Chapter 103

Ava’s POV

He slipped into a coma the next day. Medically, that's what happened. I'd begged Liam to let me take him to the hospital, desperate for some control, some tangible way to help. But he'd stood firm, his voice calm but unyielding: “Ava, I know you care deeply, but this is pack business. Grayson will be taken care of by the healers.”

I tried to argue, to explain that I needed to do something. But he gently guided me away, leaving me feeling powerless and lost.

The only silver lining was Isabella’s full recovery. Rickon and Eliza were by her side, ensuring she had the support she needed. But I wasn't a good friend—not to her, not to anyone. My focus was entirely consumed by Grayson.

I called in sick to work, fumbling through a conversation with Dr. Griffin about Grayson’s “accident.” He was understanding, giving me the time off without question. Thankfully, Tessa was doing well. As for Crystal, whom I’d been forced to tolerate—well, she could go to hell.

Now, I sat in Grayson’s room. The dim light cast long shadows on the walls. The healers had cleaned and bandaged his wounds, but he still looked fragile, impossibly so. The all-powerful Grayson Blackwood, reduced to this. It felt unnatural, wrong.

I sighed, pulling the chair closer to his bed and reaching for his hand. His skin was warm—a small comfort—but his fingers were limp.

“You know,” I whispered, “the first time I saw you, I thought you were insanely hot.” I laughed shakily, tears welling. “I was supposed to be focused on escaping my marriage to Dylan, but I kept thinking, ‘Wow, this guy is gorgeous.’ Ridiculous, right?”

I sniffled, brushing away a tear. “It feels like a lifetime ago.”

I squeezed his hand, willing some response—a twitch, a flicker, anything. But he remained still, his breathing steady but shallow.

“Please wake up,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Grayson, you have to wake up. You’re… you’re supposed to be invincible. The Alpha King, remember? You’re the one who saves everyone else, not the one lying here.”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me. Closing my eyes, I leaned my forehead against our joined hands.

“You know, I used to have a fantasy,” I said softly, “a daydream about the life I wanted. And you became the man in that fantasy.”

I paused, breathing shakily. “In that world, you weren’t the Alpha King. You weren’t burdened with responsibility or pain. You were just… you. Grayson. And we had a little house—not a mansion, just a cozy house with a garden. You loved gardening, did you know that?” I laughed quietly, sadly. “You’d plant vegetables, and I’d tease you about how seriously you took it. You’d just smile, that crooked grin, and say it was for the kids.”

Tears fell freely. “Yeah, kids. We had two—no, three. Two boys and a little girl. You were such a good dad. You’d take them to the park, and they’d come back muddy and exhausted, but so happy.”

My voice wavered. I wiped my cheeks, but the tears kept coming. “And you weren’t angry or closed off. You didn’t have that pain, those expectations. You didn’t carry the weight of the world. You were free to just… live.”

I let out a shaky breath, my thumb brushing his knuckles. “We’d have lazy Sundays, all piled in bed—me, you, the kids. The boys would fight over who sat closest to you, and the little one would curl up on my lap. You’d tell them ridiculous stories, and I’d watch you, thinking how lucky I was.”

I bit my lip. “You were happy in that world, Grayson. And I was happy too. No politics, no battles, no bloodshed. Just us, living a simple, beautiful life.”

The room was silent except for his breathing and the rustle of fabric.

“I know it’s stupid,” I murmured. “It’s not real. It’s just a dream. But… I wanted it so badly. I still do. And if you wake up, maybe we can make something like it real. I don’t care about titles or power. I just want you. I want us.”

I kissed his knuckles. “Please, Grayson. Come back to me. I’ll be right here, waiting. But you have to wake up.”

My voice cracked. I pressed my forehead against his hand, my tears soaking the bandages.

For a long time, I stayed like that, pouring out every hope and dream, letting the fantasy unfold in my mind. I talked about vacations, silly arguments, dancing in the kitchen.

I talked until my throat was raw and my heart felt wrung dry.

Then, just as I was drifting to sleep, I felt it—a faint twitch in his hand.

My eyes flew open. “Grayson?”

For a moment, there was nothing. Then, another weak movement.

I shot to my feet. “Grayson, can you hear me? Please, give me a sign.”

His eyelids fluttered, and a soft, hoarse sound escaped his lips.

“You’re okay,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. “You’re going to be okay.”

His lips moved, but no sound came out. I leaned closer.

Finally, faintly, he murmured, “Ava…”

My eyes widened. Grayson. He was still here.

I scrambled to my feet, panic seizing me. “Grayson? You’re awake!” I reached for the healer’s bell.

But he tightened his grip on my hand, pulling me back to the bed.

His voice was hoarse, but it carried the weight I needed to hear. My instincts screamed for help, but I couldn’t ignore the vulnerability in his eyes, the way he gripped my hand.

I leaned down. “Hold on. I’ll get the healers…”

He shook his head. “No. Don’t call anyone. Just you.”

He spoke again, his voice lower. “My wolf…”

I blinked. “What about your wolf?”

He closed his eyes, his breath shallow. When he opened them again, they locked onto mine with piercing intensity. Something was terribly wrong. His hands trembled, his grip weakening.

“I can’t feel him,” his voice cracked. “I can’t feel him, Ava. He’s gone.”