57. DECEPTION #2
Without looking up, he says, “You’ve pointed it out before.”
I shake my head slowly. “No. This time, I mean it.”
He leans back in his seat. “I’m merely tired.”
“You don’t get tired.”
He lets out a dry chuckle. “That’s an unrealistic expectation.”
“You don’t lose focus either.”
His expression remains carefully neutral.
I cross my arms over the desk and look at him, really look at him for reasons I can’t quite explain—I’m worried about him.
“You’ve looked at that clock for at least a hundred times.”
“I was unaware you were counting.”
Despite myself, I almost smile. Then I realize he’s not smiling back.
“I know this is a professional place, but if it’s about last night…” my voice grows quieter despite myself. “If you regret what happened, or if you think I crossed a line, then I’m really sorry.”
His eyes lift to mine.
While I’m drowning in those blue orbs, I thought he’s going to say something. Tell me something. Confess anything. I almost thought he’s going to reassure me.
Just then, his entire expression changes as though carrying the truth has finally become heavier than carrying the lie.
The moment passes away as quickly as it came. The walls return the second he blinks.
“There’s nothing to concern yourself with, Miss Keinston.”
My lips part slightly.
A part of me tells me to let it go. To accept whatever happened between us was nothing more than a lapse in judgment, an unexpected collision between two people who should’ve known better.
Men like Alistair Hertley don’t rearrange their lives because of a single night. They acknowledge the mistake, file it away with the rest of their carefully ordered existence, and move on as though it never happened.
Alistair Hertley has spent the better part of a year answering personal questions with professional silence. Expecting him to suddenly open up just because we danced so intimately around a huge audience and then slept together is unrealistic.
I’m about to force myself back to the research and call it a day when the sharp vibration of a phone breaks the silence in the office.
He glances at his phone only for a moment.
Yet that single moment is enough for the color to drain from his face. The expression disappears so quickly that I almost convince myself I imagined it.
He places the phone face down on the desk. “You should leave.”
The abruptness of the statement catches me off guard. “I thought that was obvious. I do have classes to attend shortly,” I say, glancing back at the clock.
“No,” he says quietly. “You should leave the university.”
The smile that had been lingering on my face fades. “Why? What happened?”
“There has been a security breach.”
My brows knit together. “What kind of security breach are we talking about?”
“Sensitive systems were accessed without authorization.”
“That sounds like an issue for the university, not mine,” I let out a watery laugh.
“It would be,” he agrees, “if the university were the target.”
A strange feeling begins to settle in my stomach. I glance at the papers spread across the desk.
I wait for him to add something.
“Who?” he doesn’t, so I press.
“Triarch Dominion.”
I blink back a few times—trying to catch what he’s trying to say in riddles. But I end up laughing a short, disbelieving sound.
“That’s not funny, Ariella.”
I clear my throat, “My bad,” and force myself to stop sounding like a fool.
The gravity of his expression forces the reality of the situation to sink in. One look at the sheer dread in his eyes, and I realize exactly how dire this is.
My mind immediately jumps to Adrian.
To Asher.
To everything that has happened till now.
“I think I should call Adrian,” my hand already reaches for my phone inside my bag.
“Miss Keinston.”
Something in his voice makes me stop.
“If Adrian becomes involved now, more people become involved.”
I frown.” What does that mean?”
“Triarch Dominion still doesn’t know how much you know about them,” he continues evenly. “If additional parties begin moving, they’ll assume they’re not safe with you freely walking around anymore.”
“I don’t understand any of this. What exactly are these people looking for?”
“You.”
The one-word answer actually makes me forget to breathe.
“If you remain here, they will find you. As head of the research department, I’ve already been instructed to notify them if I spot you on campus… or anywhere else,” his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “I’m supposed to deliver you to them, Ariella.”
A chill runs through me.
“But I haven’t done it,” his blue eyes hold mine.
“I’m standing here defying a direct order because I believe there’s still time to get you somewhere they cannot reach.
Come with me. Allow me to keep you hidden while I find a way to contain this before it becomes something neither of us can survive. ”
I think about Adrian. About the condition, he made me promise. “You answer every call.”
My hand closes around my phone.
“I should at least let Adrian know that I’m leaving.”
Alistair shakes his head. “The lesser knows, the better.”
“He’ll worry…”
“Ariella, if they are monitoring communications, one phone call could expose everyone connected to you,” he’s completely serious.
I look down at the phone in my hand.
My instincts tell me something is very wrong. But my instincts have been phony before.
Alistair has lied to me.
He has manipulated me.
But he has also saved my life.
And somewhere between those truths, I stopped knowing which version of him to trust.
“Mind if I hold onto your phone for now?” he’s extends his hand to me.
“Wait, no. Why?”
“If I fail today, it may be the only way I can ensure someone finds you.”
That shuts me down.
That should be the first warning sign, one that I consciously choose to ignore—his doesn’t connect.
Yet for one last time, I decide to trust him.
With a nod, I hand him my phone, without asking him why.
“Good,” his expression doesn’t change as he softly mutters the word and puts my phone inside his coat.
Alistair gathers the research files into a neat stack before standing.
“We shouldn’t use the main corridor.”
I blink, my brows frown again.
“Anyone could be waiting for you,” he says, meeting my eyes with a steadiness that leaves no room for argument as he heads towards the office door.
Without questioning back, I follow, even though it sounds unnecessarily dramatic.
He locks the office behind us and turns away from the elevators, leading me through deserted hallways lined with darkened offices and forgotten storage rooms until we reach the emergency stairwell.
I know where it leads—the rear parking area. He says nothing but walks ahead, leading me.
I tell myself that it makes sense.
I tell myself that avoiding crowds is the logical choice.
I tell myself that Adrian is overthinking.
That Alistair is protecting me.
That I’ll call everyone the moment we’re somewhere safe.
And because, despite everything, some foolish part of me still trusts him… I keep following him, even while every instinct I have is screaming that something code red.