Mated To The Crippled Alpha-Chapter 262: Finding Truths

The Blackwell residence sat high on the mountainside like it belonged to a different world. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

The air was colder up here, cleaner too, but it didn’t calm me. The house was stunning glass, stone, warm lights spilling through tall windows. My classmates were already whispering, eyes wide as they admired every corner.

"This place looks like heaven," one girl breathed. "Yael, you live here with Mr. Vito?"

"Are we interrupting your family?" another asked.

Yael laughed like it was nothing. "Not at all. They’re happy there are so many people here for my birthday."

I walked beside him, pretending I was only impressed like everyone else.

But I wasn’t here for the décor.

I leaned closer and asked softly, "Is your brother married?"

"Not yet," Yael said easily. "But he does have someone he cares about."

My heart tightened. I kept my face calm. "I saw him with a girl named Whitney before. Is she his girlfriend?"

I watched Yael carefully as I asked. Not just his words his pauses, his eyes, the way his shoulders shifted.

He didn’t hesitate.

"Yes," Yael said. "Vito likes Whitney. But her health isn’t great. She has trouble with the cold wind, so she stays inside most of the time. She sneaks out sometimes, and that makes my brother angry."

He said it so casually it threw me.

Like it was normal to be angry at a girl for wanting air.

"What illness does she have?" I asked. "She looked very pale when I saw her."

"A heart condition," Yael replied. "Vito gets protective. He’s scared anything could trigger it. That’s why he keeps her indoors."

Protective.

That word could mean love.

Or it could mean possession.

As Yael led the group toward the entrance, I caught movement on the top floor someone standing by a window, half hidden behind the curtain. I couldn’t see her face, but the stillness of her posture made my skin prickle.

A classmate gasped. "Yael, this is insane. You always take the subway. If we didn’t see this, we’d never believe you live in a place like this!"

Lincy snorted beside me. "It’s just average."

Even without the money she used to throw around, she still needed everyone to think she was above us.

Yael smiled politely. "It’s nothing compared to the Ashbournes. Come inside. It’s too cold out here."

I pulled my attention away from the top floor.

Yael’s explanations sounded neat. Clean. Too clean.

I still needed to see Whitney with my own eyes.

Inside, the banquet hall looked like something out of a glossy magazine. Red wine, candles, champagne towers, pastries laid out like art, seafood on silver platters. Everyone was dazzled. They laughed too loudly, already losing themselves in the luxury.

Someone turned to Lincy and said, "Lincy, I envy you. We’re only enjoying this because of Yael, but you live like this every day."

Lincy’s face went blank for a second.

Just one second.

Then she smiled again.

I noticed more and more eyes drifting toward me. Curiosity. Suspicion. People trying to place me, to decide what rank I belonged to.

I pretended to sip champagne, but I didn’t swallow. I kept my head clear.

When the music shifted and people started gathering for the dance, I lifted my hand lightly.

"Excuse me," I said. "Restroom."

No one cared.

That was good.

I walked away calmly, then slipped toward the elevator like I belonged there. My pulse stayed steady, but my instincts were alert, humming under my skin.

Fourth floor.

The doors opened to a quiet hallway.

No music up here. No laughter. Just soft carpet under my shoes and a chill that felt wrong for such a warm house.

I remembered the shadow I saw at the window and guessed the room. I went to the door and knocked gently.

A cold voice came from inside, sharp and tired. "I told you, I’m not eating."

"It’s me," I whispered. "Whitney."

Silence.

Then, quietly, "Ms. Ashbourne?"

"Yes," I said. "Open the door."

A soft chime sounded. The lock clicked. The door opened just enough for me to slide inside.

Whitney stood there in a thin nightgown, her skin pale under the warm light. She looked fragile, but her eyes were sharp like someone who had learned to survive by watching everything.

Then I saw her ankles.

Silver anklets with tiny bells.

Not jewelry.

A warning.

A way to track her movement.

My stomach turned.

Whitney followed my gaze and quickly pulled the hem of her gown down, like she was ashamed of the proof.

"Ms. Ashbourne," she asked quietly, "why are you here?"

I shut the door behind me. "Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you after last time. You don’t look safe. And you don’t look free."

Her eyes narrowed. "We barely know each other. Why would you help me?"

She had every right to be suspicious. In her position, trust could get her killed.

I softened my voice. "I’m not here to use you. I’m not here to take anything from you. I’m a woman too, Whitney. I know what it feels like when your life isn’t yours anymore."

Her breath shook slightly, like she wanted to believe me but didn’t dare.

Before I could say more, footsteps sounded in the hallway. Slow. Heavy. Coming closer.

Whitney’s face drained of color.

"Hide," she whispered urgently.

"I don’t " I started.

But she didn’t listen. She grabbed my wrist and pushed me toward a wardrobe.

"Please," she breathed. "Just... please."

Her fear made the decision for me.

I stepped inside.

The door closed.

Darkness swallowed me, and the smell of clean wood and fabric filled my nose. I silenced my phone quickly and held my breath, peeking through a narrow crack.

The bedroom door opened.

Vito walked in.

He was well-dressed, calm, handsome in the way dangerous men often were. But his smile didn’t warm his eyes. It was polished. Controlled.

Whitney backed up a step without meaning to.

Vito noticed immediately.

He closed the door behind him and looked around the room slowly, like he was counting everything.

"What’s wrong?" he asked lightly. "Why do you look nervous?"

Whitney forced herself to speak. "It’s nothing. I’m tired."

Vito stepped closer.

His hand lifted to her cheek gentle at first, almost affectionate. "You shouldn’t strain yourself. You’re recovering."

His voice was soft.

But the air in the room wasn’t.

It was tight. Pressured. Like he was holding something back.

Whitney didn’t lean into his touch. She held still.

Vito’s smile sharpened.

He glanced toward the wardrobe.

My heart dropped.

"Did you hide someone in here?" he asked, voice still calm.

Whitney swallowed. "No."

Vito’s eyes stayed on the wardrobe a second longer than necessary.

Then he chuckled, like he was amused by the idea of her lying.

He took a slow step back and said, "It’s lively downstairs. My brother is having his fun."

His gaze returned to Whitney, heavy and possessive. "And you... you’re up here alone."

Whitney’s hands clenched at her sides. "Vito, please. Not tonight."

His expression didn’t change, but the temperature of the room did. The softness in his voice vanished, replaced by something colder.

"You’re asking like you have a choice," he said quietly.

Whitney’s breath hitched.

And inside the wardrobe, my instincts flared hard warning, anger, the urge to protect.

Because whatever Vito called this...

It wasn’t love.