Page 108 of Damsel in Disguise

Pain receptors… emotional capacity… attachment… control…

My empty stomach twists.

Suddenly, I catch another flicker. This one lingers half a second too long.

The text shifts.

I blink, and it’s back to normal.

My brain nearly brushes it off as a glitch in my system. But I know better.

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Alistair Bennett Hertley.

My eyes don’t move from the name. It’s like something inside me physically refuses to look past it.

Of course.

Of course it’s him.

Of course, he wouldn’t just be… a professor.

Neural mapping… emotional response… The Forge… head of the R&D Nocturis Vincit… Experimenting with human lives—volatile criminals, sure, but still human. Still breathing. Still feeling. Still… alive.

My gaze drags lower, slower now, forcing myself through it.

Delilah Crosswave. I frown slightly. His wife.

“She’s not human,” I mumble, more to myself than to Adrian. My voice sounds distant, like it’s coming from somewhere outside my body. “And he married her.”

My lips part slightly.

I feel my empty stomach churning horribly. This time, it’s not from dread but from pure disgust and disbelief.

“Excuse me—” the words barely make it out before I’m pushing off the seat, moving too fast, too abruptly.

My body reacts before my mind can catch up as I dash to the bathroom. One hand clutching on the tablet, the other pressed tightly over my mouth.

I don’t lock the bathroom door as I drop to my knees. Bracing myself against the toilet, I dry-heave relentlessly, dragging everything up with it. Acid burns my throat, my mouth turning bitter with bile and half-digested coffee.

He’s been fucking a half-human.

My stomach lurches again, another wave forcing its way up, harsher this time.

How is that even possible? How can he even do it?

Calling that thing human is distorted. Like forcing a lie into a shape that almost seems too real to be an illusion, but doesn’t satisfy any logic to justify it.

“You okay?”

I don’t even hear him come in. I’m surprised Adrian left his precious desktop to come check up on me.

He stands just inside the doorway—closer than I expected.

“I don’t know,” I manage to speak, feeling my throat burn.

I reach blindly, fingers fumbling until I hit the flush and let myself slide down the cold tile. The chill seeps through instantly. It’s grounding yet unwelcoming.