Page 33 of The Beast's Broken Angel

“What security footage?” Noah twisted in the chair, trying to look at me despite the restraints. “I was never in your office. I was treating Dominic in the medical bay while you were at the club. Check the bloody timestamps!”

The suggestion was exactly what I'd been waiting for—concrete evidence that would prove his innocence beyond any doubt Harrison might plant. But I couldn't appear too eager to verify his alibi.

“Who else knew about your sister's condition?” I asked instead, changing tactics. “Your financial situation? Who might use those vulnerabilities against someone desperate enough to do anything for family?”

Noah's expression shifted from defensive anger to something more contemplative.

“Hospital administration had the full picture. Dr. Whitman knew about the treatment costs. Insurance companies.” He paused, considering.

“And Harrison. You said he handles intelligence gathering for major decisions - he would have researched my background thoroughly before you made your offer.

The observation hung in the air between us, loaded with implications neither of us could voice directly.

If Harrison had researched Noah's vulnerabilities during his background check, if he'd been positioning himself to exploit them from the very beginning, it suggested a level of premeditation that went far beyond opportunistic betrayal.

“Your training,” I pressed, letting the blade rest against his shoulder. “Trauma nurses receive instruction beyond standard medical care. Tactical assessment, threat evaluation, intelligence gathering techniques disguised as patient care.”

“I'm not fucking military!” Noah exploded, straining against the restraints with renewed fury. “I've never served a day in my life! I'm a trauma nurse who grew up in Brixton and learned to fight because I had to!”

The outburst felt genuine, raw with authentic frustration. No professional operative would lose control so completely, would reveal such unguarded emotion. Unless the breakdown itself was calculated.

But I knew it wasn't. Knew Noah was innocent, knew Harrison was playing me with surgical precision. The question was how to expose the truth without tipping my hand too early.

I triggered the wall screen, displaying the security footage Harrison had provided. The figure moved through Ravenswood's corridors with apparent familiarity, navigating toward my private study during the club attack.

“Explain this,” I commanded, though I'd already spotted the inconsistencies that proved the footage was manipulated.

Noah studied the images with clinical attention, his medical training engaging despite the circumstances. “That's not me,” he said with growing certainty. “The height's wrong. Body mechanics are different. Compare the gait pattern—that figure's at least six inches taller than I am.”

The observation was accurate, confirming what I'd already noticed but Harrison had dismissed as irrelevant. The figure moved with different rhythm and posture, carried weight differently, existed in different space than Noah's actual body.

“Facial recognition confirmed identity,” I countered, displaying the technical analysis that had to be fabricated. “Biometric markers matched with ninety-seven percent accuracy.”

“Then someone fed the system corrupted data,” Noah shot back. “Or overlaid my face onto different footage. Christ, Adrian, you can do that with smartphone apps these days! When did you start trusting computers over your own instincts?”

The question hit harder than intended because my instincts had been screaming Harrison's accusations were bollocks from the moment he'd presented them. Every interaction with Noah contradicted the profile of a traitor selling information for money.

“The medical bay has security cameras,” I said abruptly. “Every treatment and interaction is captured on video.”

Noah nodded eagerly. “Check the timestamps! Cross-reference them with your supposed footage of me ransacking your office! I was treating Dominic's chest trauma while someone else was allegedly stealing your secrets!”

I called for Viktor through the intercom, requesting medical bay footage from the night of the attack. The wait stretched interminably while he retrieved the files, tension crackling between Noah and me like electricity before a storm.

When the footage finally appeared on screen, it told exactly the story I'd expected. Noah in surgical scrubs, hands deep in Dominic's chest cavity, working with focused intensity to repair arterial damage.

The alleged security footage of him ransacking my office had been recorded during the middle of the operation, making his presence in two places simultaneously physically impossible.

“Well?” Noah's voice carried vindication mixed with righteous anger. “Satisfied that I'm not a fucking time traveler?”

I cut his restraints with the blade I'd been holding, leather falling away to reveal angry red marks where he'd struggled against the bonds. “I'm satisfied,” I said quietly.

“Then why the performance?” he demanded, rubbing circulation back into his wrists. “You knew this was bollocks before you had me dragged down here.”

