The Alpha King's Contracted Luna (Ava and Grayson) novel Chapter 113

Chapter 113 

Ava’s POV 

“Lilian, what is going on? Why are you crying?” 

Isabella’s voice cut through the fog of despair that had consumed me, her hands gripping my shoulders, trying to steady me. I could barely see through the tears blurring my vision, but I didn’t need to look to know what had just shattered me. The words I had overheard moments ago echoed like a cruel drumbeat in my mind, relentless and unforgiving: 

Ava Pierce means nothing to me. 

I should have known, shouldn’t I? Every tender word, every tough, every promise of something real–it was all just a facade. A well–crafted illusion to keep me in line, to keep me tethered while he clung to the one thing that really mattered to him: that damn contract. The one that kept me bound to him, never ruly free. I had been blind, foolish. And now I was paying for it. 

“Lilian! What the hell happened? Did Grayson do something?” Isabella’s voice was sharper now, tinged with anger, and I could hear her turning toward the house, ready to march in and confront him. 

I reached out instinctively, my trembling hand catching her arm, stopping her in her tracks. My voice was barely a whisper, thick with the sobs I couldn’t seem to hold back. “Can you please call Rickon? Ask him to help us get Jeremy. He has resources… He can help…” 

Isabella’s gaze searched mine, her expression shifting from concern to confusion. “What happened in there?” she asked, her voice hardening as she demanded an answer. 

I couldn’t bring myself to look her in the eye. The shame, the anger, the hurt–they all mingled together, choking me. “Please,” I said, my voice a raw plea. “Just call him. Tell him what happened. I don’t care about the man, just please… ask him to help Jeremy. Please.” 

There was a moment of hesitation, a flash of uncertainty in Isabella’s eyes, before she sighed and nodded. Without a word, she pulled out her phone and stepped aside, dialing Rickon. I turned away, my gaze locking onto the looming estate in the distance. It used to feel like home. A sanctuary. But now, it felt more like a prison. 

He didn’t even come after me. Not even when I walked away. Not even when I needed him most. 

I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. I could feel my resolve hardening. I couldn’t stay here. Not anymore. Never again. 

Moments later, Isabella reappeared, slipping her phone back into her pocket. Her eyes were softer now, but there was an edge of determination in her voice as she spoke. “He said he’ll handle it. Jeremy’s going to be fine. But… Lilian, will you please just tell me what happened?” 

I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold the shattered pieces of my heart together, but they kept slipping through my fingers. I couldn’t keep it in anymore. “I just want to go. Can we please just go?” I choked out, my voice cracking.. 

Without a word, she nodded, her hand gently pulling me toward Ivan’s car, but I stopped dead in my tracks, shaking my head. “No. I don’t want anything from him. Please… call a cab. I don’t want his help.” 

Isabella didn’t argue. She simply nodded again, pulling out her phone to call a cab. The silence between us was deafening, heavy with the weight of the unspoken. Isabella’s concern was evident, but she didn’t press me, respecting my space as we made our way to the gates of the estate. 

The cab arrived in a few minutes, and we climbed in, the silence stretching between us as the driver pulled away. I gazed out the window, watching the scenery blur into a haze. The world seemed to be spinning out of control, and all I wanted was to escape, to numb the ache inside me. Grayson’s words echoed relentlessly in my mind, each one like a slap to the face. 

I mean nothing to him. 

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Chapter 118 

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Finally, Isabella’s voice broke the silence, low and tentative. “Come on, I’m dying here. What happened? You can tell me 

I squeezed my eyes shut, the pain in my chest unbearable. Grayson’s voice, cold and detached, played over and over in my head. “He said… he said he was going to ask me to leave because mean nothing to him. That I’m nothing” 

Isabella’s breath caught, and she reached over, her hand warm and comforting on mine. “Oh, honey…” she whispered, the sympathy in her voice only deepening the ache inside me. 

I shook my head vehemently, the anger building up inside me like a storm. “I can’t believe I was this stupid. He’s been gaslighting me from the ve start, and I chose to look past it. I made excuses for him, for everything he did. I let him manipulate me. And now I’m paying for it… again. I’m so tired of this. I’m so tired of repeating the same mistakes.” 

The words tumbled out of me, raw and honest, as I wiped away the tears streaming down my face. 

I turned to the cab driver, my voice firm and clear, surprising even myself. “Sorry, but we’re not going to my place. Take us somewhere else.” I rattled off the address of a bar, a place where could just drown the pain, even if it was just for a little while. 

Isabella shot me a concerned look. “I don’t think this is a good idea. Maybe you should come to my place and rest. Just… lie down for a bit. You don’t have to do this.” 

But I was resolute. “No. We’re going to the bar. I don’t want to go to your place. Not right now.” 

Isabella sighed, her shoulders sagging with a mix of concern and acceptance. “Okay. I’ll stay with you.” 

The cab pulled up in front of the bar, its neon sign flickering in the fading light of the evening. The kind of place where no one cared to ask questions, where you could be anyone you wanted to be, and no one would judge. 

I didn’t wait for a second invitation. Pushing open the door, I walked inside, the low hum of conversations and clinking glasses wrapping around me like a shroud. I made a beeline for the bar, slipping onto a stool and signaling to the bartender. 

“What can I get you?” he asked, his voice flat and impersonal. 

“Something strong,” I replied, not caring what it was, as long as it would numb the pain. 

Isabella sat next to me, her eyes soft with worry. “I know you’re hurting, but I don’t think this is the right way to handle it.” 

But I ignored her, my eyes fixed on the amber liquid the bartender placed before me. It shimmered in the dim light, promising temporary relief. I took a long sip, the burn of alcohol sliding down my throat, chasing away some of the tightness in my chest. 

Minutes turned into hours. With every drink, the edges of my pain blurred, faded, until it felt like I was floating in a numb haze. The anger, the betrayal–they seemed far away now, replaced with a quiet numbness that I welcomed, even if it was fleeting. 

A man slid onto the stool beside me, his presence commanding, his eyes gleaming with interest.