Page 110 of Damsel in Disguise

“Yes.”

I wonder how my son will react once his precious toy is out of his reach.

35. BREACH

ariella

Now my accident makes sense.

I tried stalking an important member of the Triarch Dominion—something that doesn’t exist on paper unless they want to.

Everything else falls into place. Why I woke up in his house instead of a hospital bed, why he refused to answer my questions, why there were no police reports, no whispered concerns from doctors, no lingering questions from my family.

Just controlled silence. He erased everything.

Not just the accident, but everything surrounding it. My academic records have been adjusted. My absence was rewritten into a neat, harmless lie fed to my parents so they’d never have to question where I was or who I was with.

Alistair didn’t just cover it up—he curated it, turning me into a problem worth solving instead of treating me like a girl who almost died trying to dig her claws into something far bigger than herself.

And he dared to call it protection.

To offer me a place in the very thing that nearly killed me. Wrap me in the illusion of my safety. Like stepping into the lion’s den willingly somehow makes the teeth less ferocious.

It doesn’t. It only makes you easier to devour.

“I’m going back.”

Staying here—safe, contained, monitored—feels worse.

England isn’t just a place for me anymore. It’s a thread I pulled on, forcing the entire fabric to unravel in my hands.

Him.

The accident.

The organization.

The way my life has been quietly manipulated without my consent.

The answers are there, buried under layers of control and secrets I was never meant to see. But I can’t sit here pretending I don’t need them.

I need to see through the end. To understand what I’ve stepped into before it swallows me whole.

Running back isn’t retreat. It’s more like a confrontation.

Adrian’s head snaps up. “No.”

“I already booked a flight.”

“Cancel it.”

I laugh—short, sharp, humorless, the sound scraping my throat on the way out. “You don’t get to tell me—”

“If you’re leaving,” he cuts in, “you’re taking my jet.”

I turn to face him fully now, my spine straightening despite the pressure building in my chest. “I don’t need your help anymore.”

“I need to ensure your full safety,” the control in his tone tightening like a leash.