Page 165 of Damsel in Disguise

His voice cuts through the line again, sounding like exhaustion dragged gravel through it. “If you’re going to stalk me, at least make yourself useful.”

Heat floods my entire body so fast it almost feels humiliating. “I—”

My eyes roll upward, noticing only then that I’m standing right under the CCTV. Must’ve forgot to notice. It mockingly blinks a red light on cue.

He chuckles, as if he just saw me staring at the camera.

I look away immediately.

A blush tints my cheeks. My heart pounds hard enough to make me aware of every inch of my skin beneath my clothes.

“Try Velmourne Club instead.”

It’s an invitation, or perhaps a warning—both equally tempting.

Before I can force my brain to respond, the line disconnects with that small piece of location.

48. PURSUIT

ariella

Finding my way to the Velmourne Club with a GPS wasn’t much of a hassle.

I finally arrive at the destination within half an hour.

After parking my bike in the underground garage, I make my way inside.

The club is as exclusive as its reputation suggests—a private sanctuary where only the elite, and those over twenty-one, are granted entry.

Thankfully, being a Keinston opens doors in more ways than one. Quite literally.

I dial his number again. He picks up on the first ring.

“Umm, professor, I’m here. But I can’t seem to spot you.”

“For someone who’s been stalking me for years, you’re unusually sloppy today.”

Heat rushes into my cheeks so fast it almost burns. Being called out so casually shouldn’t affect me this much.

“I’m s-sorry.”

God, I hate this.

I hate the version of me who’s without the leather bodysuit.

It feels like every ounce of confidence I own was stripped away with it and locked inside my wardrobe, leaving me standing here with nothing but nerves and embarrassment.

A low chuckle vibrates through the line. “I don’t mind this timid version of you. In fact, I like it more.”

My throat chokes around a response that never comes. Beneath the warmth blooming through me, unease coils quietly.

The words hit me strangely. It’s too intimate and sounds so wrong. This is not the Professor Hertley I know. Is he drunk?

The thought barely has time to form before he adds, “Behind you.”

I spin around so fast my pulse stumbles, only to be met with a horde of people.

Bodies move in every direction around me, swallowed beneath flashing lights and the relentless pulse of the bass vibrating through the club. Dancers blur together into a sea of motion, laughter, perfume, alcohol, and sweat.