"Are you alright?" His voice was low, rough at the edges. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you in this state." A pause. Then, quieter, almost confused by his own words: "But why don't you just follow orders and go inside?"
He pulled back just enough to look at my face, and something in his expression shifted when he saw the devastation written there.
"See, Vanessa is terribly sick," he continued, his voice softening into something that was almost tender, almost human. "She came because I invited her. I couldn't have just left her like that. But even then, she was the one who sent me out here to find you. You should learn something from her."
The words landed like a blade between my ribs.
"Mom has been trying to call you. She even messaged you to come inside." He exhaled through his nose, a sound caught somewhere between frustration and genuine concern. "Why can't you stop being stubborn for one moment?"
Then he saw my face properly. The pallor. The trembling. The way my lips had gone almost blue.
His demeanor changed instantly. He took my arm without another word and led me through the rain to a small boutique two blocks from the estate, one of the Salvatore-owned storefronts that lined the Jade Quarter's main avenue. He spoke briefly to the woman behind the counter, and within minutes I was in a back room, peeling off my soaked clothes and pulling on something dry and warm so that I would not fall ill.
When I emerged, Xavier was waiting by the door, his wet hair pushed back from his face, his shirt still clinging to his shoulders. He studied me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"Are you alright, Mia?" He pulled out his phone. "I'm calling a car to take you home."
I shook my head slowly.
"Are you not coming back with me?"
"I have to handle some things first."
"Are you going to drive Vanessa back to her place?"
"What?" Xavier's head snapped up, and for a fraction of a second, genuine surprise flickered across his face. The surprise of a man who had not expected to be seen through so easily.
His expression shifted. The careful mask of indulgence crumbled, replaced by something caught between guilt and a slow-burning anger at being cornered. He chose his next words with the precision of a man defusing a bomb.