Chapter 188

Ava’s POV

Isabella once called my relationship with Grayson a story—one told countless times. Ours, however, with its constant ups and downs, was perhaps a little longer, a little more tedious. I should know; I was living it.

What was happening now? The inevitable breakup, the separation, the realization of our destined reunion, the happily ever after? But several things didn't fit the usual narrative.

Grayson and I, regardless of the world's desires or destiny's plans, weren't meant to be. It was over, irrevocably. And this wasn't a story.

"This came for you today," my mother's voice sliced through the silence. I slowly raised my head, my eyes meeting hers before dropping back to my clasped hands. I remained silent.

"I read it."

Of course, she had. As she always did with my mail, filtering it to her own standards.

"Dr. Griffin fired you."

Well, that makes writing my resignation letter easier, I thought, but said nothing. I hadn't spoken in two days, not since I cried in her arms, collapsed on this couch, since my world imploded. I hadn't eaten or moved; I simply existed. Yesterday, nausea had sent me scrambling to the bathroom to vomit.

"Ava."

Her voice pulled me back. I forced myself to look at her, but the expected softness was gone, replaced by the familiar Evelyn Pierce look—cold and calculating.

I chuckled. "The Evelyn Pierce look," I mused.

"Ava!" she snapped.

I blinked, wondering if this was real. Maybe I'd wake up…

What is that nauseating smell?

"Ava Lilian Pierce!"

Her sharp tone jolted me fully awake. The smell vanished, and the pain returned, sharper than before.

"I'm sorry I got fired," I whispered, the words feeling foreign, hollow, as if spoken by someone else.

She sighed, tossing the envelope aside. Then, with a calculating air, she sat across from me. "It wasn't even a good hospital," she dismissed.

I didn't argue. What was the point? Why tell her I loved working there, that it wasn't "just" a hospital? It was where I'd glimpsed Grayson's humanity—when he saved Mikayla's mother instead of focusing on himself.

But none of that mattered. My life was a disaster, and someone was trying to kill me.

I giggled bitterly. Someone was trying to kill me, and I was fired, alone, and useless. Grayson hadn't even sent guards with me. He'd dismissed me so completely he didn't care about the threat.

The message said, "The Queen is Next." But I'm not his queen anymore, so problem solved, right?

Another giggle escaped. I should have been this smart when I met him. I would have stayed away.

"That man has driven my daughter to insanity," my mother muttered.

I blinked, startled by my own smile, then the pain returned. Her gaze lingered on my disheveled appearance, her eyes narrowing as they flickered to my stomach and back to my face.

She sighed, her tone softening slightly. "At least shower and change. It's been three days."

Three days? I thought it was two.

I didn't respond.

"Your rude friend, Isabella, came by yesterday," she said. "I sent her away." For once, I was grateful for my mother's disdain for Isabella. I didn't want her pity.

My body felt like it was being stabbed—unrelenting, excruciating pain that worsened with each moment. Just when I thought it might ease, it roared back, crueler than before.

I wanted to scream, cry, confront Grayson, find the person who sent the messages, and make them pay. Most of all, I wanted Grayson to believe me. I wanted it all to stop.

"Ava?"

"Leave me alone!" I screamed, the force shattering the stillness.

The walls vibrated with the echo. I barely registered my mother's shocked expression. Then, a powerful force slammed into me, and everything went black.

What followed was dreamless sleep—a vast emptiness, a sleep like death, erasing everything. Then, murmurs pulled me from the depths. I blinked open my eyes, the brightness blurring my vision. I sat up, my body heavy and sluggish. I was back in my old room.

I saw my mother speaking to two Omegas leaving. She turned to me, her gaze lingering on my stomach before meeting my eyes. She didn't say what I expected.

"You're awake," she said. "How often does that happen?"

She wasn't asking about waking up. She was asking about the power, the surge that knocked me out.

"I don't know," I muttered. "I don't know what it is or why it happens. Can I have some water?"

She got me water. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes were sharp. Then, she asked, "What is a cryptic pregnancy, Ava?"

I stared, wondering if I'd misheard. After everything, this?

I almost laughed. But I sighed. "I'm not in the mood," I said, hoping she'd drop it.

She didn't. So, I explained: "In a cryptic pregnancy, the individual is unaware of their pregnancy for a significant portion, or even all, of the pregnancy. It happens for several reasons, like hormonal imbalances, unnoticeable symptoms, or psychological factors—stress, distractions."

I didn't know why I was explaining. Maybe to make sense of it all.

"When something stressful or traumatic happens, the body might respond. It releases stress hormones, triggering suppressed symptoms. Like nausea, vomiting…" I trailed off, realizing what I was saying.

No. No.

I shook my head, but the thought lingered. Her eyes were on my stomach. My stomach churned.

Before I could stop her, she said what I dreaded: "From my calculations, you're two months and two weeks pregnant."