Page 98 of Damsel in Disguise

There are still people walking around.

I watch them do nothing but waste time—clusters of students gossiping, a few tangled in soft, meaningless flirtations, laughter carries too easily through the air to here on the fourth floor.

A frustrated growl slips out of me. I push off the window, stepping back too quickly.

My heel catches, and I stumble—falling hard onto my ass with a sharp grunt that punches the breath from my lungs.

With my hands still tied, it’s adding more to the hassle. I hiss in pain for not being able to rub the sore muscles.

For a moment, I don’t move. I stay there, sprawled against the floor, silent and still, staring ahead as the room slowly dims.

The sun dips lower, dragging shadows across the walls, stretching them long and thin until everything goes quieter and darker.

The automated lights flick on since there’s still a presence in the room—me.

I need to do something.

I can’t just sit here like a broken doll waiting for someone else to decide for me.

For that, I need to undo my bound wrists first.

The infinity knot sits firm against my skin, structured in a way that punishes impatience. If I pull wrong, it’ll only cinch tighter.

A slow breath fills my lungs, then leaves just as evenly while I stare blankly ahead.

I lower my gaze to my hands, rotating my wrists slightly—not pulling, just feeling. The strap roughly tugs against my skin.

There’s tension at the center—the twist. That’s where it locks.

Which means that’s where it can fail.

I angle my wrists inward instead of apart, testing the give. It doesn’t. A feral growl rips from me, echoing through the room.

My back slouches. I stay motionless for a second before an idea hits. I’m dipping my head, and I take the tip of the strap in my mouth just like he did.

A sharp realization crashes through me. Is this considered an indirect kiss? Like couples eating from the same spoon or him sipping wine from where she left her lipstick stain?

I immediately banish the thought from my head and focus on the task at hand. There are more questionable things we did to blush over this simple act.

My teeth bite onto it, and I pull hard.

The belt tightens instantly in response, digging deeper into my wrists. A sharp sting flares, but I don’t stop. I shift my angle again, easing into the pressure.

The prong finally pops out of the hole. I press my wrists together, folding my hands inward, creating space where the loop expects tension. The loop gives in—not fully, but enough for my hands to slip out.

And my hand slides free, vivid red adorning around my wrists like thick bracelets.

Pins and needles cover my arms at the sudden release. I drop my arm as blood rushes back into my fingers.

If he tried to cage me, I’d flee from the said cage.

If he thinks I’ll still be in this position when he comes back, he’s been underestimating me.

My muscles protest, but I force myself upright anyway.

With a sharp exhale, I push myself up, wincing from rubbing the sore spot of my butt. A hiss escape through my teeth at the sting from both my hands and ass.

Adrian. I reach for my phone and type quickly.