Chapter 174

Ava’s POV

Grayson died. For eight agonizing seconds, his chest was still, his breath completely gone. My world stopped with him. Then, on the ninth second, his chest rose again—faint, but alive. Relief hit me like a wave, but it was fleeting, swallowed almost instantly by the surrounding chaos.

I don’t remember much of what happened next. Everything blurred. Hands pulled him from me; voices shouted orders. I barely registered his body being placed on a stretcher and rushed inside.

I thought of my father, who had saved lives before in ways that felt almost miraculous. Despite his flaws—his coldness, his disdain for Grayson—I knew one thing with certainty: he would never turn a patient away, no matter who they were.

I stumbled from the car, legs unsteady, mind reeling. Somehow, I followed the stretcher into the hospital, but I stopped when they wheeled him into the operating theater. As much as I wanted to follow, I knew better. I might be consumed by fear, but I was still a doctor. I knew crossing that line would only waste time.

The doors swung shut with a finality that tightened my chest. I caught a brief glimpse of my father’s face as he entered—calm, focused, and professional. That was all I needed to see.

My legs gave way, and I sank to the floor, leaning against the cold, unforgiving wall.

Why was this happening? We were happy. Just hours ago, we were happy. Why did I ask him to take me to that carnival?

A choked sob escaped, and I buried my face in my hands. Tears came fast and hard, shaking my whole body as I sat on the cold, sterile floor.

“Please,” I whispered, eyes tightly closed, my voice breaking. “Please, Moon Goddess, don’t let him die. I’ll do anything. Just don’t take him from me.”

I don’t know how long I sat there, consumed by fear and guilt, when a voice broke through the haze.

“Mrs. Blackwood?”

I looked up, my vision blurry. A nurse I didn’t recognize stood before me; her expression was soft but professional. Her badge read “Rachel,” and her scrubs were already stained from the rush to stabilize Grayson.

“Yes?” I croaked, my voice raw.

“You should come with me,” she said gently. “We’ve moved him to the operating theater, and Dr. Pierce—your father—is leading the surgery. It’ll be a while before we have an update, but you shouldn’t stay here. Let me take you somewhere more comfortable.”

“I can’t,” I whispered, shaking my head. “I need to be here. I need to—”

Chapter 17 (Note: There appears to be a numbering error. Chapter 17 follows Chapter 174.)

“You won’t be able to help him from here,” she interrupted softly but firmly, crouching to meet my gaze. “I’m sure you know your father is the best, and he has the best team working on him. You need to take care of yourself, too.”

I swallowed hard, her words barely registering. “He wasn’t breathing,” I murmured. “He stopped breathing. What if he doesn’t make it?”

Rachel’s expression didn’t falter. “He’s in critical condition, but he’s alive, and that’s what we’re holding onto. The fact that you got him here in time is everything.”

I nodded slowly, my mind struggling to process her words. “Can you—can you tell me anything?”

She hesitated, glancing down the hallway toward the operating theater. “I can’t give you specifics yet,” she said carefully. “But the bullet missed his heart by a narrow margin. That’s a good sign. There’s still significant blood loss, and his vitals were unstable on arrival. He’s in the best hands now, Mrs. Blackwood. That’s all I can tell you.”

I nodded, even though I already knew that, trying to take a deep breath, but my chest felt too tight.

“Let me take you to the waiting room,” she said. “There’s no point in exhausting yourself here.”

Reluctantly, I let her help me to my feet. My knees wobbled, but Rachel steadied me. She led me down the hallway—a hallway I knew by heart—the harsh fluorescent lights making the walls feel even colder, more sterile.

When we reached the waiting room, I sank into a chair, hands trembling as I clutched my knees. Rachel handed me a bottle of water, and I took it silently.

“I’ll come find you as soon as there’s an update,” she promised. “But if you need anything—anything at all—ask for me at the desk. My name’s Rachel.”

“Thank you,” I managed.

She nodded, turning to leave. I stared at the water, my mind racing.

Grayson’s still alive. He’s still alive. But for how long?

I don’t know how long I sat there, cycling through worst-case scenarios, my stomach twisting. Every creak or shuffle made my head snap up anxiously, desperate for my father to appear and deliver the verdict that would save or shatter my world.

Then I heard the sharp clinking of heels. I froze when I saw another nurse leading Elaine into the waiting room.

The moment our eyes met, I braced myself. I expected distaste—anger, judgment—but instead, she sighed heavily, exhaustion etched on her features. Without a word, she sat next to me.

Silence fell, heavy, uncomfortable, but familiar. Finally, she spoke, her tone sharp but not unkind.

“What happened this time?” she asked, her voice steady.

I swallowed, my throat dry. “We were at a carnival,” I whispered. “Someone started shooting, and Grayson…” My voice cracked. “He got shot.”

Silence.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, confused. The last time I’d seen her, she’d made it clear that Grayson was dead to her.

She leaned back, hands on her flat stomach, gaze fixed on the wall. “The hospital called me,” she said simply. “I’m still his only surviving family, after all.”

I wanted to respond, but my stomach growled loudly. Embarrassed, I closed my eyes, but the sound was impossible to miss.

To my surprise, Elaine produced a small chocolate bar. She handed it to me wordlessly.

I stared, unsure.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s from a store. It’s not poisoned.”

Reluctantly, I took it. “Thanks,” I mumbled, unwrapping it. The gesture was so unexpected that I wondered why she wasn’t yelling at me.

As I ate the chocolate, I heard footsteps. My heart jumped. I saw my father striding toward us.

Elaine and I stood.

My father paused, his gaze narrowing as it swept over me.

“Well, is he okay?” Elaine asked abruptly, cutting off what I knew was about to be a scolding.

His glare shifted to her, then back to me. “Unfortunately,” he began, his voice dripping with irritation, “the bastard…”

This revised version corrects grammatical errors, improves sentence structure, and enhances the overall flow and readability of the passage. The inconsistencies in chapter numbering remain as they were presented in the original text.