Chapter 164 Author of his life!

Chapter 164: Chapter 164 Author of his life!

The hospital room looked like a luxury boutique had thrown up inside it.

Evelyn stood at the foot of Noah’s bed with her arms spread wide, showing off the mountain of gifts she had brought—designer bags from France, silk pajamas from Italy, the newest phone, a laptop that cost more than most people’s rent, jewelry that sparkled under the harsh hospital lights, and a stack of novels he used to love. Thrillers, mysteries, romance. All his favorites.

"I brought everything," Evelyn said, beaming. "The bags you wanted last month, the watch you kept talking about, and look—" She held up a book. "The new one from that author you’re obsessed with. You used to read his stuff in one sitting."

Noah stared at the pile, then he looked at his sister.

"Evie," he said slowly, "that’s a lot of stuff."

"I know!" She looked so proud of herself. "I figured you needed cheering up. You’ve been so weird since you woke up. I thought maybe some of your favorite things would help."

Noah picked up one of the bags. It was beautiful—soft leather, gold hardware, the kind of thing he would have killed for a few months ago. Back when his biggest problem was which party to attend and which outfit to wear.

He put it down.

"Not feeling it?" Evelyn asked, her smile faltering.

"It’s great," Noah said. "Really. But I don’t need it."

Evelyn frowned. "You always need bags. You have a whole room for them."

"I know." Noah leaned back against his pillows. "But things changed."

"Changed how?"

Noah looked at her. Really looked. His sister was trying so hard. She had probably spent hours picking everything out. She wanted her brother back—the one who cared about labels and trends and looking perfect.

But that brother wasn’t here anymore.

"I don’t want the bags, Evie."

Evelyn’s face fell. "Okay. What about the watch? You were literally crying about this watch last month. You said it was the only thing that would make your life complete."

Noah snorted. "I said that?"

"Yes. You were dramatic about it. Very on brand for you."

"Okay, that sounds like me." Noah picked up the watch. It was heavy. Expensive. Gold and diamonds. It probably cost more than a car. He turned it over in his hands, then he put it down too.

"Still no?" Evelyn’s voice got smaller.

"Still no."

She grabbed the stack of books. "These? You love these. You read them twice. You said the author was a genius. You literally wrote a fan letter."

Noah looked at the covers. He used to spend hours lost in those stories—worlds of magic and adventure, heroes and villains, love that conquered everything.

But now he had lived those stories. He had fought demons. He had loved wolves. He had died and come back.

"I don’t want to read about adventure anymore," Noah said quietly. "I want to live it."

Evelyn stared at him. "What?"

"Nothing." Noah shook his head. "Forget it."

"No. Tell me." Evelyn sat on the edge of the bed. "You’ve been talking in circles since you woke up. You keep saying weird things. You look at me like you don’t recognize me. And now you’re turning down things you used to cry over."

Noah didn’t answer.

"Are you in pain?" Evelyn asked. "Is it your head?"

"It’s not my head."

"Then what is it?"

Noah looked at the window. The sun was setting. Orange and pink light spilled into the room. It reminded him of the sunset in the other world—the way Damian’s gray eyes would catch the light and turn almost silver.

"Evie," Noah said, "do you ever feel like you’re in the wrong life?"

Evelyn blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Like you’re supposed to be somewhere else. With different people. Living a different story."

Evelyn’s face tightened. "Noah, you’re scaring me."

"I’m not trying to." Noah sighed. "I’m just... I’m trying to figure something out."

"Figure out what?"

Noah didn’t answer. Because the truth was, he didn’t know. He had no idea how to explain that he had lived a whole other life in a whole other world. That he had been someone else. That he had been loved by four men who probably didn’t even exist here.

Evelyn waited. When Noah stayed quiet, she stood up.

"I’m going to get you something to eat," she said. "You need food. Real food. Not hospital crap."

"Okay."

"And when I get back, you’re going to talk to me. For real."

"Okay."

Evelyn grabbed her purse. She looked at the pile of rejected gifts, and her face was sad.

"I just wanted to make you happy," she said.

Noah’s chest hurt. "I know, Evie. I’m sorry."

"It’s fine." She forced a smile. "I’ll be back in twenty minutes."

She left.

The room went quiet. Noah sat there, surrounded by expensive things he didn’t want, thinking about the people he couldn’t have.

