I Escaped the Cage, but the Yandere Women Found Me

Chapter 69: Chapter 69: A Crack in the Disguise

Chapter 69: A Crack in the Disguise

Audra watched the front gate from an upper-floor window.

Nora Ellison had followed the instruction exactly.

She approached Cyrus with the same persistence she had shown all day, arranged an obviously deliberate collision, and used the impact to knock his bangs aside. The curiosity on her face lasted only until she saw him properly.

Then it reversed.

Nora stepped back with visible disappointment, muttered that she must have been mistaken, and left without trying to speak to him again.

Cyrus remained near the gate, looking thoroughly confused.

The result confirmed what Audra had begun to suspect.

The Glamourkin Ring could alter more than behavior and memory. It could reach into perception itself, taking an existing belief and turning it in the opposite direction. Nora had been convinced Cyrus was hiding an attractive face. Audra’s instruction had not erased her memory of the basketball court. It had changed what Nora believed that memory meant.

Now Nora believed she had seen him incorrectly.

Audra lowered her hand from the window.

The ring rested against her finger, its pink stone harmless beneath the fading daylight.

A few minutes earlier, that same stone had placed Cyrus under her control.

The memory returned with uncomfortable clarity.

She had reached through the fall of his hair, intending only to settle Nora’s claim. She had prepared herself for either possibility. His hidden face might have been plain, awkward, scarred, or exactly as unremarkable as the identity he presented at school.

Instead, she had uncovered a face so refined that her thoughts had stalled.

The effect lasted only a few breaths, but Audra disliked that it had happened at all.

She had not left the classroom because she had fallen in love at first sight. That explanation belonged in cheap movies and the embarrassing novels Gemma occasionally recommended. Audra had needed room to think about his punishment, nothing more.

Cyrus had lied about his injury.

He had hidden his appearance.

He had admitted to laughing at her.

Her irritation came from the growing sense that everything about him had been arranged to mislead. His low posture, heavy bangs, withdrawn manner, and willingness to let people dismiss him all formed a disguise that went far beyond a hairstyle.

Someone who lied that easily deserved consequences.

Audra’s hand tightened near the windowsill.

The reasoning sounded perfectly sensible when she kept it brief.

It became less convincing whenever she remembered his face after the hair moved aside, or the small curve of his mouth while the ring held him still. Those details had nothing to do with honesty, yet they kept returning without permission.

Below, Cyrus turned toward the school as though he sensed someone watching.

Audra remained behind the edge of the window frame.

His attention traveled across the building and passed over her position without finding her. After another pause, he left the gate and continued down the street.

Audra watched until he disappeared.

Only then did she breathe out.

Of all the answers the ring had drawn from him, the one that sounded most like a lie had apparently been true.

His memory loss was real.

She had asked twice. The first question received silence, but the second brought a clear answer. The delay might have come from whatever had damaged those memories in the first place. The ring compelled people to answer according to what they believed. If Cyrus genuinely believed he had lost his memory, there was no reason to dismiss the response.

What had happened to him before St. Alder?

Why did a student with no remembered past hide his face so carefully?

Had someone taught him to do it, or had he decided on his own that being noticed was unsafe?

The ring might be able to uncover more.

Audra lifted her hand and studied the pink stone.

It had already reached into obedience, memory, and perception. Perhaps it could go deeper. If Cyrus’s missing memories remained buried rather than destroyed, the artifact might pull them closer to the surface.

She could question him again tomorrow.

The possibility occupied her so completely that she failed to notice how long she had been standing at the window.

A faint smile touched her mouth.

School had been predictable for years. Classes, grades, polite conversations, family expectations, and the same students repeating the same little dramas had begun to blur together.

Cyrus had changed that without trying.

Now she possessed a ring capable of opening every answer he tried to keep locked away.

The days ahead might become far more interesting.

Across Grayhaven, night settled over the apartment building.

The clock on Daphne Whitlock’s phone had passed nine. Her living room remained dim except for a floor lamp near the couch and the occasional glow from the street beyond the curtains. The air conditioner ran with a low, steady hum.

Daphne sat curled into the smaller couch in loose clothes, one leg tucked beneath her.

She had spent most of the evening replaying Cory’s visit in her mind.

Each remembered detail became gentler with repetition. His cautious arrival turned into trust. His careful politeness became sweetness. The brief contact at the end had grown into something warmer than it had probably been.

In the version Daphne preferred, Cory had leaned close because he trusted her and had given her a shy little kiss on the cheek.

She knew that interpretation was questionable.

Cory’s childlike form made the attachment wrong in ways she could not excuse. Daphne understood the boundary clearly enough. What troubled her was how easily she kept stepping around it in her own thoughts.

She missed the feeling of being trusted by him.

She missed the way he accepted food without asking for more.

She missed having someone small and wary in her apartment who seemed, for a brief time, to depend on her kindness.

That was the part she could admit to herself.

The less flattering truth was that she also missed the control.

Since that afternoon, even the games she once spent hours searching through had lost their appeal. Fictional characters could not compete with the memory of a real visitor sitting in her apartment, eating her food, using the console she had given him, and watching the door whenever she moved too close.

The handheld console should have brought him back by now.

Daphne had deliberately kept the charging cable.

It was a harmless excuse on the surface. The console would eventually die. Cory would need the cable. Cyrus knew where she lived. One of them would have to return.

