Chapter 88: The Statue

As my hand brushed against Lewis’s skin, heat rushed up my arm before I could pull away.It startled me.

Not just the warmth but how solid he felt, storng, just like the types I read about in books .

I had always assumed that because he used a wheelchair, his body would be fragile. Thin. Easily broken. That was the picture my mind had built without asking permission.

But the truth sat right in front of me.

In spite of the fact that his shirt was open, his body was solid and in control. Because of his dedication, rather than his desire to show off, his shoulders were muscular, and his arms were lean. Neither an excess nor a weakness was present. Everything appeared to be earned. A body that has been trained to obey instinct while still being able to exercise self-control.

He didn’t look like someone to be pitied.

He looked dangerous in a quiet way.

My breath hitched. I turned my face away at once.

"I... I didn’t mean to," I said, my voice uneven.

I heard him exhale, slow and deep, as if calming something inside himself.

"Riley," he said softly, "we’re husband and wife."

The words landed heavier than they should have.

I froze.

It wasn’t that I’d never seen a man without a shirt. I had beaches, events, work functions where beauty was treated like decoration. But seeing was different from feeling.

Touch was different.

I had never been good at it.

Back in college, I had been cautious. Afraid of crossing lines I didn’t understand. The one time I did, alcohol had blurred the edges and left behind more confusion than memory.

After that, life moved fast.

Work. Pressure. Expectations.

Over the course of several years, Julian and I remained together; nevertheless, at some point in time, our connection began to wane. We had a conversation. We had a disagreement. The two of us lived side by side. However, we stopped trying to reach out to each other.

In the past two years, even a hug has become uncomfortable for me. Comparable to something that was taken from the life of another couple.

I did, in fact, have a sliver of comprehension regarding the reason why Julian had been enticed by attention that was fresh.

However, this did not imply that forgiveness was granted.

Even so, as I stood here at this moment, I was aware of how unprepared I was.

"If you can’t even look at me", Lewis said quietly, how will you ever

He stopped.

I stared hard at the armrest of his wheelchair. The smooth metal. The safe distance.

"How will I what?" I asked.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he slipped his shirt back on with calm, steady movements. One button. Then another. No rush. No pressure. As if he were giving me space without making it obvious.

"It’s nothing," he said at last. "Did you need something?"

When he finished, I finally looked up.

His eyes were steady. Dark. Watching me in a way that felt patient, not demanding. Like a presence that didn’t chase, but waited.

"Yes," I said. "I wanted to ask about the investigation."

I swallowed and continued, forcing myself to focus.

"You have connections. Influence. I was hoping you could check how far the police have gone with Elena’s case. Those statue fragments they should’ve led somewhere."

I hesitated, then added quietly, "She looked so much like me. And the way she died... it was cruel. I don’t know why, but I can’t stop thinking about it."

Lewis didn’t interrupt.

He studied me for a long moment, as if weighing not just my words, but the feeling beneath them.

Something unreadable flickered in his gaze.

And for reasons I couldn’t explain, I felt like he already understood more than I’d said out loud.

"The case is being handled as a top-level kill," Lewis said quietly. His voice was calm, but there was tension beneath it, like something held tightly in check. "There have been developments. I’m not sure you’ll want to hear them."

"I do," I said at once. My fingers curled into my palm without thinking. "Tell me."

I had already crossed death once. I didn’t believe anything could truly scare me anymore.

Lewis leaned forward slightly. The air between us felt heavy, charged.

"The investigators traced the statue," he said. "It was produced at a large sculpture factory. But when demand spiked, they outsourced part of the work to a smaller studio. By the time the police got there, the place was empty. Cleared out."

A dull ache spread through my chest.

Of course it was gone.

Camilla was never careless. She never left loose ends where they could bite her back.

"But that isn’t the key detail," Lewis went on.

My pulse sped up, loud in my ears.

"They examined what was left of the statue. Inside, deep where the heat didn’t fully reach, they found traces. Flesh. Skin."

My throat tightened. "And?"

Lewis looked straight at me. He never looked away when things turned ugly.

"There were no organs," he said. "None at all. Only skin and muscle. Everything else was removed."

The room tilted.

I clapped a hand over my mouth as my body shook, a sharp, instinctive reaction I couldn’t control. Something deep inside me recoiled, like a wounded animal curling in on itself.

Images flooded in without mercy.

Fingers severed and shaped into trinkets.

Skin stripped and stretched, turned into something meant to be admired.

A body taken apart piece by piece, not in rage but with planning.

What had she done with the rest of me?

Thrown it away?

Fed it to something that didn’t know better?

Or worse served it, smiling, to people who once called me family?

The thought ripped through my chest, raw and savage.

How much hatred did it take to do something like that? What had I done to deserve being reduced to spare parts by someone who shared my blood?

My breathing broke apart.

Before I realized it, Lewis’s arms were around me. Firm. Steady. His presence wrapped around my panic like a wall. The heat of him anchored me, pulled me back from the edge.

"It’s over," he murmured near my ear. His voice was low, grounding. "That suffering belongs to the past. I won’t let anyone touch you now. Not while you’re under my protection."

I pressed my face into his chest and nodded, unable to speak. His heartbeat was slow and strong beneath my cheek. It settled something inside me that had been thrashing wildly.

After a moment, he spoke again.

"There’s something else," he said. "And this part... explains a lot."

I lifted my head slowly.

"Figuring out what she did with the organs may not be difficult," he continued. "Camilla has a serious heart condition. She’s been deteriorating for years. Her best chance of survival would be a transplant."

The words slammed into me.

My heart.

Cold spread down my spine, sharp and sudden. Everything clicked into place with cruel clarity.

So that was it.

I hadn’t just been in her way. I hadn’t just been inconvenient.

I was a match.

A solution.

A body she could harvest to keep herself alive.

I stared at Lewis, my mind racing, instincts screaming as if they had finally spotted the true enemy.

He didn’t deny it. He didn’t soften the truth.

Camilla hadn’t only wanted me dead.

She wanted to live as me by tearing me apart from the inside and claiming what was mine.