Chapter 93

Grayson’s POV

“On a scale of one to a hundred, how possible is it to poison a mother and leave the baby alive?” Ava huffed as we slid into the car, her voice sharp with irritation.

A small smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it, but I didn't say anything. She crossed her arms and sank into the seat. “If anyone asks, I never said that. I just cannot believe that little—” She cut herself off, blowing out a frustrated breath.

I started the car, glancing at her. “And the reason you can’t just say no is?”

“Because,” she muttered, “that’s exactly what she expects me to do. She expects me to quit, to give up, and I refuse to give her the satisfaction of being right. I can be professional. And then—once the baby is born—I’ll make good on my poison scheme.”

I turned on the car’s headlights (or perhaps "turned the car on" depending on context), but still couldn’t understand why humans thrived on such drama.

She sighed heavily, breaking the moment. “I’m really sorry about today. I know we were supposed to go out.”

“I moved everything to next week.”

“Okay…” She dragged out the word, glancing at me. “Cool. I guess we’re going home now.”

I hesitated for a second, keeping my eyes on the road. “Unless you want to go somewhere else.”

“No,” she said softly, her gaze shifting out the window.

Silence stretched between us, the kind that wasn’t just quiet but weighted. Now that we were alone, I felt the full force of what had happened earlier. I’d told her things—shown her things—that I’d never shared with anyone else. Maria had only known because she’d seen my memories, and even then, I hadn’t had to explain myself. But Ava… Ava was different. She hadn’t looked at me with disgust or judgment, even though I’d braced myself for it.

Still, I didn’t know what to say.

Ava sighed, breaking the quiet. “You’re doing it again, Grayson. That cold-energy thing you revert to.”

My wolf let out an annoyed growl in my head, a low rumble of agreement.

“I was just thinking about what I told you earlier,” I admitted, my voice quieter than I intended.

Her head turned toward me, her expression softening. “I was going to tell you before Tessa’s emergency came up. I don’t blame you, Grayson.”

I glanced at her sharply, surprised by how steady her voice was.

“You were a teenager forced into an impossible situation. You made a bad decision because of the circumstances you grew up in,” she continued, reaching out to squeeze my hand. Her warmth seeped into my skin, grounding me in a way I didn’t realize I needed. “That doesn’t make me think any less of you.”

I stared at her, unable to speak. She didn’t flinch, didn’t waver—just held my gaze with unwavering certainty.

“And besides,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips, “you did kill a man in front of me. Kind of hard to top that, don’t you think?”

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

“I’m serious, though,” she added, her tone softening again. “This is who you are, Grayson. I’ve come to terms with that. I just hope someday you’ll find a way to make peace with your past.”

Her hand slipped away, and she rubbed her stomach absently before leaning back in her seat. “Actually, now that I think about it, I don’t want to go home. I’m starving. But please don’t fly me to another country for food—I have work tomorrow.”

Relief flooded through me, like I’d been holding my breath for hours, and a smile touched my lips.

“I know just the place,” I said, turning the car onto another street.

When we arrived at one of my restaurants, Ava immediately narrowed her eyes at me. “Let me guess,” she said under her breath as I parked the car, “you own this one too.”

I smirked. “Of course.”

Her lips quirked into an amused smile as I stepped out and rounded the car to open her door. “Does it ever get boring being you?” she teased, slipping her hand into mine as I helped her out.

“Not particularly,” I replied smoothly, guiding her toward the entrance.

As soon as we stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted. Heads turned, whispers followed, and the manager was practically sprinting toward us. “Mr. Blackwood,” he greeted, bowing his head slightly. “It’s an honor to have you here. Your private table is ready.”

Ava’s eyes darted around, taking in the subtle glances and murmurs from the staff and patrons. She leaned closer to me and muttered, “It must feel really good to be you.”

I grinned. “It has its perks.”

We were escorted to an intimate corner of the restaurant, a table secluded from the rest of the dining area but still offering a perfect view of the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The staff was efficient, bringing us menus before I even had to ask.

“Are they always like this?” Ava asked once the waiter disappeared to fetch our drinks.

