My Assistant is a Witch… But I can’t let her go.

Chapter 7

Xander stepped into the Volkov mansion and shut the grand front door with a firm slam. He didn't bother to acknowledge the pair of figures standing in the living room, perfectly poised and expectant. His parents. They looked at him with raised brows—his father indifferent, his mother evaluating. But Xander didn't spare them a glance. His jaw was tight, his strides swift and filled with silent fury as he made his way upstairs.

"Xander," his mother called, voice lilting with practiced warmth.

He didn't look at her. He didn't greet her. He didn't even blink in her direction. He headed straight up the stairs, jaw set, anger radiating off of him in waves. The events of the gala still swirled violently in his head, the betrayal clawing deeper with every breath.

He wanted nothing more than to sink into a long shower and forget about the past twenty-four hours. The pounding in his head hadn't stopped since he'd left that unfamiliar apartment. The image from the trending post haunted him. Erin—if that was even her name—lying against his chest like they were lovers. Trust shattered in the most humiliating way. And now, thanks to her, every gossip blog in the region had his name in its headlines.

He shoved open his bedroom door.

Only to stop cold.

There she was.

Standing by the windowsill in a neat blouse tucked into a pencil skirt, hands clasped in front of her like she belonged here—like this was normal. Neat. Formal. As though she hadn't drugged him and staged a scandal less than twenty-four hours ago.

Erin.

His blood surged hot. "What the hell are you doing here?" He barked.

She turned to face him, all polite composure. "Good morning, sir."

"Don't play that game with me!" he barked. "You have no shame, do you? You think you can walk in here like nothing happened?!"

Erin clasped her hands in front of her and held his angry glare without flinching. "I was assigned here, sir."

Xander ran a hand through his hair, breathing hard, chest tight. "Assigned?! Is that your excuse now?!"

Her brows furrowed. "I think there's been a misunderstanding—"

"Don't give me that," he cut her off, voice sharp. "I know exactly what this is. You're here to guilt trap me. Are you going to say you were not at fault? Or that I should be responsible? Or are you going to say you're carrying my child and I have to marry you?"

Erin straightened her shoulders. Her expression didn't falter, but the stiffness in her spine betrayed her discomfort. "I'm your personal assistant, Mr. Volkov."

The formality of her voice made him want to scream.

"Spare me the act," he growled. "You think calling me that and pretending to be composed is going to make me forget?"

She didn't respond.

Furious, Xander turned on his heel and stormed out.

He didn't wait for a response. He stormed out of the room and down the stairs, fists clenched.

His parents hadn't moved.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he snapped at them. "Letting a stranger into my room?"

His mother looked up from her glass of tea. "A stranger?"

"You don't even know who she is, and you just—"

"She's your new personal assistant," his mother said coolly, cutting him off. "We hired her to prevent scandals like the one you just created. She's here to make sure you stay out of trouble."

Xander blinked, stunned. His gaze flicked between them.

"Do you lack the slightest bit of respect for me to the extent that, you hire someone to watch me without my consent? You're kidding me."

"We're not," his father replied simply. "And you didn't even greet us when you walked in. You're hardly in a position to argue about respect."

"You know I don't want anyone in my personal space," Xander ground out.

"We know," his mother said. "But your personal choices have forced our hand. You no longer have a say."

Xander clenched his jaw so tightly it hurt.

"She's already been vetted. Consider her a fixture. Like your bed. Or your shadow."

He gave them both one last venomous glare before turning on his heel and stalking back upstairs. His heart was still racing when he opened the bedroom door again.

Erin stood where he'd left her, eyes downcast, posture composed. As if she'd been carved from stone.

"Drop the act," he said, voice low and venomous. "I know exactly what this is. You came back to take that drink not because you wanted it, but because you saw an opportunity. You used me to create that scandal so my mother would have an excuse to hire you.You humiliated me so my mother would finally push a personal assistant on me. Smart move."

Erin didn't flinch.

"Sir, I believe my duties—"

"Don't call me that," he snapped. "Don't stand there like you're some professional. You were anything but professional last night."

"I had nothing to do with the scandal," she replied evenly.

"You think you're going to get cozy, win me over, and have me wrapped around your little finger?" He laughed bitterly.

Still, her tone didn't change. "I'm only here to do my job."

Xander turned away annoyed. That polite, infuriating calmness—he hated it. It made him feel like a fool. Like he was nothing more than a client in some arranged escort deal.

"You know what?" he muttered darkly, turning back toward her. "I'm going to make your life a living hell. You want to work here? Fine. But I'll make sure every second of it is miserable."

He expected her to cower, or apologize, or retreat.

Instead, Erin lifted her head. Her voice shifted, tone laced with sarcasm and a glint of challenge in her eyes. "Bring it on."

The corner of his mouth twitched involuntarily.

But he wouldn't let her see that.

Let the games begin.