Chapter 322: Meeting Whitney Again

Yael was terrifying.He didn’t move like a normal man. He didn’t speak like one either. He acted like rules were for other people, and that made him more dangerous than any threat I could name.

The moment my voice vanished, my whole body locked up. Fear sat in my throat like a stone, heavy and unmoving. I tried to speak again, tried to force even a weak sound out, but nothing came. I panicked and started waving my hands, begging without words.

Yael watched me for a beat, then finally spoke, calm as if he was discussing breakfast.

"Elena, calm down. The medicine only lasts a week. You’ll be able to speak again soon."

He sounded reassuring, but my instincts didn’t relax. Something in me still believed he could be lying. Still, I had no choice. If I refused his terms, he could leave me trapped and unheard, and nobody would ever find me.

If I could get back to the mainland, losing my voice for a while was a small price.

He handed me a tablet. It was loaded with sign language lessons, bright videos and simple hand shapes. I stared at it like it was a lifeline and a chain at the same time.

While I practiced, Yael started telling me about the woman I was supposed to become.

"The one who used to wear this face," he said, tapping the screen with two fingers, "couldn’t speak. Everyone called her the Mute Girl."

His tone was casual, but his eyes stayed sharp, watching how I reacted.

"She was a quiet servant. Easy to overlook. A few years older than me. She looked after me when I was younger," he continued. "And she crossed paths with Whitney too. If you show up at the bonding ceremony as her, nobody will question it."

My stomach tightened.

Infiltrating the Blackwells using someone else’s identity walking into their den where Amber could be, where old enemies might be smiling made my pulse race. I had dreamed of getting close enough to see the truth for myself.

Now I was being dragged into it... silent.

Excitement rose in my chest, but it tangled with dread until it felt like nausea.

What if I messed up?

What if one look, one wrong step, made them suspicious?

I must’ve looked shaken, because Yael leaned in slightly, voice low.

"Don’t worry," he said. "I’m right here. Just avoid her eyes. Keep your head down. Stay close to me. She won’t suspect a thing."

I nodded and forced myself to focus.

I threw everything into learning the basics yes, no, sorry, thank you, water, help. My hands felt clumsy at first, but I learned fast. I had to. Silence meant survival.

When the car pulled up at the White Residence, my skin prickled.

The place was too clean on the outside. Too perfect. Like polished teeth hiding a bite.

I’d heard enough to know the Whites and the Blackwells had been tied together for a long time. Even after the Morrigans forced them out years ago, whatever bond existed between these families hadn’t snapped. It had only changed shape.

People like them didn’t let go.

They buried things. They renamed them. They smiled and moved on.

And somewhere underneath, the same darkness kept breathing.

As we stepped out, I held the door for Yael the way I’d been taught to do quiet, obedient, invisible. I stayed half a step behind him with my head lowered.

Yael didn’t even glance my way. He walked like he owned the ground, like every person here should move aside.

Then I felt it.

A stare.

Vito.

It landed on me like a hand around my neck. My instincts flared, telling me to lift my chin, to bare my teeth, to refuse the pressure.

I swallowed it down.

I kept my gaze low, acting like I didn’t notice him at all.

In that moment, I realized the one advantage of being voiceless less talking meant less chance to slip. Silence meant fewer mistakes.

"Why did you bring her?" Vito asked, voice curious, but his tone had that sharp edge men like him carried.

Yael didn’t miss a beat. "You and your mate are newly bonded," he said smoothly. "There’s plenty that needs handling. She’s a woman. She can manage things more discreetly."

Vito seemed satisfied. He didn’t press.

"Makes sense," he said. "Mute Girl and Whitney know each other. Whitney isn’t in the best spirits. Let her go keep Whitney company."

Inside, my chest lit up with hope so fast it almost hurt.

I had never been able to get close to Whitney before.

Now the door was being opened for me.

Yael looked at me like he could read my thoughts. He didn’t stop it, but his gaze warned me anyway.