“Because Harrison has eyes everywhere,” I replied, indicating the observation window. “And he needed to believe his accusations were working. That I was torn between trusting him and trusting you.”

Understanding dawned across Noah's features, followed quickly by cold fury. “He set me up. Fabricated evidence to make me look like the leak while covering his own tracks.”

“Classic misdirection,” I confirmed. “Frame the innocent party while positioning himself as the loyal advisor who uncovered the betrayal. He's been planning this for years, waiting for the right moment to strike.”

“So what's his endgame?” Noah asked, his healer's instincts apparently forgotten in favor of something darker.

“Control of family assets,” I said simply. “My death would trigger succession protocols that put him in charge of liquid assets while inheritance gets sorted through probate. Enough money to buy small countries.”

Noah absorbed this with clinical assessment. “And he thought framing me would remove a potential obstacle while solidifying your trust in him.”

“His mistake was underestimating what I've learned about you,” I said. “Every instinct told me you were innocent. I just needed proof that would convince everyone else.”

“What about Viktor? He knew about the signet ring evidence but didn't report it directly.”

“Viktor's cautious. Probably gathering additional evidence before making accusations against someone so close to family leadership.” Or Viktor was involved too, but I couldn't voice that suspicion yet.

“So what's the plan?” Noah asked, steel entering his voice. “How do we expose Harrison without tipping him off?”

“Carefully,” I decided. “When I report back to Harrison, he needs to think his manipulation succeeded. For now, he can't know we're onto him until we have overwhelming evidence.”

Noah nodded grimly. “How long do we maintain the charade?”

“Until I have enough proof to destroy him completely,” I said. “Harrison's been patient, building this betrayal over decades. We can be patient for the few days it takes to expose everything.”

The lie tasted bitter because patience was a luxury I couldn't afford when Harrison had already killed five of my people. But rushing into confrontation without overwhelming evidence would give him opportunity to escape or eliminate witnesses.

“Can you handle being my 'prisoner' a bit longer?” I asked. “I need Harrison to think you're broken, ready to confess everything.”

“I can handle whatever's necessary,” Noah replied, dangerous edge entering his voice. “Just promise me something.”

“What?”

“When we take him down, I want to be there. I want Harrison to know his clever manipulation failed because he underestimated a trauma nurse from Brixton.”

The bloodthirsty sentiment should have surprised me coming from someone dedicated to healing. Instead, it sent anticipation through my chest, confirmation that Noah understood the stakes and was prepared to embrace whatever darkness was necessary.

“You'll have front row seats,” I promised. “Right after we figure out who else is involved and how deep this betrayal goes.”

Noah's smile was sharp enough to cut glass. “Then let's get started.”

I moved toward the door, then paused. “Noah? You handled that well. Better than most would have.”

“Most people don't get accused of treason by someone they...” he trailed off, then shook his head. “Just promise me something.”

“What?”

“Next time you need to test my loyalty, maybe start with a conversation instead of restraints and surgical implements.”

“There won't be a next time,” I said firmly. “You've proven yourself beyond any doubt.”

Noah's expression softened slightly. “Good. Because I'd rather not make a habit of being your prisoner.”

“You were never really my prisoner,” I admitted. “But Harrison needed to believe you were.”

He shot me a look, skepticism edged with something like relief. We walked the quiet corridor together; Viktor was waiting just ahead, broad and immovable as a statue. He gave me a small nod, eyes flicking to Noah—measuring, always.

I stopped beside Viktor and glanced at Noah. “Go back to your room. I need a moment with Viktor.”

Noah hesitated, still raw from what I’d put him through, jaw tight with the effort of keeping his anger contained. “This about me?” he muttered.

I smiled, cold and precise. “Everything is, in the end. Go.”

Noah left, footsteps echoing until the door clicked behind him. I waited for the silence to settle.

Viktor broke it first. “He is stubborn. Not easy to break. This is good.”

I gave a short, humorless laugh. “You think I want him broken? ”

Viktor shrugged, the gesture all Russian fatalism. “Broken men follow orders. But broken men die faster. He—” Viktor jerked his chin in the direction Noah had gone— “has fight. Maybe too much. He hates you now. Maybe later, he will understand.”