Page 231 of Damsel in Disguise

Asher stares at him for a long moment before smacking him on his shoulder.

Before Adrian can backfire and the two join Alistair in the emergency room, I cut in.

“Look,” my tone drops the sarcasm as I look between my brother and my cousin. “Triarch Dominion is gone. The Crown’s legacy is turned to ashes. But the data is still sitting on encrypted drives. If the state gets its hands on Alistair, they get everything. But if we pull him into the corporate shield of CynoTech, if we give him a position as Chief Research Officer under our family’s legal machinery, then we get the smartest engineer on the planet.”

Adrian’s clinical gaze drifts from me to the viewing glass where Alistair is lying unconscious. The logic is undeniable. It’s indeed a high-risk, multi-billion-dollar exploit, but it’s exactly how the Keinston empire built its fortress.

“Since when do you start thinking like a strategist?”

“Since the day I was unofficially handed over the England branch of CynoTech.”

“Oh, c’mon, you never worked a single day, you lazy ass,” he says, flicking on my forehead.

I mouth a silent ‘ouch’, rubbing the spot when Asher mutters, “He’s a security nightmare, Ariella,” though the dangerous edge in his voice has softened into something resembling begrudging acceptance.

“The second he wakes up, I’m setting the parameters. If he even breathes in your direction wrong, I’m personally throwing him out a high-rise window.”

“He won’t,” I say, looking back through the glass at Alistair’s sleeping form.

A faint, possessive spark flares deep in my chest. “He knows exactly what happens when he tries to run an equation against me.”

Adrian lets out one final, defeated laugh, rubbing his temples. “Fine. We’ll deploy the legal machinery to scrub the Interpol alerts and mask his routing entries before your father looks too closely at the backend data on this Friday. But you’re handling the boardroom explanation by yourself. Marry the freak at your own risk,” he says, earning another smack from Asher.

“Seriously, dude. What the fuck?” Asher exclaims with newfound horror.

“Deal,” I smile.

As my brothers turn and slip back into the hallway to initiate the corporate cover-up, all the while bickering at each other, I push open the heavy door to Alistair’s room.

Quietly, I walk up to the side of his bed and lean down. My lips brush against his forehead, feeling the steady pulse.

“Wake up soon, Professor,” I whisper against his skin with a knowing smirk. “Time to see if you can handle the reality of your favorite variable.”

64. CONTRACT

ariella

Alistair has spent so long existing as something untouchable in my mind that seeing him asleep beneath white hospital sheets feels fundamentally wrong.

Men like him belong in laboratories hidden beneath cities—behind reinforced glass and armed guards, with equations spread across blackboards and blood staining expensive gloves.

They don’t belong attached to heart monitors.

They don’t lie unconscious while nurses whisper outside the room.

They don’t take bullets for anyone.

His torso is wrapped in thick bandages where the Crown’s first bullet tore through him. The second had lodged itself in his thigh.

I remember the sound more than anything else.

The gunshot.

The smell of burning metal.

The way his body moved before his mind could.

Alistair calculates everything. Even the probability of betrayal.