He missed Damian. Not just the doctor with his name—the real Damian. The one who growled when he was annoyed and held Noah like he was something precious. The one who had kissed him under the stars and promised to protect him forever.

He missed Eugene. His warmth. His laughter. The way he always knew what Noah needed before Noah knew himself.

He missed Killian. His cocky smirk. His reckless love. The way he called Noah "little kitten" and made it sound like a promise.

He missed Marcus. His quiet strength. His steady hands. The way he looked at Noah like he was the answer to every question.

And Lysander. Complicated, beautiful Lysander. Who had hurt him and healed him and loved him in ways Noah still didn’t fully understand.

"I want to go back," Noah whispered. "I want to go home."

But how?

He looked down at his hands. Noah Evernight’s hands. Rich. Perfect. Useless.

"I need to figure this out," he muttered. "There has to be a way."

He thought about Dr. Whitmore. The way he had looked at Noah. The way he had said he felt something when he caught him. The way he had stayed.

Damian. His name was Damian.

That couldn’t be a coincidence.

Noah sat up. His body ached. His arm still had the IV, but he didn’t care. He needed to move. He needed to think.

He pulled the IV out. Blood dripped down his arm, and he ignored it.

Slowly, carefully, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. His feet touched the cold floor. He stood up, wobbled, and grabbed the bed rail.

"Okay," he breathed. "Okay."

He walked to the door, opened it, and looked down the hallway. Empty and quiet. Just the flicker of fluorescent lights and the distant beep of machines.

Noah stepped out. He walked slowly, one hand on the wall for support. His bare feet slapped against the linoleum. His hospital gown flapped open in the back.

"Real attractive," he muttered. "Very dignified."

He passed room after room. Nurses station, waiting area, elevator, and a long corridor with offices on one side.

And then he stopped.

One of the office doors was open. Light spilled through the gap. A soft voice came from inside. Furious typing. Then a curse.

"Fuck. I haven’t posted for today."

Noah’s breath caught. He knew that voice. Dr. Whitmore. Damian.

Noah crept closer. Peered through the opening.

Dr. Whitmore sat at a desk. His back was to the door. A laptop was open in front of him. His fingers flew across the keys.

But that wasn’t what made Noah freeze.

On the wall, projected from the laptop, was a figure. Purple hair. Silver eyes. Delicate features. A face Noah knew better than his own.

Ashton.

It was Ashton.

The image showed Ashton standing in a garden. Moonlight behind him. A gentle smile on his lips.

Noah’s heart stopped.

"That’s me," he whispered. "That’s... that’s my other body."

Dr. Whitmore kept typing. He didn’t know Noah was there.

"Okay," he muttered to himself. "Chapter forty-seven. Ashton finally tells Damian about the prophecy. Need to make it emotional. And I have to make it hurt."

Noah’s legs almost gave out.

Chapter forty-seven. Prophecy. Ashton telling Damian.

The words spun in Noah’s head. He grabbed the door frame to keep from falling.

The world he had lived in. The battles. The love. The pain. All of it. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. But it was.

Because Damian was writing it.

Damian Whitmore was the author. Damian was writing Noah’s other life.

Noah’s head spun. He felt like he was falling. Like the floor had turned to water.

"This doesn’t make sense," he breathed. "How... how am I..."

Dr. Whitmore stopped typing. His head turned slightly. "Who’s there?"

Noah didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His voice was gone. His body was frozen.

Dr. Whitmore stood up. Walked to the door. Pulled it open.

His gray eyes widened. "Noah."

Noah stared at him. Then at the image of Ashton still glowing on the wall. Then back at Damian.

"You," Noah whispered. "You wrote it. You wrote all of it."

Damian’s face went pale. "Noah, I can explain."

"You wrote me." Noah’s voice cracked. "You wrote my life. You fucking wrote the people I love. You wrote everything."

Damian reached out. "Let me explain."

Noah stepped back, his heart pounded, and his head spun.

"How?" His voice broke. "How am I here? How is this real? Am I just... am I just a character to you?"

Damian’s eyes burned. "No. You’re so much more than that."

"Then what am I?" Noah’s eyes filled with tears. "What the hell am I?"

Damian didn’t answer. But his silence said everything.

Noah’s world shattered all over again.