I’ll have to call you little Saint Bernard.”
I narrow my eyes, completely baffled. What the hell is he talking about now?
“You’re drooling all over the place.”
I cannot even respond, he is driving me crazy—though I cannot decide if it is because he has nailed me so perfectly, or because he is just utterly ridiculous.
I turn to continue walking. Before I can even process what is happening, he slaps my ass with a laugh that is so effortlessly carefree, so damn normal. Like we are not two people caught in a chaotic mess, but a couple heading out for a peaceful walk to pick up our two kids from school, hand in hand, strolling back to our cute cottage tucked away from this fucked up world.
The ease with which he does it catches me off guard completely. For a split second, my brain goes blank. I am unsure how to respond. Still, as far-fetched as it sounds, that fleeting image of quiet domesticity does not feel entirely unwelcome.
While Xan is driving the stolen car from the gala, I pause to send Zoey a message telling her to meet me at the apartment. Giving that she is on her day off, and that she never lets the first day of break slip by without indulging in complete idleness, I am not even the slightest bit worried. I know she will drop everything and rush to me, no questions asked, like she always does when I need her.
As I expected, her reaction is anything but calm, and I cannot say I blame her.
I know, I know. This is not exactly how you win Best Friend of the Year, but choice has not exactly been on the menu lately.
Seconds drag by in silence, each one heavier than the last, until my phone finally buzzes in my hand.
With that one reply, I already miss her endlessly. It is ridiculous how fast the ache settles in—and of course, as if Xan’s suddenly fluent in my inner monologue…
“You will see her soon, pull yourself together, girl. Any more of this and I might get jealous.”
I elbow him in the arm, half playful, half warning. I know damn well how hard he is working right now—against every one of his instincts and twisted principles—to let me go see Zoey. Even more so to let me introduce him to her, still searching for the right words to say.
When we finally arrive at the apartment, a knot twists tighter in my chest, and whether it is thrill or dread—I cannot even tell anymore. Xan parks the car smoothly, but I can feel the tension. He follows me inside, his presence as solid and unyielding as always, yet his silence makes me wonder what’s going on in his mind.
Zoey is already there. Of course she is. I forgot she has the damn key. As I step inside, the familiar scent of her perfume hits me first—the faint trace of lavender and something warm, like coffee on a lazy Sunday morning. Zoey’s lounging on the couch, her feet tucked under her, phone in hand, looking as if she had been waiting for hours instead of just a few minutes.
She looks up when I walk in; her face lighting up with that familiar, mischievous grin that always makes me feel like I have just been caught doing something I should not.
“Mira!” she cries out, her voice full of relief. Her arms fly open as though I am the most long-lost treasure in the world. “Finally! I thought you’d gotten abducted by aliens or worse—kidnapped by that weird freak from the bar!”
I laugh, rolling my eyes at her teasing, yet that sense of relief is short-lived. The moment she looks past me and locks eyes with Xan, the world shifts as if someone suddenly hit pause on everything.
She freezes. The bright, carefree expression she had when she first saw me instantly disappears. Her eyes sweep over Xan, and just like that, it clicks—sharp, wary, alert.
“Oh, hell to the no!”
I can see the exact moment when Zoey’s brain short-circuits. Her eyes widen, her shoulders tense, and for a split second, I think she might just turn around and run. She is trying to process him, to figure out if I have just brought a professional villain into our life. Based on the look on her face, she is already forming a thousand theories about who he could possibly be. Her lips remain sealed for a moment, just stares, her mouth parted in disbelief. I can feel the awkwardness making me want to dig a hole and crawl into it.
Zoey shakes her head to clear the fog in her brain and finally finds her voice.
“Mira, what the actual fuck is going on? Is he… is he… like the Grim Reaper?”
She points a shaky finger toward Xan, her tone rising in pitch.
“I swear, he looks like he’s about to drag me to the underworld!”
I cringe, but somehow still funny. Zoey has that look on her face—the one that says she is equal parts terrified and oddly fascinated.
No doubt about it—Xan does feel like he stepped out of some dark, twisted fairy tale. The black clothes. The mask. The entire aura of someone who should be in a Scream movie.
I quickly step forward, trying to salvage this before she spontaneously combusts.
“Zoey, this is Xan,” I say, rushing out a little too quickly. “He’s… kind of important to everything that has been going on. Trust me, I did not just pick him up off the street.”
Zoey’s eyes widen even more.
“Well, thank God for that, because this guy? He looks like he’d steal my soul and still expect a tip!”
I hear a small chuckle from Xan. Sadly, the weight in the room remains untouched. Zoey takes a step back, her hand instinctively reaching for the nearest weapon—her phone.
“Please tell me you’re not about to take me to some underground lair and make me join your evil army?” she asks sarcastically.
Xan stays perfectly still, not a single twitch. He just stands there, all mysterious and Zoey’s defenses cranking up to full blast now. I swear, her instincts are sharper than a cat on a hot tin roof. I rub my temples, already exhausted.
“Zoey, please, it’s not what you think…”
Zoey is not done. She now circles Xan, studying him the way one studies a puzzle, determined to solve it.
“No, no, no,” she mutters to herself. “You can’t just walk in here wearing that mask and expect me to be okay with it. Seriously, what do you do? Rip hearts out for a living?”
Xan, still silent, just raises an eyebrow beneath the mask from the look of his gaze, and I can almost hear his internal monologue.
Yes, absolutely.
