His Warrior Luna

AVERY'S POV:

Today was the day. The day everything I’d sacrificed for—three years of isolation, shame, and clinging to hope—would finally be worth it. Today, Chase and I will be together again. I’d imagined it a thousand times, practically willed it into existence. He’d be there waiting, holding roses, his face soft and full of the love I’d convinced myself still lived beneath the hurt and resentment. It had to be there. He would be my reward for enduring it all.

The warden’s voice cut through the waiting room. “Mrs. Avery Grayson!” Her voice loudly pulled me back from my daze. 

“That’s me,” I blurted, jumping to my feet, my heart doing a little twirl dance. Today was the day I left behind everything—the concrete walls, the metal bars, the fluorescent lights, and that dull ache that had taken residence in my bones. I’d already showered, fixed my hair, and even put on a little makeup that one of the guards had snuck me. I wanted to look perfect. He’d appreciate the effort; he’d see that I’d held on, stayed loyal, kept the faith, kept my mouth shut. Even when it hurt. Even when he was the one making it hurt. 

The warden held out a plain brown envelope, her eyes avoiding mine. My pulse quickened. It had to be something from Chase—a message, a keepsake, something personal to remind me that he hadn’t forgotten me.

Eagerly, I tore open the envelope, the anticipation nearly buzzing through me. But when I finally pulled out its contents, they slipped through my fingers, fluttering to the floor like dead leaves.

Divorce papers. 

And beneath them, another piece of thick, ivory card. A wedding invitation.

Chase Grayson and Astrid Russell.

That had to be a coincidence. Right? That the name on the invitation was the same as that of my sister's.

My younger sister. My flesh and blood.

I stared at the papers, willing the words to change, to mean something else. This had to be a sick joke. Chase was getting remarried? And to Astrid, of all people? No, no, this wasn’t real. My chest felt tight, my pulse hammering through every vein. 

“Avery Grayson,” a guard’s voice cut in, jolting me. “You’re free to go.”

Clutching the papers, I barely noticed the small bag they handed me with the few belongings I’d kept here. I bolted towards the gate, trying so hard to make meaning of everything. 

Chase was waiting for me—he had to be. This was some misunderstanding, something that would be cleared up the moment I saw him. He wouldn’t betray me. Not like this. He’d hurt me, yes—hurt me in every way a man could hurt a woman—but he’d never leave me. Chase had promised that he’d change. He’d written me letters, sent me small gifts. He wouldn’t just… abandon me.

But as I stepped out into the bright, unkind light of freedom, reality hit me like a slap. There was no one there. No Chase. No flowers. Just a black SUV idling by the curb, windows tinted so dark I couldn’t see inside. 

A man in a crisp black suit approached, his expression unreadable behind sunglasses. He extended a gloved hand. “Mrs. Blackwood.”

For a second, I thought he must be mistaking me for someone else. Maybe Chase sent one of his security guys to come pick me up since he couldn't come himself. 

“Excuse me,” I said, forcing a polite smile. “I’m Mrs. Grayson. I think you’re expecting someone else.”

His jaw tightened, and he held out a gloved hand as if to relieve me of my bag. “No, ma’am. I’ve come on behalf of Mr. Axel Blackwood. He’s sent me to bring you home.”

I almost laughed, the absurdity of it all washing over me in waves. “Look, I don’t know what kind of joke this is, but I’m not Mrs. Blackwood. I’m Mrs. Grayson.” My voice cracked a little, but I pushed on. “You’re waiting for the wrong person.”

“No, Mrs. Blackwood,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I am Mr. Blackwood’s second-in-command. My name is Ryan Dren. My orders are to escort you to your new husband and your new home.” His voice was cold and precise, as if he were reading from a script.

I looked around, half-expecting someone to jump out with a camera and yell, “Gotcha!” But the parking lot was empty, save for me and this suited stranger. Panic started to bubble up, prickling under my skin. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t how my story was supposed to end. I’d served my time. I’d sacrificed myself for Chase. I’d given up everything, and now… now I was being told I belonged to someone else?

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “You’re wrong. Chase is coming. There’s just been a misunderstanding.i have no idea who Mr. Blackwood or Whiteboard is. I've never heard of the name. And, I'm definitely married to Chase Grayson. No one else."

Ryan’s expression didn’t change, his face hard and impassive as stone. “If you’ll come with me, ma’am,” he said, his grip on my arm firm but not rough, steering me towards the SUV.

“I’m not going with you!” I pulled back, panic taking over as I tried to wrestle my arm free. But Ryan’s hand was like a vice, unyielding. My breaths came quicker, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. “Let me go! Chase is coming, I know he is!”

“Mrs. Blackwood,” Ryan’s voice was low, warning. “I suggest you calm down.”

At that moment, I knew I had no choice. My heart sank as he opened the car door and nudged me inside. The doors locked with a mechanical click, and the dark-tinted glass shut out the world. 

We were driving before I even realized it. The city flashed in blurs and streaks, and all I could do was sit there, numbly staring at my trembling hands. But as Ryan’s focus shifted momentarily to the road ahead, I saw my chance.

I threw myself against the door handle and stumbled into the street, nearly falling. Shouts erupted from the SUV, but I didn’t look back. I just ran, feet hitting the pavement as I headed toward the only place that could make sense of this nightmare.

When I finally reached the Grayson mansion, my breath came in ragged gasps. And there, strung across the front entrance, were satin ribbons and elegant white lilies. Wedding decorations.

Inside, soft music and laughter drifted through the air. Guests moved about, dressed in formal clothes, oblivious to the storm raging inside me.

Indeed, there was a celebration going on, but not for me.