Page 34 of Damsel in Disguise

He isn’t the kind of professor who intimidates by scowling. He disarms with a smile instead—soft, practiced, unsettling in its restraint. I wonder, not for the first time, what he keeps buried beneath it.

I notice my steps have synced with his without conscious effort. My grip tightens on my backpack straps, grounding myself.

It feels like stalking, but with permission. Like he knows I’m there, yet he’s letting me.

My heart rate spikes up, the way it always does when something aligns not as I anticipated.

Did I move too fast? Followed too closely? I can feel how obvious it must look. It was all good til I was watching him from the shadows.

I shouldn’t have followed his car. I bite harder on my bottom lip, feeling a nervous tingling kick into my stomach.

“Miss Keinston?”

His voice snaps me back. I blink several times to refocus. He’s holding the door open for me, watching me with polite concern.

I clear my throat. “Y-yes, sir?”

I was so lost in my head that I don’t remember getting here.

The path from the lecture hall to his office is a blank canvas—stairs or elevator or some warped combination of both. I glance around, trying to orient myself.

How am I supposed to find this place again on my own?

Come on, Ari. You’re not this pathetic.

You followed him for years. And finally, on a bike in real time. In a leather suit. Like a professional!

Everything is different when I’m operating behind a screen or a mask.

Pretend you’re hiding behind one.

“We can reschedule if you’re feeling unwell,” he says gently, interrupting the clash in my head.

“No,” the word slips out too fast. “No—I’m fine,” I move past him before he can reconsider.

He follows in after me.

The door closes behind us with a soft click. The sound slides down my spine like a warning—I’m alone with Alistair in his office.

My throat suddenly goes bone-dry. I swallow hard, unsuccessfully. From the corner of my eye, I watch him circle the desk and lower himself into his leather chair, the motion unhurried.

“Have a seat, Miss Keinston,” he gestures to the chair opposite him, then leans back, confidence radiating from the way he settles into his space.

“Thank you,” I murmur, sitting.

“Relax,” he says calmly. “This is just a brief conversation between a professor and one of his best students.”

“Best student?” I repeat, before I can stop myself.

“Yes,” he leans forward, elbows resting on the desk. “Given how recently the term began, it’d be highly unfair to phrase it in any other way.”

My heart flutters in my chest. I try not to focus on the ring shining on his finger and let the heat climb my neck, then spill onto my cheeks.

Dopamine hits like a surge, dizzying in its precision. I interlock my fingers under the desk and grip hard, trying to steady myself.

This is exactly where I wanted to be. And exactly where I can’t afford to lose control.

He watches my reaction too closely.