35. BREACH
ariella
Now my accident makes sense.
I tried stalking an important member of the Triarch Dominion—something that doesn’t exist on paper unless they want to.
Everything else falls into place. Why I woke up in his house instead of a hospital bed, why he refused to answer my questions, why there were no police reports, no whispered concerns from doctors, no lingering questions from my family.
Just controlled silence. He erased everything.
Not just the accident, but everything surrounding it. My academic records have been adjusted. My absence was rewritten into a neat, harmless lie fed to my parents so they’d never have to question where I was or who I was with.
Alistair didn’t just cover it up—he curated it, turning me into a problem worth solving instead of treating me like a girl who almost died trying to dig her claws into something far bigger than herself.
And he dared to call it protection.
To offer me a place in the very thing that nearly killed me. Wrap me in the illusion of my safety. Like stepping into the lion’s den willingly somehow makes the teeth less ferocious.
It doesn’t. It only makes you easier to devour.
“I’m going back.”
Staying here—safe, contained, monitored—feels worse.
England isn’t just a place for me anymore. It’s a thread I pulled on, forcing the entire fabric to unravel in my hands.
Him.
The accident.
The organization.
The way my life has been quietly manipulated without my consent.
The answers are there, buried under layers of control and secrets I was never meant to see. But I can’t sit here pretending I don’t need them.
I need to see through the end. To understand what I’ve stepped into before it swallows me whole.
Running back isn’t retreat. It’s more like a confrontation.
Adrian’s head snaps up. “No.”
“I already booked a flight.”
“Cancel it.”
I laugh—short, sharp, humorless, the sound scraping my throat on the way out. “You don’t get to tell me—”
“If you’re leaving,” he cuts in, “you’re taking my jet.”
I turn to face him fully now, my spine straightening despite the pressure building in my chest. “I don’t need your help anymore.”
“I need to ensure your full safety,” the control in his tone tightening like a leash.
I know what he means.
Still, something hot and defiant flares in me. “Stop talking like my dad.”
“Then you better stop being a brat.”
An ill-timed knock cuts through the tension. The door opens before either of us can push further.
Clara steps in.
“Sir,” she begins, composed but urgent, “we’ve a situation in the Singapore branch. An internal breach has been flagged within the neural systems division. The security team is requesting immediate authorization before containment protocols escalate.”
Adrian changes instantly.
It’s almost terrifying—how fast the irritation disappears, replaced by that cold, precise composure of a CEO. Not my overprotective cousin anymore.
“Source?”
“Unknown. But it’s targeting restricted datasets.”
He doesn’t react. Just look at me. “You’re still taking my jet—”
“Apologies for the interruption, sir,” Clara interjects carefully, “but I’m afraid immediate travel to Singapore is strongly advised.”
“Book a commercial flight, goddamnit,” Adrian snaps, the harshness in his tone making her flinch despite herself.
“We don’t have much time…” she replies, quieter now, bracing for another outburst.
He exhales aloud through his mouth. “You and your brother…” his forefinger and thumb rub his temples, “You’re both a pain in my ass.”
His gaze flicks back to me. “Stay here. I’ll be back in five. Let me see what I can do.”
“I told you I’m leaving,” I say with a mocking pout, grounding each word with quiet finality.
If I hesitate now, I won’t fly back to England at all, but rather go back to hide in my Rapunzel’s Tower like the sheltered little princess I’ve always been.
I hate being back to that shit.
I really thought I’d surprise Asher, though. My parents too. Just show up like nothing’s wrong, like I’m still the same version of me they last saw.
But they’d see right through it.
Obviously not everything, but enough to know something is seriously off. That I’m not just chasing a whim anymore, but something much darker. Something I don’t fully understand myself yet.
His jaw tightens, tension ticking beneath his skin. “Fine,” he grits out before turning to Clara. “Lock down the division. No external communication until I’m physically present.”
“Understood, sir.”
He moves fast after that—rounding his desk, shutting down his system, grabbing his coat and phone in one fluid sequence within thirty seconds. Or maybe less.
I follow him out.
He calls Strad on the way. “Can you drop Ariella at the airport?”
A pause.
“Good,” he ends the call without another word.
The three of us descend the escalator on the executive floor. East wing.
“You’ll inform Asher that we’re departing,” Adrian tells Clara, his tone clipped and formal.
She nods and veers off down the corridor.
Don’t tell me it’s his floor. My stomach drops.
“If you haven’t changed your mind, head to the ground floor, reception area. Strad is waiting for you,” Adrian says, glancing at me.
I nod, swallowing past the sudden dryness in my throat. This is Asher’s floor.
“I’m sorry I can’t assign additional security with you,” he says, sounding genuine as he steps closer.
“You’re already flagged more than I’m comfortable with.
Adding a detail only makes you easier to track.
Plus, anyone I send without clearance becomes a liability the second you land.
So I need you to stay alert and inform me if anything feels suspicious. Even the smallest ones.”
This is the first time I’m seeing Adrian speak so many words to me at once.
“I will,” I say softly and hug him.
It’s brief, but real. My fingers curl slightly into the fabric of his coat before I pull back. “Thank you.”
His expression shifts—just a fraction of warmth. Something almost… human.
“Please tell me you’re not going back to England,” he says one last time. “If it’s Oxford that you want, we can arrange placements elsewhere. Anywhere. You don’t have to be there physically.”
“It’s really alright, Adrian.” I step back, putting space where it belongs. “Just tell Mom and Dad that I love them… and miss them a lot.”
He reluctantly nods.
Then I turn on my heels, walking out. To where I belong.
Alistair Hertley.