Mated To The Crippled Alpha-Chapter 409: Male Models

I stood very still, my thoughts moving quickly. So it hadn’t been my imagination. Something had been off with Alisa, and now I understood why Wallace had insisted on closing the door he had already known, or suspected, and wanted to make sure no one outside could overhear what he was about to say.

"What’s the problem?" I asked, keeping my voice steady.

"There are signs pointing to a possible miscarriage risk," he said, his tone measured and clinical. "She smells of mugwort she’s likely been using herbal remedies on her own, and may even be administering progesterone shots in secret."

Everything clicked into place. Alisa’s insistence that the baby was fine, her hesitation when Wallace had offered to check her pulse, the careful way she moved. She cared about that child far more deeply than anyone around her seemed to realize. Maybe more than Luke did.

Still, that was her private battle. People carried their fragile things quietly for reasons that weren’t always anyone else’s business. I didn’t have the right to break something she was working hard to hold together not without more cause.

"Thank you, Dr. Mervin," I said sincerely. "I mean that."

"She keeps insisting everything is fine, but she may be downplaying the risks to herself," he said. "I thought her family should be aware so someone can watch over her properly."

"I’ll make sure of it."

Wallace turned back to his medical kit and began preparing Whitney’s medication with quiet precision. Without looking up, he said, "Ms. Morrigan, the fever is manageable. But emotional health needs just as much attention that’s something medicine alone can’t fix. You’ll need to address that yourself, or with the right kind of help."

A name surfaced immediately in my mind. Dr. Zimmer he had helped me once, and I trusted him completely. Thorough, warm, the kind of person who could guide someone through the darkest stretch without making them feel broken for being there.

"Whitney," I said carefully. "I know a therapist I trust completely. He’s helped people through things much worse than this. But if you’re not ready, just say the word and we can forget I mentioned it."

Whitney looked up. Something shifted in her face a small, unexpected flicker of humor. "Is he good-looking?"

I blinked. That was not what I had prepared for.

She glanced briefly toward Wallace, who was working without looking up, and continued, "A good-looking therapist would make the whole thing easier, don’t you think?"

I thought about it for exactly one second. "You know what you’re not wrong. Dr. Zimmer is good-looking. He’s also single. And I read somewhere that looking at attractive men regularly adds four or five years to your life."

Wallace, still focused on drawing air bubbles from the syringe, spoke without lifting his eyes. "Mrs. Hale, that has no basis in science. I’d recommend finding more reliable sources."

His voice was perfectly calm, but something about his delivery made me feel like the syringe was quietly being aimed in my direction.

Whitney, completely unfazed, added with the ghost of a laugh, "Even if it doesn’t extend your life, it improves your sense of aesthetics. And that’s worth something."

That small laugh from her was worth more than any medicine in the room. I leaned into it. "Exactly. A cheerful mind, a healthy body that’s everything. I have a whole folder of this kind of content. I’ll have it sent to you." I straightened, an idea forming. "And when Lewis gets back, I’ll ask him to invite some decent-looking single men over. Just to lift the energy in this house."

"Mrs. Hale."

The voice behind me made me jump. Wallace had somehow moved from across the room and was now standing directly behind me, his expression as unreadable as ever. I turned to face him, slightly off-balance. "Dr. Mervin. Yes?"

"You’re standing in my way."

I stepped aside immediately. He moved past me toward Whitney with the quiet authority of someone who had long since stopped being surprised by anything. He leaned slightly toward her, his voice dropping to something low and steady. "This will sting a little. Try to stay still."

Whitney’s hands rested in her lap, pale and fine-boned, the veins barely visible. Wallace tapped gently and massaged the back of her hand, searching for the right spot. I caught Whitney tense slightly at the sight of the needle and grabbed my phone without missing a beat.

"Whitney, look at this. Riley sent it yesterday. A man who transformed his body his abs are genuinely unreal."

She looked at the screen and the corner of her mouth curved. "Sure, let me see."

I pressed play. The video opened in dramatic lighting, a man half-obscured in shadow, leather jacket, slow build of music. Then the camera shifted and revealed exactly what the thumbnail had promised. Whitney watched with quiet attention.

"Not bad," she said.

Her eyes flicked toward Wallace for just a second. I caught it immediately. "Why are you looking at Dr. Mervin?" I said, keeping my voice completely straight. "He’s tall, yes, and clearly not someone who skips the gym, but he’s the intellectual type. Very different energy."

Whitney brought her attention back to the phone, smile still in place. "I figured. Send me that video later, sis. I want to find more of his content."

"I have plenty. Let me find the good ones." I scrolled as Wallace prepared the needle. "This next one look at the top comment. Someone wrote: Where is your shame, where is your dignity, and most importantly, where is the address? And then they tagged a male companion club. Actual genius."

Whitney turned to me with sudden curiosity. "Sis, have you ever actually been to one of those clubs?"

I paused for only a second before nodding with full confidence. "Once. It was for business, and I was in a hurry to get back to well, it was a long time ago. I had a few drinks. That was the extent of it." I kept going smoothly. "High-end places are completely different from what people imagine. If you want to go once you’re better, I’ll take you. You can pick however many attendants you like eight, ten, whatever feels right."

Whitney’s curiosity had a momentum of its own now. "What exactly do they do?"

I thought about it with great seriousness. "Anything you pay for, within reason. Drinks, singing, games, conversation. They’re very professional."

She considered this. "What about staying the night?"

I nearly choked. "Absolutely not. You are too young to be thinking about that, and also no. It’s not clean. Don’t order people like takeout."

Then I remembered Wallace was still in the room and dropped my voice to a whisper. "But if you ever develop a particular interest in someone trustworthy, we can have a completely different conversation "

The door opened.

Lewis walked in, glanced around the room with easy concern, and asked, "How is Whitney today?"

Guilt hit me for reasons I couldn’t entirely explain. "She’s much better," I said, not quite meeting his eyes.

Wallace finished the injection, straightened up, and for the first time since arriving, spoke to Lewis directly. "Mr. Hale given that your wife is pregnant, I’d suggest some caution around certain activities."

Lewis frowned. "Is something wrong with the baby?"

"The baby is completely healthy," Wallace said, his expression giving nothing away. "But for Mrs. Hale’s mental wellbeing, it would be advisable to avoid visits to male companion clubs during pregnancy."

Lewis turned to me slowly. "What male companions?"

I stepped forward quickly. "Carl, let me explain "

Wallace continued without inflection. "Additionally, watching videos of men’s physiques too frequently can elevate heart rate significantly. If it becomes too intense, it could potentially trigger contractions. At this stage, that would be a concern."

Lewis took a few measured steps toward me, his eyes moving over my face with an expression I couldn’t quite classify. "You’ve been watching videos of naked models?"