He led me through the halls and paused at a door. "Stay with Ms. White," he instructed. "Don’t wander."

I nodded quickly.

He watched me one more second, as if reminding me he still held the leash even if I couldn’t see it, then he left.

I pushed the door open gently.

Whitney was sitting on the windowsill, arms wrapped around her knees, curled inward like she was trying to take up less space in the world. The light from outside didn’t warm her. It just outlined her loneliness.

She didn’t turn around. She spoke without looking, voice flat and distant.

"I’ve eaten. What else do you need from me?"

My throat burned.

Whitney had been a child when she was taken. She should’ve grown up loud, spoiled, full of life.

Instead, she was quiet in a way that felt wrong. Quiet like someone who’d learned that sound only brought punishment.

I reached out carefully and touched her shoulder.

She jerked it off, irritated at first until she saw it was me.

Her expression softened. "Sorry," she muttered. "I thought you were..."

I lifted my hands, signing awkwardly that it was fine.

She studied me for a moment, then sighed. "They sent you to watch me, didn’t they?" Her mouth twisted like she was tired of even being angry. "Don’t worry. I won’t try to end my life."

My heart dropped.

So she’d tried before.

I wanted to pull her into my arms, to hold her the way I would’ve held my own sister. But I didn’t. My eyes flicked to corners of the room, to the ceiling, to places cameras could hide.

Any mistake could cost her.

Could cost me.

So I stood beside her, silent and stiff, hands clenched by my sides.

Whitney kept looking out the window like the world outside was a story she wasn’t allowed to enter. The mansion around her was expensive, beautiful... and still a cage. Clothes and jewelry couldn’t change that.

Hours passed like that.

She stayed on the windowsill the whole afternoon. I stayed beside her, barely moving, my injured knee throbbing under my skin. The longer I stood, the more my body shook with the effort of pretending I was okay.

I couldn’t understand how she’d endured this life for years.

How do you keep breathing when every day feels like the same locked room?

When evening came, she finally moved. I limped after her, trying not to show the pain on my face.

She noticed.

Her brows pulled together, irritated. "Are you out of your mind? Why didn’t you sit down somewhere?"

I waved my hand, signing that I was fine.

Whitney let out a tired sigh. "What else can we do?" she said quietly. "People like us... we don’t have options."

I signed back, careful and slow, telling her to find something small to hold onto. A reason to keep going, even on the worst days.

She gave me a sad little smile. "I don’t even have a heart left," she whispered. "How am I supposed to feel happy?"

The words hit me hard.

I remembered her as a healthy child. So this... this had happened later. Pressure. Fear. Damage that built up over time until her body couldn’t take it anymore.

She was only twenty-five.

But she looked like someone who’d lived through a hundred winters.

At dinner, she motioned for me to sit with her.

I hesitated automatically servants didn’t sit with their masters.

But Yael spoke up from across the table, voice smooth. "There are no strangers here. We all grew up together. No need for formalities."

Relief washed over me. I sat down, grateful for the hot meal in front of me. My stomach felt hollow and angry, like it had been scraping itself clean for days.

As I ate, I kept stealing glances at Whitney, trying not to stare too hard. I didn’t trust my face to stay calm if I looked too long.

Late that night, I lay on the floor of her room with a blanket under me.

Vito had ordered it. He wanted someone breathing in the room with her, someone to notice if she did anything "rash." He had cameras, but he still didn’t trust them alone.

So I became his extra set of eyes.

The thought made my skin crawl.

Whitney slept restlessly. Her breathing turned uneven, her hands twitching like she was trying to push something away.

Then she cried out, voice cracking with pain.

"No! Don’t touch her!"

My chest tightened.

I threw off my blanket and moved fast. I climbed up and wrapped my arms around her carefully, holding her like I could shield her from whatever was chasing her in her sleep.

She trembled in my arms.

And I stayed there, silent, shaking with her, because I couldn’t give her the one thing she needed most.

My voice.

But I could still give her warmth.