Mated To The Crippled Alpha-Chapter 358: She’s Elena
The sound immediately caught Riley’s attention.
She turned her head and glared at him as if he had personally offended her just by breathing.
"If you’re sick, stay away from us," she snapped coldly.
Harlan looked slightly embarrassed, scratching the back of his neck like a boy who had been caught doing something wrong.
"I just thought... if you want to take wedding photos, I could—"
"Thanks," Riley interrupted without hesitation, "but I’d rather pose with a dog."
Harlan’s expression stiffened with frustration.
"Janice!"
"What now?" Riley replied dismissively, already turning away from him.
Harlan opened his mouth again but didn’t say anything. It was obvious he had completely lost the argument before it even started.
I couldn’t help laughing quietly at the sight of them bickering.
They had a strange way of talking to each other, like two people constantly at war but unable to stay away.
Shaking my head, I slipped my arm through Lewis’s and leaned lightly against him.
"Carl," I said softly, looking up at him. "Shouldn’t we take wedding photos too?"
Lewis looked down at me with that calm, steady gaze that always made my heart soften.
He reached out and gently tapped the tip of my nose.
"Of course."
The warmth in his voice wrapped around me like an invisible embrace.
Nearby, Whitney watched us quietly.
There was a distant look in her eyes, as if she were lost in her own thoughts. The happiness she should have felt as a bride seemed to be tangled with something deeper—something harder to explain.
Riley stayed with us until very late that night.
Eventually she left, dragging a reluctant Harlan with her, though their arguing continued all the way out the door.
Lewis and I remained at the Blackwell Residence for the next two days.
According to Lewis, staying here was the safest option.
Amber’s presence in this house created an invisible line no one dared cross. If she intended to protect Lewis, then she would have to protect me as well. Anyone who wanted to harm me would have to go through her first.
At least, that was Lewis’s reasoning.
For those two days, the residence felt strangely calm.
Almost too calm.
But just before the wedding, something unexpected happened.
Several unfamiliar people were suddenly brought into the Blackwell Residence.
They arrived late in the afternoon, escorted by guards. Each of them had a black cloth covering their heads, completely hiding their faces.
The moment Whitney heard the commotion, she rushed downstairs barefoot.
She looked frantic, her breathing uneven as if she already sensed something was wrong.
Upstairs, Lewis was helping me.
Since my hands couldn’t get wet because of the small cuts still healing, he had insisted on taking care of everything himself—washing my hair, helping me dress, even drying my hair afterward.
He was incredibly patient about it.
Just as I was about to tease him by reaching for his abs, faint voices drifted in from outside the room.
The sound immediately caught my attention.
Curious, I walked to the door and slowly pushed it open.
From the hallway, I could clearly see into the living room below.
Three figures were kneeling on the floor.
Their heads were still covered with dark cloth.
Two of them looked like men, while the third figure appeared smaller—likely a woman. Their hands were tied behind their backs, and their posture suggested they had been forced to kneel there.
They looked like prisoners.
Something about the scene stirred a vague sense of recognition in my mind.
My expression shifted slightly.
Unlike Whitney, who rushed forward the moment she saw them, I remained where I was near the doorway.
I stayed quiet, observing everything carefully.
Whitney’s steps were hurried and uneven as she reached them. Her breathing grew heavier with every step, as if she was afraid of what she might see.
Her hands trembled when she reached out.
Slowly, she grabbed the cloth covering the head of the nearest person.
Her fingers shook as she pulled it away.
The dark fabric slid down to the floor.
When the cloth covering the captive’s face was finally pulled away, the woman underneath was revealed.
It was Vivian.
A dirty rag had been stuffed deep into her mouth to keep her quiet. Her hair was tangled and wild, strands clinging to her tear–stained face. Her eyes were swollen and red from crying, and her whole body shook as if she had been trapped in fear for days.
The air in the room felt heavy.
Vivian’s eyes darted around the room in panic, searching for something—anything—that might explain where she was. When her gaze suddenly landed on me, she froze.
For a brief second, it was like time stopped.
Then she began struggling violently against the ropes binding her arms, her body twisting desperately as if begging me for help.
Whitney stepped forward silently and removed the coverings from the other two captives. Their faces were revealed one by one, and both of them looked just as terrified. The journey from Snowville to Jaford had clearly been brutal. Their faces were thin, their cheeks hollow, and their skin looked pale and tired.
They had suffered on the road.
Whitney pulled the filthy socks from their mouths. The moment the cloth was gone, Vivian bent forward and retched, coughing violently as she tried to breathe properly again.
When she finally lifted her head, her eyes fell on Whitney.
Fear flashed across her face first.
Then hatred followed.
"Who are you?" she rasped hoarsely. "What do you want from us?"
Her voice shook with anger and exhaustion.
Then her eyes shifted again.
This time they landed on me.
Her expression changed instantly.
"Riley!"
Her voice rose sharply.
"So you’re the one behind all of this! I knew it! I always knew you had bad intentions! You were always targeting us!"
Her chest rose and fell rapidly as rage filled her eyes.
"You killed my sons!"
The woman standing in front of me was very different from the last time I saw her. Back then she had been confused and lost, drifting through her own madness like someone trapped in fog.
