Chapter 142: Heartbeat Strong

LEITANA

I blinked my eyes open then shut them immediately as the harsh lights stabbed into my vision. Pain throbbed behind my lids, sharp and dull all at once.

A hand—hard, rough, calloused—stroked the side of my face slowly, like it was memorizing the shape of me all over again.

I didn’t need to open my eyes to know who it was.

I blinked again, slower this time, letting the world swim into focus.

Mi Ravial.

He sat right beside the bed, so close I could feel the heat rolling off him like a furnace left burning too long. But as my vision cleared, something inside me faltered.

That could not be Ravial.

The man staring down at me looked… wrecked.

His dark hair was ruffled, strands falling forward in wild disarray, as though he had dragged his hands through it a thousand times. The black blindfold still covered his eyes, tied with the same precise knot he always used—but everything else was wrong.

No tailored suit.

No crisp collar.

Just a plain black dress shirt, sleeves rolled unevenly to his elbows, the top two buttons undone. The fabric was wrinkled, clinging to him like he had slept in it—if he had slept at all.

His jaw was shadowed with stubble, darker than I had ever seen it. Even the way he sat was different—shoulders slightly hunched, posture no longer the perfect, commanding line that made rooms fall silent when he entered.

Ravial always looked impeccable. Always.

Even after we made love until dawn—when sweat slicked his skin and my nails had left red trails down his back—he would rise looking like he had just stepped out of creation.

I used to tease him about it in whispers, wondering how a man could be so untouched by chaos.

Now he looked like chaos had found him.

And won.

His thumb continued tracing the curve of my cheek, gentle in a way that hurt more than the ache pulsing through my body.

“My lamb,” he said.

His voice was husky. Deep. Cracked at the edges like it hadn’t been used in days.

I tried to speak. My throat felt scraped raw, lined with sandpaper. The sound that came out was barely a croak.

“Ra… vial…”

He leaned closer. The blindfold hid his eyes, but I felt the tremor in his fingers where they touched me.

“Shh. Easy. Have some water.”

He reached for a cup on the table with movements too careful—too controlled—like he was afraid the plastic might shatter in his grip. He brought it to my lips.

Cool liquid slid down my throat. I swallowed once… then coughed weakly.

His free hand immediately steadied my shoulder.

“Slowly,” he murmured.

When I finished, he set the cup down and returned his hand to my face, stroking my cheek again—like he needed to be sure I was real. Like I might disappear if he stopped touching me.

That was when I looked around properly.

White walls.

Beeping monitors.

The faint scent of antiseptic.

Metal rails framing the bed.

Hospital.

And then everything crashed back at once.

Celeste’s voice in my head.

The cold snap of the gunshot.

The way my body moved without me.

The blood.

The screams.

The darkness pulling me under.

I gasped. My heart thudded hard against my chest, so loud I thought it might crack a rib. I pressed my good hand over it, fingers splayed, as if I could physically hold it in place.

Ravial shot up from the chair in an instant. One second he was across the room, the next he was in my space—close enough that his shadow swallowed the harsh overhead light. One hand cupped the back of my neck, warm and steady. The other hovered over my chest like he could feel the frantic rhythm through the thin hospital gown.

“What is wrong? Do you feel any pain?” His voice was tight—worried, almost afraid.

I looked up at him, tears already blurring my vision. I remembered it all too clearly now—how everything had started fading to black after the shot, how the world had narrowed to a pinprick of light, how I’d been so sure I was slipping away forever.

I’d thought I would never see him again.

Never see my sister.

Never see any of the friends I’d made.

Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and unstoppable. I was alive. I was breathing. The gratitude hit so hard it hurt more than the wound in my shoulder.

“H-how long… mi be here?”

He palmed my cheeks gently, thumbs brushing beneath my eyes, wiping away tears even as more replaced them. From the tight line of his mouth and the way his jaw clenched—though I couldn’t see his eyes behind the blindfold—I knew he was shaken. Trying to understand why I was crying.

“Two days,” he said softly. “You have not woken for two days.”

He kept wiping my tears like he could erase the fear with them.

