Mated To The Crippled Alpha-Chapter 212: Right Place

I looked down at the woman collapsed on the ground in front of me. She had delicate features, almost fragile-looking, and her eyes were strikingly clear wide and bright like an animal caught in danger. She wore a thin silk dress that did little to protect her from the cold, and her long hair was messy, clinging to her pale cheeks. She looked like a frightened deer that had run too far and didn’t know where to hide.

Without thinking, I knelt beside her and gently helped her sit up. "Are you okay?" I asked softly.

When our eyes met, something inside me stirred. There was something familiar about her gaze, something I couldn’t quite place. It felt like I had seen those eyes before, but I couldn’t remember where.

Behind me, a man’s voice sounded, warm but carrying a trace of amusement. "Thank you, Mrs. Hale. She’s fine."

The moment Whitney heard that voice, her entire body stiffened. She flinched as if she had been struck. Her fingers shot out and grabbed my hand tightly. Her palm was freezing cold.

"H–help me," she whispered, her voice trembling so badly it barely came out.

Instinct took over. I stood up immediately and stepped in front of her, placing myself between her and the man approaching us.

It was Vito Blackwell.

He walked toward us slowly, shrugging off his coat as if nothing was wrong. He was undeniably handsome, with sharp features and a polished appearance. But every time I saw him, I felt uneasy. There was something about him that reminded me of a snake smooth on the surface, but cold and calculating underneath.

"Whitney," he said lightly, though his tone held warning, "didn’t I tell you to stay in the car? Why are you out here in this weather?"

I kept my eyes on him. "Mr. Blackwell," I asked calmly, even though my heart was uneasy, "what is your relationship with this young lady?"

He smiled without hesitation. "A romantic one."

"But she seems afraid of you," I said.

He chuckled softly. "Maybe it’s just my face. Perhaps I look intimidating."

His smile widened slightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Instead, it sent a chill down my spine. It wasn’t the smile of a man in love. It was the smile of someone amused by control.

I tightened my grip on Whitney’s hand and lowered my voice. "Don’t be scared. Did he hurt you? Do you want me to call the police?"

The moment I mentioned the police, Taylor’s expression changed. It was subtle, but I saw it. His pupils narrowed slightly, and the air around him seemed to grow colder.

"Mrs. Hale," he sighed, as if I were being unreasonable, "Whitney and I just had a small disagreement. She’s upset with me. Surely you don’t need to involve the police."

Then his tone shifted slightly. "Whitney. Come here. Don’t let Mrs. Hale misunderstand."

Whitney was shaking. I couldn’t tell if it was from fear or from the cold. She reminded me of a stray kitten I once rescued during a rainstorm small, trembling, unsure whether to trust the hand reaching out to help.

I softened my voice further. "Tell me your name," I asked gently. "Who is he to you?"

Before she could answer, Taylor’s voice cut in sharply. "Whitney. I said come here."

His eyes darkened with restrained anger. The warmth he pretended to show was gone.

Whitney’s gaze moved between us, torn and conflicted. I could see the struggle in her face. For a brief moment, I thought she would stay behind me.

Then she let go of my hand.

"Thank you," she whispered faintly before walking toward him.

Taylor’s smile returned instantly, smooth and satisfied. He stepped forward and draped his coat around her shoulders, speaking in a voice coated with false tenderness. "Don’t be upset."

Whitney didn’t respond. She simply leaned into him, silent and still.

He bent down and lifted her into his arms as if she weighed nothing. As he passed me, he glanced sideways and said casually, "Don’t worry, Mrs. Hale. Whitney is the most precious person in my life. Why would I ever hurt her?"

But as they brushed past me, I saw it clearly.

Whitney’s eyes were closed.

A single tear slid down her cheek.

That wasn’t the face of someone who felt safe.

I stepped forward again, blocking their path. "If she’s truly willing, why is she crying?" I asked firmly. Then I looked directly at Whitney. "Miss, I want to help you. If you’re in trouble, please tell me."

She looked at me, and for a second, I saw something desperate in her expression. Her fingers clutched tightly onto Taylor’s vest. Her lips trembled before she spoke.

"I just remembered something sad," she said quietly. "Thank you for your concern."

Taylor’s gaze turned cold. "Mrs. Hale," he said, his voice polite but sharp, "you can rest assured now."

I understood then. If she refused to speak, calling the police would accomplish nothing. They would see a couple arguing. Nothing more. And I might even be accused of interfering without reason.

But her earlier plea for help echoed in my mind.

Help me.

I couldn’t ignore it.

As Taylor carried her toward a sleek black G-Wagon, I followed at a distance. He placed her inside and closed the door. The car didn’t drive off immediately. A slight movement of the vehicle made my stomach twist.

I turned away quickly.

Taylor had no shame.

Or maybe I was reading too much into it. Maybe they were just an unconventional couple.

But my instincts told me something was deeply wrong.

When I returned to the memorial hall, the heavy atmosphere swallowed me again. I saw Camilla sitting beside Malcom, trying to comfort him.

Malcom looked hollow. His eyes were empty, unfocused, like someone whose spirit had already left his body. He didn’t react to anything Camilla said.

Nolan and Jake were both gone. Greg had stepped up as the new head of the family. Nolan used to handle internal matters while Jake managed the external business affairs. Greg had always lived the easiest life among them. Now everything rested on his shoulders.

Malcom looked like he had aged ten years overnight. His once straight posture had collapsed.

Grant didn’t show up, but Lincy did.

She entered with Yenick by her side, her expression almost triumphant. There was something smug in the way she carried herself, as if she had won a long battle and came to display her victory.

"Mr. Morrigan , please accept my condolences," Lincy said with a faint smile.

Camilla’s face had healed slightly, though faint marks still remained. She glared at Lincy with open hostility. "What are you doing here?"

Lincy laughed lightly. "Ms. Morrigan , I’m surprised you even dare to show your face after everything that’s been exposed. Your confidence is admirable. Where’s your lover today?"

"Shut up!" Camilla snapped.

Before Camilla could say more, Yenick stepped forward, her tone even sharper. "The one who should be quiet is you. Can’t handle the truth? Lincy’s right. A shameless pair like you two deserve each other. You’re lucky we didn’t deal with you properly last time."

They weren’t here to mourn.

They were here to provoke.

Camilla had been taking medication to protect her pregnancy, and Lincy’s words clearly struck a nerve. Camilla’s face paled instantly as she clutched her stomach.

"Camilla!" Greg rushed to her side.

Then Greg looked up at Lincy, his voice shaking but firm. "Ms. Ashbourne , we Morrigan s have no personal grudge with you. If you’re here to mourn my brother, you’re welcome. But if you’re here to cause trouble, please leave."

Lincy sneered. "You talk about innocence? When the foundation is rotten, the whole house collapses. First your daughter. Then your son. Who’s next?"

The entire hall fell silent.

Malcom’s pupils shrank violently. His voice trembled as he asked, "Who exactly are you saying is facing retribution?"

Lincy’s smile widened.

"Of course I’m talking about the Morrigan s."