Chapter 256

Ava’s POV

I let out a shuddering breath, my fingers tightening around his hand. It felt cold, unnaturally still, yet I still expected him to squeeze back. To open his eyes. To scowl at me as he always did when I challenged him. But there was nothing. Silence. Emptiness.

I swallowed, willing myself to be stronger, harder. But my voice cracked when I spoke. “You were supposed to fix things.” The words felt like acid.

“I hated you for so long, and some part of me still does. But I would rather have continued as we always were—me seeing you as the enemy, fighting with you—than this.”

My chest tightened as I stared at his slack, peaceful face. Luther Pierce was never peaceful. This was wrong.

“I need you to wake up,” I whispered, my voice raw and broken. “I need you to fight like you always have. For once, not against me, but with me. I know it’s impossible, but I need you to find a way.”

My breath hitched. Damn it. I had spent so much of my life trying to break free of his shadow, and now I realized how much of me had been built in reaction to him.

I sniffled, wiping at my eyes. This isn’t fair. “And you know what the worst part is?” I laughed, my voice shaking with anger and grief. “Even now, lying there, you still win. You still get to be the center of everything. You still consume me, even in silence.”

I slumped forward, resting my forehead against the bed. “Damn you, Father.”

For a long time, I sat there, the quiet hum of the healer’s quarters the only sound. I thought about everything—the years of resentment, the hard-earned moments of understanding, the way we had almost found common ground before it was ripped away. I thought about never hearing him say he was sorry, properly, fully. And now, I never would. I wanted that so badly. I wanted to know what it would be like to be on the same page, a family lasting a lifetime.

I squeezed his hand one last time, whispering, “Goodbye, Luther.”

Then it happened. A twitch. A barely-there movement beneath my fingers. I froze, my breath catching. My heart pounded as I stared at his hand, waiting, praying I hadn’t imagined it. Then it happened again. A single, weak twitch.

No. It’s not possible. He wasn’t supposed to wake up. The healers… I shot to my feet, my chair scraping the floor as I staggered back. Just as my vision blurred with tears, his fingers twitched again.

My pulse raced. But now, as I watched, there was nothing. Just the same stillness, the same unnerving quiet.

“Do it again,” I whispered. My fingers trembled, hovering over his hand, but nothing came. I let out a shaky breath, imagining it, just like I had imagined Grayson at his grave.

What if that moment with Grayson hadn’t been a hallucination? What if he had been reaching out—calling to me? Still, it was different; my father was dead.

I studied his face, searching for something I wasn’t sure existed. Then, I did something I never thought I would. I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. The contact was brief, but heavy in my chest. It felt like a goodbye, even if I wasn’t sure I meant it as one.

I pulled back, lingering on him one last time before leaving. Camilla waited outside, searching my expression. I nodded, and she stepped aside.

I moved through the halls, each step heavier, until I reached the back entrance. The cool night air hit me, the familiar scent of damp earth and water wrapping around me. And then I saw her.

My mother sat by the lake, barefoot, in a sweater and sweatpants. Her shoulders were hunched, her posture unsettling. She looked lost, truly lost. For a second, she tensed, but then slumped again, staring at the water.

I took a deep breath, pushing away the anger, the resentment. Seeing her like this… it was hard to hold onto those feelings.

I sat down beside her, my eyes fixed on the lake. The silence stretched between us before I broke it. “You had me locked in my room for three days when I went into the lake?” My voice wasn’t accusing, just stating a fact, a memory.

The words hung between us, quiet but sharp. For a moment, I thought she wouldn’t respond. She stared at the water, her face still, her hands curled in her sweater.

Then, she spoke. “I have never known how to be any other way,” she admitted, her voice low, hesitant. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

And just like that, the anger erupted.