Chapter 277: A Head Offered to the Grave
Chapter 277 of "Mated To The Crippled Alpha" opens presenting twists: I barely looked at the photographs before nausea rolled through me.My instincts reacted first. My... Keep following!
I barely looked at the photographs before nausea rolled through me.My instincts reacted first. My stomach twisted. My fingers went cold. I flung the stack across the desk.
Lewis didnât.
He picked them up calmly, one by one, studying every detail. His face didnât change, but I felt the shift in him. The air around him thickened. Quiet. Controlled. Dangerous.
The last photo wasnât Lincy.
It was Silasâs grave.
The image had been altered. Edited. Staged.
At the foot of the headstone lay a severed head, blood running from the eyes, nose, and mouth. A red mole marked the forehead.
My mole.
My head.
Lewisâs fingers tightened around the photograph. His knuckles turned pale. The veins on the back of his hand stood out sharply, like he was restraining something inside himself.
"Sheâs sending a message," I said slowly. "She wants to offer my head to Silas."
The words sounded calm.
But my pulse was not.
Kemp adjusted his glasses, trying to stay professional. "Ms. Ashbourne, from now on, all deliveries will be screened before they reach you. This will not happen again."
Lewisâs voice was cold and precise. "The secretarial team. Are they all from Grantâs pack? Any outsiders?"
"No outsiders, Mr. Hale. Every one of them has followed Mr. Ashbourne for over ten years. They are loyal."
"Keep it that way," Lewis said sharply. "No one unfamiliar gets near her."
His tone wasnât loud.
But it carried authority. The kind that made people lower their heads without realizing it.
Grantâs company was new in Snowville, but his team was old blood. Trusted. Tested. There was no room for betrayal.
After finishing my work, I went to the funeral home.
Lincyâs body was already being cremated.
It had only been two months since I last saw Monica, but she looked like someone who had lived ten years in that time. The carefully maintained beauty was gone. Her face, once lifted and polished, now showed scars and discoloration. Without money, without status, she had withered.
"Oh, my poor daughter!" she wailed when she saw me.
Beside her stood Zack.
He had lost weight. His stomach was gone, but his face looked sharper, meaner. There was no grief in his eyes. Only bitterness.
It wasnât surprising.
Lincy had called another man father for twenty years. Even after the truth came out, she never once acknowledged Zack. She insulted him every time she saw him.
There was no bond there. No real blood loyalty.
Monica suddenly turned on Zack. "Our daughter is being cremated! How can you stand there without crying? Sheâs your flesh and blood!"
"Daughter?" Zack sneered. "She never treated me like one. You raised her into a spoiled brat. She got what she deserved."
Deserved.
He said it so easily.
About a dead girl.
That was when I understood something clearly.
Lincy did not grow up twisted by accident.
Monica lunged at him, scratching his face. His neck already had marks from older fights. Their home must have been a battlefield long before today.
When they had money, they called it love.
Without money, love rotted.
Zack slapped her hard. The sound echoed inside the quiet crematorium.
Monica staggered. Blood touched the corner of her mouth.
Then she saw Grant.
He stood there, silent, his expression unreadable.
She had tried to poison him once. For Zack.
Even if Grant never loved her, he would have given her a comfortable life if she had remained quiet. But she wanted more. She wanted power. She wanted control. She wanted to win.
Greed ruined her.
When the staff brought out the urn, they asked, "Who is next of kin?"
Before Monica could speak, Grant stepped forward.
"Iâll take it."
The room went still.
Monica sobbed again. "After everything we did, you still care about her. She was your daughter for twenty years. Youâre a better father than Zack ever was."
Grantâs eyes were cold.
"Youâre mistaken," he said evenly. "I donât care for her. I hate her. Iâm only keeping my promise to bury her."
Monicaâs tears stopped instantly.
Lincy had already lost her name in life. Even in death, she carried disgrace. Without Grant paying for the burial, she would not even have a place to rest.
We buried her quickly.
A magnolia tree was planted beside the grave. The tombstone read:
Lincy Harrison.
Not Ashbourne.
Even in death, Grant did not forgive her.
He sat quietly for a moment.
"Consider this the end of your debt to Riley," he said to the stone. "If there is another life, apologize to her."
He placed chrysanthemums down and stood up.
It was over.
I looked at the engraved photo. She wore a luxurious gown, chin raised high, eyes full of arrogance. Once treated like a princess of the pack.
Now reduced to soil.
Silasâs grave wasnât far away.
I walked there.
Fresh chrysanthemums rested at his headstone.
And a single earring.
I recognized it immediately.
Lincy had worn it the night before she died.
Camilla had been here.
A shadow moved near the trees.
"Catch him," I ordered.
My bodyguards dragged a trembling man forward. He looked terrified.
"I was just told to leave the flowers! I didnât steal anything!"
"Who sent you?" I asked.
"I donât know her name. A woman in sunglasses. She paid me to leave the offerings."
He was just hired hands.
Camilla didnât show herself.
She used others.
She wanted Silas to know.
She wanted me to know.
She had stepped fully into darkness now. Not running. Not hiding. Choosing to fight.
Lincy was only her first move.
After handling everything, Grant left for the airport. He had no reason to stay in Snowville anymore. He had considered pressing charges against Monica, but after seeing her broken state, he decided her life with Zack would be punishment enough.
As we drove away, they were still arguing beside the graves.
Back home, Nelson came to see us.
"I heard you received threatening photos," he said.
Lewis handed them over.
"Look at this," Lewis said calmly.
In one corner of the image, part of a manâs arm was visible. A black eagle head tattoo marked his skin.
One of the men involved in Lincyâs death.
"Weâll investigate," Nelson said. "But Mrs. Hale, be careful. Camilla is linked to multiple murders connected to the Morrigans. Sheâs ruthless."
"I know," I replied. "Iâve reduced my public appearances for now."
"Thatâs wise. Weâve already lost too many. I donât want you next."
I held his gaze. "Did Lincyâs body give you anything?"
Nelson lowered his voice.
"The killer was careful. No DNA inside her body. But she fought back. She scraped skin from the attacker. We found traces under her fingernails."
A small spark lit inside me.
Proof.
Even monste