“Like what?”

“Fawning over you like you’re royalty,” she said, resting her chin on her hand. “Oh, sorry, I forgot, you are royalty. But not to humans, and they still do it.”

“It’s just good business,” I said casually, though I couldn’t deny that I enjoyed the respect.

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Well, Your Majesty, I hope this royal feast lives up to the hype because I am starving.”

The corners of my mouth twitched as I leaned back in my seat. “It will. You have my word.”

Ava opened the menu and began scanning the options, her brow furrowing slightly as she considered her choices. I watched her for a moment, letting the lightheartedness of the moment wash over us.

But just as the waiter returned with our drinks, I caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye. Someone—a woman—had just walked in; her posture was stiff, but my stare made our eyes clash, and she smiled immediately.

I felt my wolf growl in immediate irritation. Monica.

Ava hadn’t noticed her yet, too engrossed in her menu, but it was only a matter of seconds before she did. I had forgotten that I had brought her here once, a very long time ago. Why hadn’t I had her blacklisted?

Ava noticed the shift in my mood immediately, her sharp eyes darting up to follow my gaze. The moment she spotted Monica striding toward us, she let out a low sigh. “What is she doing here?”

It was as if her words had summoned Monica because, without hesitation, the woman veered directly toward us, her confidence radiating with every step. My wolf surged, a low growl rumbling in my chest. Ava, sensing the danger, reached across the table and placed her hand over mine, her touch grounding me just as Monica reached our table.

“Monica,” Ava said curtly, her voice dripping with irritation.

Monica’s eyes flicked to where Ava’s hand rested on mine, her lips curling in disdain before she locked eyes with me. “Grayson,” she said smoothly, her tone far too casual for my liking. “It’s so nice to see you here.”

My wolf snarled internally, and I felt my patience stretch thin. I had warned her—explicitly—that if I saw her again, I wouldn’t hesitate to end her.

But before I could speak, Ava stepped in. Her voice was cold, but her words were calm and collected. “It’s nice to see you too, Monica, but we’re not really looking for company. So, if you don’t mind, could you leave?”

Monica’s expression hardened, her narrowed gaze shifting to Ava. “And at what point,” she sneered, “did I ask you a question? Or give you permission to talk to me?”

That was it.

I slid my hand out from under Ava’s and stood, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. Monica’s confidence faltered, her eyes widening slightly as I towered over her. My wolf surged forward, and I felt the edges of my control begin to fray.

“I warned you, Monica,” I said, my voice low and laced with venom. “I told you that if I saw you again, it would be the last time.”

My vision darkened; I didn’t care that we were in public—the primal need to eliminate the threat clouding my senses. Monica instinctively stepped back, her bravado crumbling as she saw the raw, unfiltered fury in my eyes.

“Grayson!” Ava’s voice was sharp, cutting through the haze. She stood quickly, stepping between us and placing both hands on my chest. “We’re in public.”

Her words snapped me back to reality, but my wolf still growled in protest. I could feel the weight of Ava’s gaze on me, her steady presence keeping me tethered.

Monica took another cautious step back, her mask of confidence completely gone, her voice wavering. "You wouldn't dare—" she started.

“Grayson,” Ava repeated firmly, her hands pressing harder against my chest. Her voice softened slightly. “Not here. Not now.”

I exhaled slowly, forcing the darkness to retreat as I tore my gaze away from Monica. Ava’s touch and steady words were the only thing keeping me from crossing the line.

Monica, realizing how close she had come to danger, turned on her heel and walked away quickly, throwing one last glare over her shoulder.

Ava sighed and dropped her hands, glancing at me with a mix of exasperation and concern. “You’re going to give me a heart attack one day,” she muttered, rubbing her temples.

I opened my mouth to speak, the heat of irritation still simmering in my chest, when my phone buzzed sharply in my pocket.

With a sigh, I pulled it out, half-expecting another message to stoke my already frayed nerves. It was from Rickon.

I hesitated, a strange unease settling over me as I swiped to open it. The words on the screen made my blood run cold.

“I was next on the list. You need to get here now.”