Page 105 of Damsel in Disguise

“Keinston,” he reads, his tone neutral but probing. “Do you live on campus?”

“Off,” I correct lightly, shifting my weight just enough to seem uncomfortable, not defensive. “I parked here earlier. Thought I’d finish some work before heading out.”

He hums softly, not entirely convinced but not pushing hard enough to break the moment either. Is it because of my last name?

“You should’ve contacted security instead of trying something like that,” the other guard adds, his tone edging toward reprimand rather than suspicion.

“I tried,” I sigh, already taking a small step back as I reclaim space without making it obvious. “Phone died. Figured getting down was faster than waiting.”

They exchange a glance that lingers just a fraction too long, weighing something unspoken between them.

“Next time, don’t take unnecessary risks,” the first one says, handing my ID card back.

I take it with an embarrassed smile. “Thanks. Will keep that in mind.”

They nod and walk me up to the gates.

I keep my pace even. Moving too fast would undo everything I just built.

Their eyes stay on my back for several seconds, tracking my movement even as I step away from the campus.

I wait until I turn the corner before I finally let a slow breath slip out. With that the tension in my chest loosens just enough to think clearly again.

The dull throb still pulsing through my left side hasn’t faded, and my body is yet to catch up to what just happened, but neither of those things matter right now.

My heart aches for leaving my bike behind. But considering my current physical condition, I don’t think it would be a smart decision to ride a bike. Let’s not add an actual road accident in the list.

A Keinston taking a bus doesn’t quite sit right. So I book a cab—at least it’s better—and decide to stop at the nearest clinic first before I go to my apartment.

I bet Adrian will have someone to directly pick me up from there.

A small checkup is a must before the flight—not only because I can’t let Adrian see this, but mostly I need to be prepared, both physically and mentally, to discover what I’m unaware of my obsession, Alistair Hertley.

33. DARK-WEB

ariella

After escaping the makeshift prison—Alistair’s faculty room, office, whatever label makes it sound less like what it was—I didn’t have time for anything as trivial as packing. There hadn’t been a pause long enough to think, let alone to gather belongings.

One moment I was getting out, the next I was getting out fast.

The fall from the first floor still lingers in my bones, a dull, spreading ache that pulses under my skin every time I shift.

There was no blood, rather impact and minor cuts.

Medical attention came in fragments—hurried, efficient, impersonal. Just enough to keep me functional. Not enough to erase the reminder.

So no, there’s no suitcase. No second pair of clothes. No plan.

By the time I was on the private jet, all I had was my purse, my phone, my passport, and my credit card.

The twenty-one-hour flight from England to Sydney dissolves into a stretch of time that feels both endless and gone in a blink.

I don’t remember deciding to sleep, only the weight of exhaustion dragging me under despite the chaos clawing at my mind. I shouldn’t have been able to rest—not with everything that’s happened ever since I stepped into his office—but my body didn’t ask for permission. It took what it needed.

As for my mind… my mind never quits. It just keeps shifting, replaying every other moment in fractured loops.

Things said.