Page 109 of Damsel in Disguise

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, dragging a shaky breath that doesn’t quite steady me.

And still I pick the tablet back up as if something is pulling me back in. It’s in that moment that I realize I can never hate Alistair for anything.

My eyes drop to the screen again, locking onto the line in bold red. Was he recruited… or created?

I swipe for the next page, almost getting a glimpse of Alistair’s mugshot with this detailed profile, but the screen goes black.

A low hum begins in my palm almost immediately. Subtle at first, then gradually intensifying, making it vibrate through my fingers, crawling up my wrist.

My heart thumps harder.

A mechanical feminine voice starts counting from three.

“Adrian—” I call, my voice laced with genuine fear I don’t bother hiding anymore.

“Throw it away!” he’s already inside before I can finish whatever I was about to say.

His hand strikes mine, knocking the tablet clean out of my grip. It clatters against the tile just as his other hand closes around my arm, hauling me up in one smooth motion.

He pulls me out of the bathroom, putting distance between me and the device.

As soon as he does, the countdown stops, followed by a thin thread of smoke curling out of the tablet.

My eyes widen, locking onto it with newfound horror. “What does… what just happened?”

Adrian doesn’t look at me when he speaks—too busy watching it turn to ashes. “Self-destruction.”

34. AUTHORIZED

unknown

“She knows about us.”

“Hertley?” I ask, though the question is already irrelevant.

“It’s untraceable.”

It doesn’t take me more than a second to connect the dots—Ariella Keinston reached out to her family.

The Keinstons.

The CynoTech’s current heads—Adrian Keinston as CEO and his cousin Asher Keinston as COO. Either of them could’ve dug into the Triarch Dominion.

Killing her would result in unnecessary collateral damage. Too many moving parts. Too much noise. I know that much.

So I never intended to eliminate her. Not ever.

The accident I authorized was never meant as an end—only an observation. A controlled variable to see how far Alistair would bend, and what justification he would fabricate to keep her all to himself.

After all, he finally found a human admirer who would go from the moon and back for him.

“Find out everything about her,” I say.

“What if there’s nothing? She’s a Keinston. Records like hers are usually sealed and protected.”

“That’s why she’s precisely the kind who buries what matters most.”

“Shall I proceed regardless?”