Page 41 of Damsel in Disguise

I wonder how worthy they think it is to touch a Keinston heiress.

Why her?

I get that she was stalking me, but… it just doesn’t sit right.

Either way, I have to do something about it.

Although her clothes haven’t been changed—which means she’s been directly brought here—I can see she’s cataloged to a variable ready to be discarded for the sake of experimenting.

I lift my gaze from her body and let it travel the room.

“Lock this suite,” I order calmly. “Perimeter restriction under my authorization only.”

No one moves fast enough. I turn slightly, just enough for them to hear the edge of the restraint. “Now.”

The systems respond before the people do. Status lights change. Access permissions shift. The room seals with a soft, decisive hiss.

“She’s under my direct authority,” I continue, my voice level, lethal in its clarity. “No scans beyond what’s already logged. No tissue sampling or neural probes. No secondary sedation and documentation routed through central servers.”

A junior technician nods. So do the others.

“If I didn’t explicitly ask for it,” I add, meeting his eyes, “it doesn’t happen. If anyone touches her without my permission, I’ll personally revoke your clearance before you finish scrubbing out.”

That lands.

I gesture once. “Assignments,” and turn to the few I always allow to remain with me.

“Dr. Elara Voss,” I ask, “Musculoskeletal and external injury observation only. Do not intervene unless I request it.”

She nods. “Understood, sir.”

“Dr. Henrik Morrow. Neurology. Concussion monitoring, passive only.”

“Yes, sir.”

“and Dr. Saira Khatri. Toxicology and internal assessment. Identify what’s already in her system.”

“Got it, sir.”

“You’ll observe and report to me only. Any deviation from baseline comes to me directly,” I say, looking primarily at the three of them.

Understanding settles into the room like a binding contract that I don’t delegate this.

“That’s all. Everyone out.”

One by one, they file out. Shoes whisper against the floor. Doors slide open, then seal. The monitors remain. The gurney remains.

Only she and I are left. Alone.

I recheck the locks myself, even though the system already confirms the seal. My gaze drifts toward the CCTV lens mounted in the upper corner of the room, its red indicator blinks steadily, reminding me that nothing here is ever truly private.

I feel an unknown wrongness settle under my skin at that. Gotta alter the footage once I’m finished.

For now, I dim the overhead lighting to a clinically acceptable low and remove my coat. I roll my sleeves in a rush and scrub in at the sink, forcing my breathing into rhythm.

Another body. Another girl. That is what I tell myself. I’ve done this before at least a hundred times as I approach the gurney.

With steady hands, I peel back the medical film and throw it aside, exposing her to sterile light and to my gaze in nothing but ruined fabric clinging to her skin.