Mated To The Crippled Alpha-Chapter 269: His Exhibition

I forced a smile and stepped back from the glass.

"I don’t think your exhibition is ready yet," I said lightly. "Don’t worry. When it officially opens, I’ll come and support you."

Yael didn’t let it go. He moved closer, still wearing that easy smile. "That works. But I was actually hoping you could give me some advice."

I kept my tone polite. "I don’t know anything about sculpture, Yael. You’re giving me too much credit."

"I’ve watched your live competition," he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. "Your paintings are beautiful. Art is connected. I’m sure you can give me inspiration."

He said it without embarrassment. If he was truly that innocent, then fine. But if he wasn’t... then it felt like a line he’d practiced.

I gave a small nod. "We can talk when there’s time. But I have to head home today. When is the exhibition opening?"

"I still have one major piece I haven’t finished," he said.

Then his eyes met mine and his smile brightened, almost too bright.

"I think I just found my inspiration," he added. "So I’ll finish it soon."

That smile looked warm on the outside.

But when it landed on me, a cold shiver ran down my spine.

I didn’t argue. I didn’t ask more questions. I just found an excuse, turned, and walked away quickly, like my body knew to leave before my mind fully understood why.

When I slid back into the car, the heater rushed warm air around me. It took a while before my fingers stopped feeling cold.

Copper Avenue.

Camilla disappeared around here.

And Yael’s exhibition was here too.

My thoughts spun fast. Could Camilla have been hiding with the Blackwells this whole time? Was that why we couldn’t find anything solid on them? Was that why Grandmother warned me?

If only I had one clean clue. One straight answer.

"What are you thinking?" Lewis’s voice cut through my head like a hand snapping in front of my face.

I blinked and looked up, startled.

Somehow, the car had already stopped outside his office.

"Lewis!" I grabbed his hand, the words tumbling out too fast. "Do you think it’s possible I misheard Grandmother? When she said, ’Be careful of the Blackwells’... what if she wasn’t saying that? What if her speech was unclear and I assumed the name wrong? What if we’ve been chasing the wrong thing this whole time?"

My chest rose and fell quickly. I couldn’t stop once I started.

"Today, I asked Malcom about the Blackwells, and the moment I mentioned them, he turned evasive. He knows something. The Morrigans are involved with the Blackwells. I’m sure of it."

Lewis patted my back, grounding me. "Calm down," he said softly. "If you’re right, then Silas’s last words matter even more."

Silas.

My stomach dropped as I replayed it in my head, piece by piece.

"He said your sister is still alive," I whispered, voice unsteady. "He said she was being held captive by ’Mister.’ And Vito is the Mister."

My throat tightened.

"So Whitney..." My voice shook. "She’s my sister."

Everything clicked so hard it felt like my mind snapped into place.

I threw myself into Lewis’s arms, gripping his coat like it was the only solid thing in the world. Tears rushed out again, hot and helpless.

"No wonder I felt that strange pull the first time I saw her," I choked out. "No wonder it hurt so much. She’s my sister, Lewis. My sister."

My body trembled with rage and grief at the same time.

"All these years..." I whispered. "They kept her locked up like a bird in a cage."

The thought made me sick.

I remembered her eyes. The way she silently begged me to leave. The way she flinched when Vito touched her. The way she tried to protect me even while she was trapped.

Even if she didn’t know who I was... she still tried to save me.

That kind of kindness didn’t come from nowhere.

It came from blood. From connection. From something deeper than memory.

How could I walk away now?

Lewis stroked my hair slowly, steady and careful. "Elena," he said, voice low, "remember when Whitney had two heart transplants? The first failed from rejection, so they needed another."

I looked up, confused through my tears.

"What if," he continued, choosing each word like it was dangerous, "back then Silas only made you bleed, didn’t touch anything vital, took you to that underground repair shop... and they gave Whitney your heart."

I froze.

My breath caught.

My eyes widened. "So you think... her heart came from my past life?"

"It’s possible," Lewis said. "A close relative reduces the risk of rejection. It’s sick, but it fits their pattern. And if that’s true... then part of you has been with her this whole time. She hasn’t been completely alone."

If it was anyone else, I would’ve felt violated. Furious.

But if it was Whitney...

A strange, painful relief slipped into the cracks of my anger.

I wiped my face, voice shaking. "I still remember her as a child. She was the youngest. So soft, so clingy. A little slow to learn, but always trying her best. I was more independent, so the boys spoiled her. I used to call her a princess because she was delicate."

My voice broke.

"If it weren’t for that incident..."

Lewis wiped the tears from my cheeks. "You two still have time," he said firmly. "Don’t lose yourself in pain before we act."

I nodded, swallowing hard. "Right."

Then another thought slammed into me, sharp and ugly.

"Lewis," I said quickly, "Yael carves stone sculptures. Do you think it’s possible the sculpture of me in my bonding home... was made by him?"

Lewis’s face tightened. "Maybe it wasn’t just the sculpture. The wax figure too. Artists can become obsessive. Some cross lines when they chase perfection."

A cold wave washed through me.

Yael always looked normal. Always sounded normal.

But he kept appearing in front of me. Again and again. And his eyes... they never held warmth the way Yael’s voice did. They held focus. Possession. Like he was studying me.

And he said he watched my live competition with Camilla.

That meant he noticed me long before we ever met.

Now he had "new inspiration."

My stomach turned.

Was I his inspiration?

"What’s wrong?" Lewis touched my face, and I jumped so hard I nearly stood up.

He wrapped an arm around my waist at once. "Elena," he murmured, "it’s just me."

But I couldn’t calm down.

My mind flashed with images I didn’t want to see stone sculptures, wax figures, sick trophies. The memory of that lifeless copy of a person made my skin crawl.

I swallowed hard, forcing the words out.

"Lewis..."

My voice came out thin.

"Yael’s target... is me."