Chapter 112

Richard's POV

I hadn't left the hospital for two days. The antiseptic smell burned my nostrils, but I forced myself to endure it. The wolf in me wanted to howl, to break something, to find whoever was responsible and tear them apart. Instead, I sat in this uncomfortable chair, watching Elena's chest rise and fall with each shallow breath.

The medical report in my hands contained words that made my stomach twist: "possible neurological impact," "cranial trauma." I'd read it a dozen times, searching for something more definitive than "prognosis uncertain."

A nurse came in to check Elena's vitals, giving me a sympathetic smile before adjusting the IV. I barely acknowledged her. My focus remained on Elena's pale face, the bandage covering her forehead where she'd driven that silver pin into her own skin.

That day at the hotel, when I saw she was about to reveal that secret, I felt disappointed and angry! But seeing her harm herself to protect my secret left me stunned.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. Ethan's name flashed across the screen.

"What is it?" I answered, my voice low and rough from lack of sleep.

"Alpha, we've completed the initial investigation," Ethan's tone was somewhat tense. "The man who hypnotized Elena wasn't Jacey's student. He's an international doctoral candidate in psychology with connections to the Cooper family."

My grip tightened on the phone. "And the reporters?"

"Also on Cooper's payroll. The money trail leads back to multiple shell companies, but we've confirmed it's connected to the Cooper family."

Something cold and deadly unfurled inside me.

"Alpha? What do you want us to do?"

I stood up, moving to the window to keep my voice from disturbing Elena. "Pull out every investment we have in their companies. I don't want to see any Cooper-owned business in Moonhaven again."

"Understood. And the family members?"

"Freeze their assets. All of them. No Cooper leaves Moonhaven until I say otherwise." My voice had dropped to a near-growl.

"Yes, Alpha."

I ended the call and turned back toward the bed. Elena's fingers twitched slightly, and I moved closer, watching for signs of consciousness.

Her eyelids fluttered, then slowly opened. For a moment, she stared blankly at the ceiling, confusion evident in her expression.

"Elena?" I said softly, not wanting to startle her.

She turned toward my voice, and what I saw in her eyes made my blood run cold. There was no recognition there—only fear.

Her voice was hoarse, panicked. "Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "You had an accident."

She tried to sit up, then winced, pressing a hand to her bandaged forehead. "My head..."

I reached for her hand, but she recoiled violently, pushing herself against the headboard.

"Don't touch me!" The monitor beside her bed beeped frantically as her heart rate spiked.

Each word felt like a knife. "Elena, it's me. Richard."

Her eyes widened, and she pulled the blanket up to her chin, as if creating a barrier between us. "No. This is a dream. I'm dreaming again."

"You're not dreaming," I said, fighting to keep my voice even. "I'm real. You're in the hospital."

She shook her head frantically. "Why do I keep dreaming about you? You're not real. You can't be real."

I reached for her hand again, and this time she didn't pull away immediately. "Feel that? I'm real, Elena."

She stared at our joined hands, her breathing ragged. Something flickered in her eyes—recognition, perhaps, or a fragment of memory. She winced suddenly, pressing her free hand against her temple.

"My head hurts so much." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Lily's missing. You... you need to find her."

Lily missing? That was something that happened weeks ago; she's at home now.

Before I could respond, her eyes rolled back and she collapsed against the pillows. I lunged forward, hitting the call button repeatedly until a team of doctors rushed in.

They moved quickly, checking her vital signs and pupils, conversing in low voices. I explained to the doctor what had just happened, and they soon reached a conclusion.

"Mr. Blackwood," he began, deliberately maintaining a neutral expression. "Your wife is experiencing memory disorientation. What she just recalled might be memories from several weeks or even months ago. This is a common side effect of traumatic brain injury."

"Will she recover?" The question felt ripped from my throat.

"Her brain function tests are normal. This appears to be a temporary condition. With some rest and care, she should recover soon."

After the doctor finished speaking, I finally felt a sense of relief.

Elena's POV

I woke up the next morning with a sharp pain in my head. Memories reassembled like fragments, and I recalled what had happened before. The antiseptic smell of the hospital room irritated my nostrils as I blinked to adjust to the harsh fluorescent lighting.

"You're awake," Richard said from the chair beside my bed. His voice sounded rough from lack of sleep, and dark circles shadowed his eyes.

I nodded slightly, feeling the bandage pull against my forehead. My brain recalled everything that had happened. I glanced at Richard, my heart racing, wondering if he knew what I had done at the gala.

After making several clinical observations and determining I had returned to normal during their conversation, the doctor left. Richard leaned forward, his eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that made me want to shrink back against the pillows.

"Take these," he said, holding out a small paper cup with pills. "The water is getting cold."

I stared at the pills, my throat suddenly dry. This kind of caring behavior was nothing like his usual self. Why was he being so nice to me now? Wasn't he angry that I almost revealed his secret that night?

What if this wasn't medication? What if this was his way of silencing me permanently?

My mind kept replaying the recovered memories. Not just Richard at ten years old killing a hunting dog—that was awful enough. But there was more. At eleven, when he first lost control during transformation, I witnessed something far more horrifying and cruel. He attacked someone who approached him. The violence, the blood, the inhuman rage in his eyes... it was terrifying.

With trembling fingers, I took the cup and dry-swallowed the pills, feeling them scrape painfully down my throat.

Richard frowned. "You need water with those," he said, reaching for the glass on the bedside table.

I flinched away from him, tears suddenly filling my eyes. Was this how he'd do it? Poison disguised as concern?

"Why are you crying?" he demanded, his expression darkening. "I'm just giving you water, not poison. You're acting like I'm trying to kill you."

His words naming my exact fear made me pause. Was I overthinking this? I took the glass with shaking hands and sipped cautiously, watching him over the rim.

He showed no reaction, and the water tasted sweet.

"Alright, you rest now. I'll come back after work," he said.

He picked up his jacket, preparing to return to the office. When he reached the door, I remembered what I wanted to say.

"You don't need to come, I'm fine. I can take care of myself."

"What did you say?"

"I feel much better already. I don't think my injuries are serious enough to stay in the hospital. I could be discharged today."

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Your injuries haven't healed. You're not going anywhere until the doctors clear you."

"But I can treat myself—"

"Don't challenge me on this, Elena," he cut me off, his voice dropping to that quiet, threatening tone that sent chills down my spine. "If you don't listen, I will lock you up."

That threat instantly silenced me.

"Your condition hasn't fully recovered yet. You need to stay here for a few more days, and when you're better, I'll naturally let you go home," he added, though his tone was a bit gentler this time.

After the door closed behind him, I released a shaky breath. If he planned to kill me to keep his secret, why hadn't he done it yet? Was he just pretending to care earlier?