“Tell me—do you feel pain? I will call the doctor now.” He started to turn toward the door, but I cupped his face with my good hand and guided him back to me.

“No. Mi fine. Mi just grateful to be alive… to see yu.”

He stilled.

For a long second, he said nothing. Then his hands tightened slightly around my face, as if grounding himself. He leaned forward until our foreheads touched, the blindfold brushing my skin, his breath warm and uneven against my lips.

“No,” he let out a soft, bitter laugh. “It is the world that should be grateful you are alive and breathing. Oh, my lamb… the carnage I would have unleashed upon this world.”

His voice dropped lower.

“He would have brought it to its knees.”

I frowned faintly. He?

The way he said it—like something separate from himself—sent a small chill down my spine. But I was too tired, too overwhelmed to ask. Instead, I closed my eyes and leaned into his warmth, letting his presence anchor me.

We stayed like that for a few quiet minutes, just breathing together.

Then the door opened with a soft whoosh.

“Mrs. Ashbourne,” a calm, professional voice said. “I’m Dr. Ezekiel. It’s good to see you awake.”

He was tall, kind-eyed, dressed in pale blue scrubs. He checked the monitors first, then glanced at Ravial—hesitating only slightly at how close he was, his hands still framing my face.

“How are you feeling?”

“Mi shoulder… hurt small,” I whispered. “But mi okay.”

The doctor nodded and stepped closer. He carefully lifted the edge of my gown to inspect the bandage on my left shoulder, then listened to my chest with his stethoscope.

“The bullet passed clean through. No major vascular or bone damage. You lost a significant amount of blood, but the surgery and transfusions stabilized you. You’ll experience limited mobility for a few weeks—physiotherapy will help—but you should make a full recovery. You’re very fortunate.”

Ravial’s fingers flexed against my cheeks. He didn’t speak.

Dr. Ezekiel straightened, made a note on the chart, then offered a small, warm smile.

“That said… you will need to be careful moving forward. Especially with the baby.”

The room went completely still.

My breath caught painfully in my throat.

Beside me, Ravial went rigid. Every muscle in his body locked, like something carved from stone.

“What?” The word came out low. Dangerous.

The doctor blinked. “Um… you didn’t know?”

He looked between us, confusion deepening.

“Your wife is pregnant, Mr. Ashbourne. We ran routine bloodwork upon admission—her HCG levels were elevated. We performed a brief ultrasound yesterday while she was sedated to confirm. It’s very early—around six weeks—but the pregnancy is viable, and the heartbeat is strong.”

Ravial’s hands froze on my face.

I felt something inside me shift—shock spreading through my veins like ice water.

Pregnant.

A baby.

Our baby.

My free hand drifted down instinctively, resting lightly over my stomach beneath the thin gown. It felt the same. No difference. No flutter. Just… me.

But not only me anymore.

Ravial slowly turned his head toward the doctor.

“You are saying…” His voice cracked at the edges. “She is carrying my child.”

The doctor nodded carefully. “Yes. Congratulations. I assumed you had already been informed. It was noted in the chart for next of kin.”

Ravial released a slow, sharp exhale.

Then he turned back to me.

His hands slid down from my face, trembling slightly, until one covered mine where it rested on my stomach. His palm was warm—but I could feel the faint shake beneath it.

“My lamb,” he whispered, awe and fear tangled together in his voice. “Our child?”

Fresh tears burned my eyes. I looked up at him, my heart pounding for an entirely new reason.

“Mi… mi pregnant?”

He nodded once, as if still trying to process the words himself.

Then he leaned forward again, pressing his forehead to mine. The blindfold brushed my skin softly.

“How can this be?” he breathed, almost to himself.

His other hand cupped the back of my head, fingers threading gently through my hair like he was afraid I might disappear.

The doctor cleared his throat quietly.

“I’ll give you some privacy. I’ll return shortly to discuss prenatal vitamins, activity restrictions, and follow-up scans. Congratulations again.”

He slipped out, the door closing with a soft click.

Silence settled over us.

But this time, it felt different.

Heavy and fragile.

Full of something brand new.