Zoey finally turns back to me, her eyes narrowed.
“You seriously brought this… guy… here, huh? The sicko that almost killed a man at the bar in front of everybody, lurking in the shadows, just waiting for me to hand over my firstborn?”
I throw my hands up.
“Oh my God, I promise, he’s not here to steal your firstborn nor the second! But I really need you to just—”
Zoey interrupts dramatically and clearly exaggerating.
“Ah, I get it now. You’re just keeping me around for when things really go south, huh? I’m your emergency contact for the apocalypse.”
I groan, facepalming.
“Zoey, we are not at the end of the world. Please, just…”
Zoey turns back to Xan, hands on her hips, giving him a once-over.
“Okay, then,” she says, suddenly upbeat, almost too cheery. “If you’re not here to eat my soul with fucking ketchup, I’m guessing I’m supposed to be impressed? Because right now, I’m just terrified and slightly underwhelmed.”
Zoey might be freaking out, but at least she is still Zoey—sassy, sarcastic, and a bit too dramatic for her own good.
“Listen, I know you are probably going to hate me for what I’m about to say, but I can’t exactly explain the why of Xan. There is so much more to it, things I cannot even begin to put into words. What you need to understand is this—he is the reason I’m still here, still breathing I mean. Without him, I wouldn’t be alive to stand in front of you.”
I turn my head slowly, locking eyes with Xan, who is already watching me with an intensity that makes my breath hitch. His gaze holds a thousand unspoken words, so much meaning conveyed in the silent connection we share. I offer him a small, almost imperceptible nod, a silent gesture of gratitude, hoping that it speaks volumes in return.
His hand moves, a soft touch against the small of my back—nothing more than a brief caress. Still, it feels like a promise, a vow.
You are the war I would die for, little fox.
The simple movement sends a surge of heat through me, a jolt that makes my heart skip a beat. I can feel the weight of his touch, even after it’s gone. My body reacts before my mind can catch up, a shiver running down my spine that I fight to conceal. Every part of me wants to hide the effect he is having on me, especially in front of Zoey, but it is impossible. Even the smallest gestures from him is enough to leave me undone, to make my pulse race and my mind spin.
And Xan… he knows it. He is fully aware of the way he makes me lose control, of how even the slightest touch can send me into a frenzy. The satisfaction in his eyes is unmistakable. He revels in it; in the power he has over me. For some inexplicable reason, I cannot bring myself to care. I am tangled in it—him, the chaos, the danger.
Zoey watches me closely, her gaze sharp. She is searching for any cracks, any sign that I might hide something more than I am letting on, looking for the truth behind the words, the hidden layers I have not dared to speak.
I remain still, my expression guarded, revealing nothing but the absolute honesty of what I have just told her. The truth about Xan, about how he saved me—that much is real, and I won’t let her see anything else. The past is a murky pool, one I am not ready to dive into, not yet.
Thought I can feel her digging, probing, looking for something more, I keep it locked inside. The only thing she’s allowed to know is the sincerity of what I have said—the simple, visceral truth that Xan is the reason I still exist in this world.
My attention snaps away, drawn unwillingly to the mess of Julian’s things scattered across the room—the man who betrayed me for a damn promotion. This mess is rotting me from the inside. I must erase it.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could give you more details, but I’ve got to get rid of Julian’s stuff, and I need to do it now.”
Zoey raises an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued.
“Funny you mention that. I was about to ask what happened to him. Not that I was ever a fan of his pathetic excuse for a person. Although, changing men like socks is not exactly your thing, is it?”
Before I can respond, Xan’s voice cuts in, smooth and self-assured.
“How could she resist my irresistible charm?”
Zoey laughs, the sound playful, but biting.
“Oh, trust me, you need more than charm. I mean, who knows? Maybe under that ridiculous mask of yours, you’re hiding a face full of bloody pimples and a bleached monobrow.”
Xan steps forward, closing the distance between them, his presence suddenly overwhelming. He leans in, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that makes the room feel smaller.
“Let me make something clear, dear Zoey,” he says, darkly amused. “My charm is the least of it. Without showing my face, without a single kiss, without even riding her sweet tight pussy with my imposing dick, I’ve managed to make your best friend come so fucking hard to the point where she wouldn’t care if I was Quasimodo himself.”
Zoey’s eyes widen, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Meanwhile, I try to hide the mix of horror and laughter threatening to bubble up inside me. This is Xan—irresistible, infuriating, and completely ridiculous in the most unexpected way.
I let them battle it out, each trying to out-stubborn the other, a silent competition to see which of the two most bullheaded people on the planet would be the first to break. But getting lost in it is not an option—Julian’s things are already choking the air out of me.
I start gathering the remnants of the man who once made me believe I mattered, who convinced me I was important in his heart, only to leave me drowning in the aftermath of his disgusting lies.
Each object I touch feels is a cruel reminder, a sharp stab of betrayal. His belonging—his presence—I need them gone, erased, as though I realize they were never part of my life to begin with.
After a few hours, there is barely a trace of him left. The atmosphere feels lighter, as if the walls themselves are relieved to be rid of his shadow. Several garbage bags sit by the door, waiting to be sent off to charity. Ironic really, considering the man they once belonged to had never known the meaning of the word.
It stings, just a little, to think that someone out there might one day wear the same shirt as that coward, unknowingly draped in the ghost of my regret. But I have wasted enough years on him—I will not let perfectly good things go to waste too. Let someone else give them a new story. His chapter here is done.