Hidden motive

Xavier stood outside, a glass of wine in his hand. The night air was cool, stirring his hair. City lights bounced off the glass walls around him, casting pale gold reflections. He took a slow sip, enjoying the quiet, until he heard it—footsteps.

  He tilted his head. The sound stopped.

  “Who’s there?” he called, calm but sharp.

  Silence answered.

  Then the footsteps returned, louder, closer. He shifted, wine still in hand. When a shadow came near, he smashed the glass down. The shards hit with a head with a crack, and the person crumpled silently.

  More footsteps followed. Xavier dropped the broken glass and gripped his walking stick. Another figure lunged. He swung hard, hitting the side of a head. The attacker staggered back.

  Someone came from behind. Xavier spun, jabbed the stick into their back, making them stumble. He moved like he could see everything.

  Xavier stood, stick at the ready, listening to the silence that had returned. Then a clear, female voice cut through the air.

  “Halt, all of you.”

  They all retreated.

  “My stepson,” she said, her tone calm but firm.

  Xavier tilted his head, voice cold. “You sent them?”

  She smiled faintly. “Not to hurt you. I just… wanted to make sure you’d come. There’s a party tonight. I want you to be there.”

  He let out a short laugh, almost amused. “And instead of asking me, you send thugs to push me out the door?”

  “I knew you wouldn’t come if I asked nicely,” she replied, her lips curling into a teasing smirk. “So I made it interesting.”

  Xavier smirked back, a glint of mischief in his tone. “Interesting, huh? Fine. I’ll go. I need a distraction anyways. I will go get dressed."

  He tapped his cane lightly, moving through the courtyard with that calm, unnerving confidence.

  Lady Vivienne stood frozen, watching. Shocked. Everyone knew Xavier hadn’t gone out since he became blind. He only appeared at his companies occasionally, trusting the men he left in charge.

  ____________________

  Xavier moved through the quiet halls of his mansion, cane tapping lightly against the marble floor.

  With Elara’s help, Xavier moved to the dressing room. She was the one he trusted to pick his clothes—neat, precise, exactly how he liked them.

  Though the mansion bustled with servants—cleaning, arranging, moving about—it was Elara who understood how he dressed. She laid out a dark shirt and tailored trousers, a jacket that fit just right.

  “Not too formal,” Xavier said, voice calm. “Something sharp, but subtle.”

  Elara nodded, adjusting the jacket slightly. Xavier got dressed, checking the fit with his hands, the movements practiced, efficient.

  When he was ready, he stepped back. Elara gave a small bow. “All set, sir,” she said, voice soft but firm. Then she left, closing the door quietly behind her.

  Xavier fumbled for his phone. With the help of the device beside it, he activated a call, the machine speaking the number aloud. He pressed the button and held the phone to his ear.

  “Good evening, sir,” a voice answered.

  “I want a personal assistant,” Xavier said, calm but firm. “Someone reliable."

  He didn’t wait for a response. He ended the call with a swift motion, and walked out of the room. 

  ******************************

  The party was alive with chatter, laughter, and clinking glasses. Madam Sera’s daughter was the reason for it all—her birthday. The room shimmered with crystal chandeliers, polished floors, and expensive decorations. Guests mingled, sipped champagne, and whispered behind gloved hands.

  Clarissa sat at her vanity, painstakingly applying eyeliner, wiping, reapplying. She tilted her head, checking every angle.

  “How do I look?” she asked a friend slouched beside her, already halfway through a glass of wine.

  Her friend gave a lazy thumbs-up.

  “I need to look perfect,” Clarissa muttered, tapping her face lightly.

  Suddenly, someone burst into the room. “Clarissa! Xavier is here. I mean… the Xavier!”

  Clarissa froze, eyes widening. She jumped to her feet, tugged at her short dress, and practically flew toward the main hall.

  From across the room, she spotted him. Xavier. handsome, hot and.. she couldn't explain. 

  A few guests made a move to greet him, but he barely acknowledged anyone. His focus was singular, unshaken.

  Even Madam Sera moved quickly toward him, arms open, smiling too widely. “I can’t believe you came! Welcome, Xavier.”

  He didn’t respond. He simply allowed himself to be guided to a chair. He sat, crossing his legs, hands folded on his cane, exhaling softly. The party carried on around him, but he only listened—every murmur, every clink of glass, every laugh floating to him.

  Clarissa practically collided with his chair. She leaned in, pecked him on the cheek. He flinched, gripping his cane tighter.

  “If that was a mistake, you have three seconds to explain it.” he said, voice low and sharp.

  Clarissa leaned closer, smiling sweetly. “come on, it's just a welcome kiss..I am Clarissa by the way,” she said in a childish voice. “I’ve always had a crush on you.”

  Xavier didn’t smile.

  He didn’t even turn his head.

  “If you’re looking for affection,” he said flatly, “you chose the wrong man.”

  The words landed like ice.

  Clarissa laughed nervously, brushing it off. She reached for his hand, trying to guide it toward her face. “People say I’m very beautiful. You can feel for yourself—”

  His hand pulled away instantly.

  “Touch me again,” he said quietly, “and you’ll regret having hands.”

  Clarissa pouted, clearly unimpressed by his warning. “Fine. Hold on—let me get you a drink,” she said, turning sharply. She hurried toward the drinks table, weaving through guests, past couples kissing in shadowed corners.

  She grabbed a glass, and with a sly smirk, removed something hidden in her bra. She poured it into the drink, swirling it carefully. Her grin was sharp, almost predatory.