21. INTRUSION
ariella
Day two of being back to my regular life.
I still haven’t said yes.
These past two days I got back to my family. The past conversations that they had with me—Alistair, I mean—helped me connect the dots and fabricate a believable story.
I tried to find more about this secret organization he seems to work for. And as expected, I came up with nothing. It’s as if he were just bluffing around to intimidate me about something that never existed in the first place.
The worst part is I can’t bring myself to ask for my dad’s help, not even Asher’s. Dad would ask me too many questions and would definitely hold back information ‘for my safety’.
And Asher is mad at me for not only buying a bike but also getting into a serious accident because of it.
So I went to Adrian and asked him to dig into Alistair Hertley. He promised to get back to me as soon as he can.
The offer lingers in my head like a door left slightly open, not wide enough to walk through yet, but not closed enough to ignore.
I don’t know whatever it is that he seems to work for, and that alone feels engineered enough to intimidate.
The fact that I almost died because of it should be reason enough to stay away. Instead, I find myself circling it, testing its edges, wondering what it’d mean to step fully into his world rather than hovering at its perimeter.
When I returned to campus this morning, I expected consequences. Administrative warnings. Academic penalties. Professors raising brows over my unexplained disappearance. I’ve been gone for over a month, and surprisingly, nothing was out of place.
My attendance was marked excused. Documentation has already been submitted. Medical leave approved and archived with professional precision. Even my advisor mentioned, almost casually, that Professor Hertley personally ensured everything was handled properly.
Alistair rearranged reality in my absence and made me fit in it too seamlessly.
The most surprising part is that my father never stormed here at Oxford University demanding answers. CynoTech never launched a quiet investigation. No security detail appeared at my door.
Whatever narrative Alistair constructed, it was convincing enough to pacify one of the most powerful corporate families in the world. And I still don’t know what else he did apart from the messages and texts sent from my devices.
My official break isn’t even over for one last day.
Which means I have time.
Time to decide whether I’m stepping into something dangerous on my own or if I’m being guided there without realizing.
If he wants me inside his domain, then I refuse to enter blind. I want to see the infrastructure of the man who thinks he can control me.
So tonight, I won’t wait for Adrian anymore but return willingly to what I know best.
I’ll return to him.
The city settles into darkness gradually, the sky bruising into deep indigo before surrendering to night entirely. I’m dressed in the Dracula version of myself that runs from the daylight and towards the darkness.
Black leather fitted from collarbone to ankle. Boots designed for silence rather than statement. Gloves thin enough to preserve dexterity. A leather mask with two big cat ears drawn covering the upper half of my face.
My reflection becomes less innocent. This is the girl he never fully accounted for.
In the middle of the night, I kick into my bike and take a crowded route to his mansion, careful not to make the same mistakes again.
I know I just recovered from the recent bike accident, and I shouldn’t ride one this soon, but the ‘shouldn’t’s have always been a tempting invitation to me.
There’s so much hoot-n-holler behind me, many already recording me. I can feel their unrestrained excitement.
It’s really cool to see someone dressed as Catwoman riding a Ducati at a hundred on the highway. I busk in their admiration, waving ‘hi’s whenever stopped at the signal.
Within twenty-five minutes, I reach his place, Boars Hill. As soon as I near, I turn off my headlights.
Last time when I left, I took my sweet time memorizing the way out.
I pretended to be scared so that he wouldn’t bother with checking the CCTVs to see what I was doing around—to him, I looked like I desperately wanted to leave.
I took my time spotting the blind spots of whatever security radar he has installed here. Thanks to my genetically superior memory, it wasn’t much of a hassle to preserve them in my brain.
But I didn’t rely on my one-day investigation.
I spent the last two nights dodging every bullet to memorize the outside blueprint of his mansion too well. I promised myself not to get into any more trouble, so I came in prepared, thinking that if I needed to kill, I would, unhesitantly.
Tonight’s the time I think I’m ready. Ready to break in.
Parking the bike a few meters away, I blend into the darkness behind me.
Warm lighting glows behind reactive glass, giving the illusion of domestic tranquility rather than strategic design.
My gaze falls over the trees surrounding the property. For someone like Alistair Hertley, the security is awfully simple. Maybe because everyone knows him as the professor—who’d even want to harm a professor?
The house does not rely on intimidation but relies on institutional confidence.
However, the most interesting part of the mansion isn’t the dense trees but the fact that it overlooks the Oxford University. The way the lights of the campus glint in the distance is so mesmerizing that one might get lost in the trance of staring at it.
I remain across the street long enough to let my pulse steady, and my observations sharpen, studying the property not as a lovestruck girl but as someone assessing a perimeter.
The security is doable. Cameras are not mounted conspicuously—they are embedded along structural seams and recessed beneath roofline angles and tree branches where they are less likely to be noticed.
Motion detection is woven discreetly into landscaping fixtures and entry thresholds.
There’s a narrow interval along the side elevation where thermal recalibration resets for a few seconds before the next sweep begins. It’s small, almost arrogant in its design, as though the architect assumed no one would ever be patient enough to notice.
It’s a secondary access point likely designed for authorized service rather than intrusion. It’s not the primary system, and that is precisely why it matters.
When the timing aligns, I move with controlled speed, keeping close to the trees where heat disperses unevenly from the internal system.
I wait for the next recalibration. Once it hits, I slip past one tree. Then another… and another.
After five of them, I’m standing in his yard. A slow exhale leaves me as I look around.
The front door has to be locked. Even if it isn’t, it’s too risky to go in through the main doors. I need to take the windows—that is, if I find any open, breaking one would certainly draw attention. Or I’d simply find another way.
I wander around in search of a way for a clean trespass, peaking in carefully through the windows downstairs.
Most of the inside is empty and bathed in dim lights except the kitchen, where Delilah is humming an unfamiliar tune while mixing something in a glass bowl.
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.