Page 52 of Damsel in Disguise

Alistair. Oh my God. Oh my God. I’m at his place.

A hysterical laughter bubbles up my throat. I clap a hand over my mouth to silence it. This cannot be real. This cannot be happening. I must be dreaming.

I can’t focus on the fact that I’m standing in front of his wife. That he has a wife. I knew he did, so it’s not much of a big deal for me, but still…

The only thing occupying my mind is… I. Am. At. His. Place. Instead of fear, my mind keeps repeating one thing—I am in his space.

A soft clearing of the throat pulls me back. Right. We have an audience here.

I swallow, trying to steady my voice. “How long have I been here?”

She glances toward the sleek digital watch on her wrist, the one that matches exactly his. “One week.”

A pang of jealousy hits me. I bury it down and try to focus on the present.

The word lands heavily but not surprisingly. But according to the calendar, I’ve been out for five weeks. So if I’ve been here at his place for only a week, where did the rest of the four go?

“You were unconscious for most of it,” she continues smoothly. “He was very particular about your recovery.”

Very particular.

My fingers tighten around my phone. “Particular how?”

Her smile shifts almost imperceptibly. “He doesn’t tolerate inefficiency. Especially when something… unexpected enters his orbit.”

My heart beats harder from a strange feeling. “Uh—okay, so where’s he?”

“Working. He has been exceptionally occupied lately.”

Is it because I was a mistake he had to clean up?

She gestures toward the staircase with effortless grace. “You must be disoriented. We can discuss logistics downstairs over coffee. That is only if you drink coffee, unlike him,” she looks over her shoulder.

She’s too modest and elegant, acting as if she’s of royal blood. That’s strange. Royalties don’t need to perform like one.

“Thanks, but I’d like to leave.”

She doesn’t acknowledge me but walks ahead with her hips swaying. “Don’t worry, dear. You’re safe.”

My pulse spikes again, and I can’t help but follow after her. “What does that mean?”

She leads me downstairs.

Her demeanor doesn’t change when she speaks while walking down. “It means you were fortunate.”

So this was never really an accident. And I was never missing. I was being placed here strategically.

Who is he?

One thing I’m sure of now is he’s not just a senior professor but someone more than that. A cold dread feeling coils in my stomach at the sudden realization.

“Alistair wanted you to wait for him.”

The way she says it makes me feel like he was expecting me to wake up today, around this time.

Still, I calmly follow after her. “When will he be back?”

“He should be back at any moment now,” and walks down the stairs and waits for me to catch up. Her tone is light, but the way she speaks isn’t.