Several days had passed, and neither boy had appeared.

Daphne slid farther down the couch until her head rested against one arm. Her hair had come loose, and one sleeve had crept up her forearm. She stared at the ceiling while the air conditioner continued its patient hum.

Then her attention shifted toward the top of the wardrobe.

A compact indoor camera sat near the edge.

The building had undergone a security upgrade before she moved in. During installation, the property company had included a spare indoor camera with the account package. Daphne had placed it on the wardrobe, adjusted the angle once, and forgotten about it.

Until now.

She sat upright.

The camera had been in the room when Cory visited.

That meant the afternoon had not survived only inside her memory. Somewhere in the connected app, the entire visit might still exist.

Daphne reached for her phone.

Her account also included access to several common-area feeds because she was registered as the property owner for the unit. The hallway and stairwell cameras had always seemed like boring security tools meant for deliveries, maintenance disputes, and residents who forgot where they left packages.

Tonight, they offered something more useful.

She opened the camera app, entered the account information, and searched through the saved indoor footage.

The correct date appeared.

Daphne’s thumb stopped.

The recording loaded slowly. The picture was slightly grainy but clear enough to recognize every movement.

Cory entered the apartment.

Daphne leaned closer to the screen.

She watched the visit from the beginning.

His first cautious steps through the room. The way he scanned the furniture. His careful distance from her. The food, the games, and every small change in his expression appeared from an angle she had never seen while living through it.

The camera made his defensiveness more obvious.

Cory never wandered far without knowing where the door was. Whenever Daphne moved closer, he shifted without drawing attention to it. Even while eating, he kept enough space to leave if he needed to.

Her memory had softened those details.

The recording did not.

Daphne continued watching until the final moment approached.

On the screen, she closed her eyes.

Cory leaned toward her.

Daphne held the phone closer.

Then he raised one hand, curled his little finger, and tapped her cheek.

There had been no kiss.

Daphne paused the video.

The apartment seemed much quieter after the footage stopped.

She dragged the playback bar backward and watched again.

Cory leaned in. Daphne waited with her eyes closed. His finger touched her cheek. Then he withdrew before she understood what had happened.

The tender moment she had preserved in her mind had been nothing more than a fingertip.

Disbelief settled over her.

She replayed the clip once more, slower this time. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com

That was when she noticed his expression.

For the briefest instant, while Daphne remained unaware, amusement crossed Cory’s face. The tiny curve near his mouth was not innocent or confused. He knew exactly what she expected, and he had deliberately given her something else.

If Daphne had caught it in person, she might have dismissed it as embarrassment or a trick of the light.

The recording preserved it too clearly.

Cory had teased her.

Daphne stared at the frozen frame.

The realization should have ended the fixation. Instead, it changed the shape of it.

Cory had not been overwhelmed by her. He had been managing her.

The distance he maintained throughout the visit no longer felt accidental. Every retreat, every well-timed excuse, and every quick movement toward the door had been deliberate. He had accepted the food and console while keeping her exactly far enough away.

A grown teacher with years of authority had been handled by someone trapped in a childlike form.

Daphne’s jaw tightened.

Her dignity had not merely suffered. Cory had played with it.

She rose from the couch, restless and annoyed, but the apartment offered no target for her frustration. She did not know where Cory lived. She did not know his full name. She had no number to call, no guardian to contact, and no address to visit.

Cyrus was the only connection, and Cyrus had become very skilled at disappearing whenever Cory entered the picture.

No wonder Cory always ran so quickly.

He probably expected her to discover the trick eventually and wanted to be far away when that happened.

Daphne picked up the phone again.

The matter was not finished.

If Cory had turned their last meeting into a game, then she would find him and reclaim some measure of control. She only needed to learn where he came from.

A plan formed.

The indoor camera showed the visit, but the common-area feeds could show his route. One camera covered the first-floor stairwell and part of the street outside. If she found the moment Cory entered, she could trace the direction he had taken before reaching the building.

Even if he had used a false route while leaving, repeated observation could eventually expose him.

Daphne carried the phone to her desk, woke the computer, and entered the camera account again. The larger screen made the hallway footage easier to search.

She selected the date and moved to the hour of Cory’s arrival.

The playback ran at the app’s fastest speed.

Residents crossed the lobby. A delivery driver entered and left. Someone struggled with a grocery cart near the stairwell. Cars passed beyond the glass entrance.

Cory never appeared.

Daphne slowed the footage and searched again.

There was no white-haired child entering the building at the expected time.

Her irritation gave way to confusion.

She moved ahead to the point when she had chased him from the apartment.

The footage showed Daphne rushing through the lobby and out toward the street.

A small figure with black hair had left moments before her.

Daphne leaned closer.

The clothes matched.

The height matched.

Even the careful way the child moved felt familiar.

The only impossible detail was the hair.

She followed the recording farther.

After Daphne returned from her unsuccessful search, the same black-haired child entered behind her at a distance and slipped back into the building.

Her hand stopped on the mouse.

Cory had not arrived with white hair.

He had not left with it either.

The white-haired child she remembered and the black-haired figure on the camera wore the same clothes and moved like the same person.

Daphne stared at the screen while several explanations surfaced at once, each more unbelievable than the last.

Could Cory change his appearance?

Had the white hair been a disguise?

Or had she misunderstood far more than a stolen kiss?