Villainess Marked For Her Alpha-Chapter 109: I Have Already Forgiven You

Three days had dragged by since that poisonous TV interview, leaving me mentally drained—curled on my bed most hours, emerald eyes dull, raven hair in a messy bun, barely touching meals. Physio was my only anchor, a stubborn routine amid the fog. The three alphas noticed my state, but didn’t say anything—giving me space.

I haven’t talked Hellen about the company that she has opened. It wasn’t the right time as I was surrounded by the three alphas—not getting alone time with Hellen.

Mia bounced in at 10 AM sharp, scrubs crisp, ponytail swinging, wheeling thick blue mats and colourful resistance bands. "Morning, Emily—legs ready to wake up? Same drill, but let’s add core stability today. You’re looking stronger already, even if it doesn’t feel like it."

"What are we going to do today?"

"Actually, I have some work today. So, the session will be short. But tomorrow, I will increase the time limit, and make up for the today’s missed time."

I managed a weak nod, still in my red criss-cross back sports bra hugging my full chest and loose sleep shorts—legs limp and useless, pink nails tapping anxious on the wheelchair arms.

Previous sessions hadn’t helped much; nothing was working yet, just frustration piling on. She helped me onto the mat carefully, propping pillows behind my back. "Sit tall first—engage that core, shoulders back. Good. Now passive stretches to check range."

Mia lifted my right leg slow and steady, knee to chest hold for 20 seconds, then gentle ankle circles clockwise and counter—no pain, just... empty nothing.

"Hamstrings loosening nicely—real progress! Left side now." Same on the left: full flex, toes pointing limp. "Try that quad twitch yourself—focus on your thigh muscle."

I squeezed my emerald eyes shut, sweat beading my forehead, willing every nerve—stared down desperate at my left thigh. Nothing, not even a quiver. "I felt... nothing. It’s still dead, Mia. When will it move?"

"Yep—nerves firing slow, but keep pushing anyway," Mia grinned encouraging, grabbing a yellow band next. "Loop this around your feet—dorsiflex against it, ten slow reps, point and flex."

Toes strained futile, shin staying flat—no lift, no burn, just hollow effort echoing my mood. "

Good try—builds the pathway. Now supine heel slides: hands on thighs, slide heels toward you five each side."

I dragged them an inch max, quads silent.

Parallel bars next—waist-high, padded grips ready. Mia positioned me between, hands spotting my hips. "Weight on arms, try small hip shifts forward—three reps each way, I’ll hold you steady."

Arms shook hard from shoulders to elbows, pink nails white-knuckled, but hips refused even a hint of lift by rep three—legs dead weight dragging.

"Strong arms though—endurance growing! Emily, you are taking small steps, but they are impactful."

"Feeling it yet? That’s blood flowing, waking things up," she coached optimistic, switching to seated leg lifts on the mat edge—hands under knees. "Thigh up five times slow, hold one second."

I tried desperate, muscles clenching visible but thigh still as stone, no flicker. Final stretch—light red band around ankles for adduction—pressing knees together ten times. Barely a squeeze.

"Am I on track, Mia? I am not seeing any progress at all."

An hour later, body sore and slick with sweat, mind hollow with no buzz of hope, Mia high-fived gentle. "Daily wins add up, even the small ones—you’re on track, promise."

"Fine, I believe you. But I am getting impatient."

"You need to be patient in situations like this. Don’t worry, you will walk soon. See you tomorrow." She packed up quick, door clicking shut.

Hellen slipped in seconds later, eyes worried soft, tall frame hovering my mat. "Heard the session went well—how’re you holding up, Emily? Talk to me." She knelt gentle, hand brushing a loose strand from my messy bun, ready to listen.

"Nothing... no progress at all," I mumbled hollow, staring at my limp legs in the red criss-cross sports bra and sleep shorts, sweat still cooling clammy on my skin.

"It’ll take time, Emily—your nerves need it," she said soft, squeezing my hand, thumb tracing my pink nails.

I looked up at her blue eyes, heart twisting with the real question burning. "Why?"

"What do you mean?" Hellen tilted her head, loose waves framing her face. 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

"Why are you trying to fight against Viktor? He isn’t a good person—none of them are."

"Is that why you haven’t been eating your meals lately?" Her voice sharpened concern, brows furrowing.

"I’m still taking my meds and injections!" I shot back defensive, emerald eyes flashing, messy bun slipping more strands.

"That doesn’t make up for it—we were giving you space because we sensed your mood was off, but enough." Hellen shook her head firm. "Your haemoglobin’s low again. You need to eat real food, build strength."

"But I am feeling—"

"It’s my fault," she cut in guilty, voice cracking. "I should’ve talked to you sooner."

"It’s not!" I protested quick, reaching limp-handed for her arm.

"No—I made you worry, starting that tech company without a heads-up. Pet trackers, sure, but maybe chips, collars... it was impulsive." Hellen pulled me into a tight hug, her loose waves brushing my flushed cheek softly, scent as her comforted me. "I’m sorry, Emily. Forgive me?"

"I already have," I whispered into her shoulder, arms wrapping weak but real around her, tears pricking as relief cracked the fog.

Hellen’s thumb brushed my tears gentle, her honey-citrus scent—warm vanilla undertones mixed with fresh orange zest in her hair—flooding my nose, calming the storm in my chest. Did she use a new shampoo? It smells good. Too good.

"Before we talk more, let’s eat something, Emily. You need fuel." She reached for a chilled glass bottle on the side table, condensation beading cold, vibrant red juice swirling inside. "Pomegranate and apple—I made it fresh this morning. Packed with iron for that low haemoglobin."

I took it shaky-handed, straw tucked in the neck, pink nails clinking glass. First sip burst tart-sweet on my tongue—pomegranate’s deep earthiness blending smooth with apple’s crisp brightness, cool sliding down my raw throat.

"Mmm... thanks," I murmured, sipping deeper, emerald eyes meeting hers over the rim. Stray raven strands escaped my messy bun, sticking to damp cheeks.

She smiled soft, kneeling closer on the mat. "Good girl—finish it. Your legs won’t wake without nutrients pushing those nerves." Her loose waves cascaded as she stroked my arm, callused fingertips tracing soothing patterns.

I drank steady, bottle half-gone, warmth spreading stomach to limbs—faint energy flickering amid the fog.

"Feel that? Blood flowing better already," she teased light, wiping a juice droplet from my lip.

"Thank you."

"Your welcome, my little kitty."

"Don’t call me that!"