Page 159 of Damsel in Disguise

The Dominion already considers Ariella theirs.

Little do they know I’d rather burn it all down than allow Ariella Keinston to be theirs. Even if it kills me too.

A transmission icon suddenly flashes across the corner of my eye, pulling me back several hours to the meeting with the Crown.

It’s the Dominion watch on my wrist, lighting up.

Before I can respond, his voice filters through it, giving me no chance to reject this time. “You’re spared for being my only heir.”

I thought the conversation was over. Well, consider me wrong.

“I’m grateful.”

My gaze drifts lower across Ariella’s profile.

Psychological adaptability score: Exceptional.

Projected conversion success rate: 97.8%.

A cold sensation settles beneath my ribs.

The flat response earns me nothing more than a contemptuous scoff through the encrypted channel.

“Now that you understand what I require from you, there shouldn’t be any further misunderstandings. Ariella Keinston will become the next Synthète,” his voice comes back with horrifying clarity.

My hand freezes above the keyboard.

Back then, I assumed it was an instruction. Now, staring at the archive in front of me, I realize it was a conclusion. The decision had already been made long before I entered that room.

“I need time to gain her trust,” I say with as much calmness I can muster despite the blood rushing violently through my veins.

“How long?”

“A week at most.”

“Alright,” the transmission ends with that, submerging me into eerie tranquility.

A week is never enough to dismantle the Dominion.

A week is never enough to save Ariella.

A week is never enough to accomplish much of anything.

But it’s the only answer I could give.

A slow breath fills my lungs before leaving just as steadily.

Every possible outcome leads to the same destination.

He expects me to willingly deliver her into their hands.

Then forces me to oversee her conversion and makes me witness every stage of it. Maybe eliminate me later.

And perhaps he believes I’ll eventually view her the same way the Dominion does—as a candidate, a vessel, a future asset carrying the next generation of the bloodline.

Just as he viewed me.

But no matter which scenario I examine, Ariella ends up in the same place—a perfect Synthète, the next Alistair Hertley. Only she won’t be fully biological as I am.