Page 53 of Damsel in Disguise

“Make yourself comfortable, Miss Keinston,” she motions towards the enormous couch in the center of the living room. “Let me know if you need something,” and walks away to God knows where.

My heart does something violent against my ribs at that. I look around the mansion again, seeing it differently now.

I’ve been kept in here for a week. A strange heat spreads through me that has nothing to do with fear.

He kept me here.

He didn’t let me wake.

He controlled the narrative.

And somehow I’m not sure if I should be terrified or thrilled at the idea of it.

I check the time on the wall console. 5:27 PM. He’ll be walking through that door any minute, just as she informed.

The most unsettling part for me now is I’ve no idea which version of him I’m about to meet—the respected Oxford scholar… or something far more sinister?

19. INVITATION

ariella

He arrives just after sunset.

My heart stutters hearing his measured footsteps.

I’m in the living room when he finds me, perched on the edge of the sofa like a trespasser who wandered too far and now forgot how to leave.

His presence fills the space before his voice does. “Good evening, Ariella.”

It’s the way my name rolls off his tongue that has me looking up at his direction. It’s the first time I’ve heard him call me by my given name. I feel even my ears are catching colors.

His hair is slightly disordered from the wind, or perhaps he ran his fingers through those smooth black locks before he came into his place.

He looks… ordinary yet impossibly out of reach.

“You brought me here,” I say, skipping everything else.

He studies me like I’m a dataset that suddenly learned to breathe. “Yes.”

No apology. No hesitation.

His wife, whose first name I still don’t know, materializes out of nowhere. “Hey, my love,” she coos, tiptoeing to kiss him on his lips.

A sudden burst of jealousy swipes through me again. Although it’s barely a quick kiss, I had to look away.

He clears his throat, the sound low but deliberate, reminding her to stop the PDA.

“Delilah,” he says evenly, his ocean blue eyes flicking toward me then back at her, “would you mind giving us a moment?” Alistair pushes her off and proceeds to remove his coat with unhurried precision.

The name settles inside me with an uncomfortable grace. So that’s her first name. It fits her in a way that I resent immediately—refined, effortless, something meant to be spoken softly.

She glances at me with polite curiosity, then looks back at him, smoothing an invisible crease along his collar before stepping back.

Her fingers linger just long enough to make the intimacy unmistakable, with a composed expression while assessing me.

“Sure,” she replies with a feigned smile and takes his coat.

Delilah smiles softly and moves toward the stairs.