POV: Xavier
The hotel was a cage with a thousand eyes. Xavier moved through it like a hunted thing, the adrenaline of the escape in the linen closet hardening into a cold, persistent dread. He’d led security on a frantic chase through the service corridors, doubling back, using every childhood memory of hidden passages and staff shortcuts before finally losing them in the maze of the old boiler room. He surfaced in the main lobby, a picture of harried executive normalcy, straightening his tie as he strode toward the private elevator bank. No one stopped him. The hunt was quiet and contained. His father would not want a scene.
In the sterile silence of his penthouse, the enormity of the addendum settled on him like a physical weight. Eleanor Shaw. The name was a ghost in his mouth. The le
