Page 60 of Damsel in Disguise

She’s too drowned in her work to notice my shadow quietly passing by.

Finally, I happen to find one of the guestroom windows unlocked. Despite all the doubts, I slide the windows just as much as I’d need to squeeze my body in.

My heart thumps in my chest so violently from the fear of the unknown. And the dim lights aren’t helping.

Once inside, I slide the window off with such a quiet efficiency that, for a moment, I wonder whether the house is aware of me at all or has simply accepted my presence as inevitable.

My eyes do a quick sweep all around to spot any suspicious movement. Once I’m sure that I’m all alone inside, a long breath I’ve been subconsciously holding back, exhales free.

Without wasting time, I walk over to the door and twist the handle. It’s locked from the outside. No wonder one of the windows was open.

I take a risk and turn off all the lights. Next, I’m banging my fist softly twice, pressing my ear against the wooden door right away.

The moment I hear footsteps approaching, I’m grabbing a small ornament—just in case—and retreating into the darkest corner of the room. I stay close to the door to flee whenever I get the chance.

Shortly, the sound of keys rattling floods in, and the door is pushed open. That’s when I realize it can be Alistair too.

“He-hello?” genuine fear radiates off her small voice.

Luckily, it’s Delilah who peeks in carefully.

The mysterious, elegant woman I saw that day is gone.

I need to get her inside. So I throw the ornament carefully, but towards the farthest corner of the room. The shadows and darkness engulf me, making the task easier for me.

It hits some unknown glass object, making her flinch.

“Alistair?” she calls for him, and waits for a few beats to step inside.

I try to track her movement, and once I feel her walking past me, I slowly crawl out of the room.

Out of curiosity, I decide to peek inside just a little. That’s when I think I see a pair of glowing, glaucous points in place of her eyes. It’s just for a fraction of a second before blinding lights flood the room.

With that, I dart off in the corridor in silence.

She must’ve had her phone with her. I don’t give it much thought, but focus on where to find Alistair. Since he didn’t reply when Delilah called for her, he must be upstairs.

The air inside carries a faint smell of exotic candles. The lighting is low but adaptive, illuminating pathways without fully revealing them. Everything feels curated, intentional, and disturbingly calm.

I exhale slowly and flex my gloved fingers as I step deeper into his space. The interior mirrors him perfectly—minimalist lines, controlled color palette, no sentimental clutter.

There are no family photographs on display, no visible remnants of domestic chaos, nothing that suggests vulnerability. It’s a house designed to be occupied without ever being exposed.

The staircase curves upward toward the private quarters, but I don’t ascend yet. My attention shifts toward the study, its door slightly ajar as though inviting curiosity rather than forbidding it.

For a moment, I consider stepping inside—digging through drawers, scanning terminals to map the skeleton of his mind.

But I don’t have time for the luxury. Delilah can be back at any second.

Soft footsteps.

I look behind to see Delilah walking back from the guest room and hurriedly strides towards the kitchen. So I retreat.

Her hair is loosely tied, strands falling around her face in a way that feels effortlessly intimate.

She’s unguarded, entirely at home in a space I’m trespassing. Her being barefoot proves she’s too comfortable. Too safe. Too… his. His perfect little housewife.

A sudden surge of jealousy slices through me. I wish it were me. It should be me.