Mated To The Crippled Alpha

The frames of his glasses gleamed under the light, their edges catching a cold brilliance. Behind them, his eyes held a weighty depth calm yet piercing, impossible to decipher. When our gazes locked, a shiver ran through me. My defenses, carefully built and painstakingly maintained, fell apart in an instant.

There was no hiding from him. He saw through everything.

"You weaseled that answer out of me."

"I thought we were friends."

His expression barely shifted, yet there was a flicker of something that looked like disappointment. "In half a year," he began, his tone heavier now, "not once did you reach out. Not one message, not a single call either." I glanced toward the door and realized he had closed it quietly behind him, leaving me no way out.

"When did you figure it out?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.

"Elena," he said, almost incredulous, "I was your therapist for years. Did you honestly believe you could pull this off without me noticing? Why do you think I went along with exposing Anna as a fraud? Do you think I have nothing better to do?"

"Then why pretend not to recognize me?" I shot back, though my voice lacked conviction.

"At first, I thought it was too far-fetched to be real," he admitted, his tone measured. "I couldn’t believe it. The idea was absurd. But the way you spoke, the way you moved it all reminded me of you. Still, it wasn’t enough. So I started looking deeper. Over the last six months, I’ve traveled, gathered information, and connected the dots. Turns out, this sort of thing souls switching bodies is rare, but not unheard of."

I froze, caught between disbelief and resignation. A weak laugh slipped out despite myself. Leave it to Sergio to turn this into a full-blown investigation. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had charts, graphs, maybe even a presentation to back it all up.

"I dug into Riley’s history," he continued, his voice sharp yet deliberate. "Then I watched you at the competition. The shifts in your emotions, the way you reacted it confirmed what I already suspected. The soul in that body doesn’t belong there. But here’s what really stings." He paused, letting the silence stretch. "Tell me, Elena, if your friend hadn’t needed therapy, would you have come back at all?"

"I " The words caught in my throat. I didn’t know what to say.

Back when the Morrigans family and Julian had pushed me to the brink, Sergio had been my anchor. He helped me piece myself back together, one session at a time. He even stayed while I painted, offering quiet encouragement when I couldn’t find my way. Most of those works were still with him, though I hadn’t thought about them in years. We were friends, yes but the kind whose closeness fades over time, not the ones you’d share every secret with. After my rebirth, every step had been a calculated risk. Trusting anyone, even someone like Sergio, felt reckless. And announcing my return? Impossible.

He stood and moved closer, his footsteps deliberate. His gaze held a weight I hadn’t seen before, as though I had crossed some invisible line. There was no anger in his eyes only something heavier, something personal.

"Or maybe," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper, "I don’t even qualify as a friend anymore. Is that it?"

"No," I blurted. "It’s not like that. I’ve just been... busy." The excuse sounded feeble even to me.

He stopped in front of me, looking down with an intensity that made my skin prickle. A faint, icy smile curled his lips cutting and sharp. "Busy," he echoed. "That’s your answer?"

This wasn’t the Sergio I remembered. He had always been composed and steady, a man of reason. But standing before me now, he seemed different. The change wasn’t loud or obvious it was quiet, but undeniable. And it unsettled me in a way I couldn’t fully explain.

I clutched the pillow as if it might shield me. "I’ve been busy, okay? And think about it my death wasn’t exactly a quiet affair. If anyone finds out I’m alive, I might not stay that way for long."

Sergio’s gaze didn’t waver. His sharp eyes seemed to cut through my words, searching for cracks, for anything that didn’t hold true. But this time, I wasn’t lying. The hard set of his face softened, and for a moment, he looked like the Sergio I remembered.

"Elena," he said, his voice even, "are we still friends?"

"Of course," I answered without hesitation. "I haven’t forgotten everything you did for me. Back then, you gave me the strength to keep going."

Guilt flickered across his expression, casting a shadow over his face. "But I couldn’t save you in the end. I failed you. I’m sorry."

"Don’t," I said, shaking my head. "What happened wasn’t your fault. Don’t blame yourself."

Before he could respond, the door swung open. Whitney stood in the doorway, her face calm but her presence commanding. "Dr. Zimmer," she said, her voice steady, "your methods don’t seem to be working."

Sergio adjusted his glasses, his emotions slipping behind a mask of professionalism. "Then we’ll need to try something else."

Whitney’s eyes darted between us before settling on me. "Maybe if she stays with me, I’ll feel more comfortable."

I almost laughed at the absurdity. Did she honestly think Sergio would hurt me? It felt more like an excuse to keep me under her watchful eye. For someone who was supposed to be my little sister, she had a way of making me feel like the reckless one.

Sergio didn’t argue. He motioned for us to follow him into the treatment room.

I knew his methods well. When I had sought his help, I was fully aware of my struggles and ready to face them. Whitney was a different story. She refused to acknowledge she needed help and fought every step of the way. When Sergio attempted to use hypnosis, it became a clash of wills. She didn’t just resist she pushed back, trying to dismantle his techniques and turn them against him.

This wasn’t therapy.

It was a duel.

Whitney might appear delicate, but her will was forged from something unyielding a lifetime of surviving things most people never faced. Every instinct in her had been sharpened into a weapon, and she didn’t know how to set it down.

Watching their silent standoff, I decided to intervene. "Maybe we should grab some lunch and continue later?" I suggested. After all, we were mostly here for show, killing time more than anything.

Sergio straightened and nodded. "I’ll arrange it. Ms. Morrigan, do you have a preference?"

"Vegetarian," she replied without hesitation.

"Noted. Take a moment to relax." He left without another word.

The moment the door clicked shut, Whitney moved quickly, her eyes scanning the room. Once she was satisfied there were no cameras, she leaned closer and lowered her voice. "You shouldn’t share so much about yourself. The more people know, the more power they have over you. That doctor isn’t right his focus isn’t on me. It’s on you."

"Yes, he figured it out. He knows who I am," I said, keeping my voice steady, though unease crept beneath the surface.

Whitney’s eyes widened. "Then what do we "

"Relax," I cut in, leaning forward slightly. "I’ve known him for years. The bed you’re lying on? I’ve been there plenty of times. If he wanted to harm me, he’d have done it long ago. He’s helped me more than once."

She pressed her fingers to her temples, exhaling slowly. "Sorry. Maybe I overreacted. It’s just... I don’t trust people the way you do."

"I understand," I said, softening my tone. "Look, if you’re not comfortable with therapy, just treat this as downtime. A chance to breathe."

"Alright," she said quietly, though her eyes remained fixed on mine. "But I can’t shake the feeling something’s off about the way he looks at you. I hope I’m wrong."

"It’s probably nothing more than seeing an old friend again," I said with a small shrug, trying to let the thought go.

...

After lunch, we lingered for a while before leaving. On our way home, we swung by the hospital to check on Whitney’s cold. The doctor ran a few quick tests and handed her prescriptions for antibiotics and cold medicine. It seemed routine, but Whitney’s guarded expression never wavered.

As we stepped out, Luther appeared with a calm demeanor that felt anything but coincidental. "Ms. Morrigan, what a coincidence. Everything alright?"

"Just a cold," Whitney replied, her tone clipped and her face unreadable. She gave him a short, dismissive answer before turning away.

I glanced over my shoulder as we walked off Luther was still standing there, his gaze locked on Whitney’s retreating figure.

"Are you absolutely sure you’ve never seen him before in the organization?" I asked.

Whitney shook her head without hesitation. "I don’t remember him. But I was injured once. There are things I’ve forgotten. Either way, anyone from that place isn’t worth remembering."

"Then let it go," I said. "No point dwelling on it."

We got into the car, the day’s weight pressing down on both of us. At a red light, a sleek black Porsche Cayenne sped past, its windows tinted just enough to hide most of the driver’s face but not all of it.

I caught a glimpse. Sergio was behind the wheel, heading down the road that led only to the hospital.

"Is he hurt?" I murmured, my thoughts swirling as the car disappeared from view.