Chapter 165 I am going get you back.

Chapter 165: Chapter 165 I am going get you back.

Noah began moving backward, desperately searching for the wall to support himself.

"Don’t go, Noah!"

But Dr. Whitmore’s voice was becoming distant, almost drowned out by the chaos inside Noah’s head. He could barely process what he had just discovered, let alone figure out how to react to it.

How was any of this possible?

And yet, how could it not be?

The world he had lived in, the people he had loved, and every painful memory he carried had supposedly been created by the very man standing in front of him.

A real person.

Someone who could sit behind a desk, type on a laptop, and decide what happened to an entire world simply by writing it down.

Noah felt sick.

"Believe me, I never wanted things to turn out this way," Dr. Whitmore said, taking a cautious step toward him. "Writing that story was my way of correcting my mistakes. I wanted the characters to have better lives, but this isn’t how I wanted things to end up either."

Noah shook his head.

He couldn’t believe a single word coming out of the man’s mouth.

Correcting his mistakes?

What mistakes?

And what did he mean by better lives?

Were the lives of the people Noah loved nothing more than a series of mistakes that their creator could casually correct whenever he felt like it?

Noah pressed his back against the wall, trying to steady himself.

"So, what you’re telling me is that something horrible is going to happen at the end?"

Dr. Whitmore fell silent.

Noah let out a humorless laugh.

Of course, he already knew how the story was supposed to end. He remembered the horrendous fate that awaited Ashton Lane, the suffering he had endured, and the terrible things that had been planned for him.

But there was one problem.

That ending was supposed to belong to Ashton.

Ashton was dead, wasn’t he?

And Noah was a completely different person who had somehow ended up living inside his body.

At least, that was what Noah had believed before discovering the truth.

If he had already changed the course of the story, did that mean the original ending no longer mattered? Or was the fate written for Ashton still waiting for him, no matter how desperately he tried to escape it?

His stomach twisted.

"Please tell me I’m misunderstanding something," he whispered.

Dr. Whitmore dragged a hand through his hair.

"I didn’t write a sweet romance, Noah. The original story was supposed to have a tragic ending. What you’re experiencing now is partly the result of changes I made midway through the novel."

Noah stared at him.

Then he gasped.

Oh, dear.

It just kept getting worse.

He had somehow managed to end up inside a novel, fallen in love with the characters, nearly died fighting creatures that shouldn’t have existed, and returned to his original world only to discover that the man who wrote the whole thing was standing right in front of him.

And now the author was telling him that the tragic ending had been changed along the way.

Fantastic.

Absolutely fucking fantastic.

"You know what?" Noah raised a trembling hand. "Just stop talking."

Dr. Whitmore blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"Keep your mouth shut for five minutes! Because every single thing you say somehow makes this a hundred times worse!"

Noah threw his hands into the air, immediately regretting the movement when pain shot through his injured arm.

"What the hell is going to happen now? Look at me! Just fucking look at me!"

His voice cracked.

"My life is a complete mess! I can’t even figure out where I belong anymore, and now I’m surrounded by circumstances I can’t control. I don’t know how I got here, I don’t know how to go back, and I don’t even know whether the people I love are real!"

His breathing grew uneven.

"And you’re standing there telling me that you wrote everything as if this is some ordinary conversation we’re having over coffee!"

Dr. Whitmore shook his head.

"Noah, listen to me. Some of the things you told me about weren’t written by me. They might be the result of the decisions you made while living through the story."

Noah slowly turned his head toward him.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then he covered his face with both hands.

"Oh, my God."

That was somehow even worse.

The man was telling him that he might have caused some of the things that had happened in the other world.

Noah had spent so long trying to survive that he hadn’t stopped to consider how many consequences his actions might have created.

The witches.

The dragons.

The destruction of the palace.

The devastation that had spread throughout the Quintorian Empire.

And the terrifying power he had unleashed when he thought he was about to lose everyone he loved.

Had those events been written into the story, or had his own decisions caused them?

Was he responsible for things that had never been meant to happen?

He wanted to scream.

"Can you fucking hear yourself?" Noah demanded, pulling his hands away from his face. "Doesn’t any of this sound insane to you? Doesn’t it?"

He pointed at the laptop.

"I told you that I experienced all of this inside a novel! And I know I wanted you to believe me, but you’re treating the whole thing like it’s the most casual thing in the world!"

His voice rose with every word.

"It’s not normal, dude! None of this is normal!"

He groaned, then glanced down at his hands.

Blood was still dripping from the wound in his arm.

For a moment, the sight made him pause.

He had already lost too much blood, and if he continued pulling out his IV lines and wandering around the hospital, he would eventually collapse again.

His body was weak, his head throbbed painfully, and even standing upright was becoming a struggle.

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to care.

How was he supposed to rest when everything he knew had just been turned upside down?

"Stop pulling out your IV lines!" Dr. Whitmore exclaimed, finally losing some of his composure. "You’re only hurting yourself. Don’t you understand how dangerous this is in your current condition?"

He approached Noah, his expression turning serious.

"You’re injured, weak, and losing blood. You should be resting in bed, not wandering around the hospital!"

Noah grabbed his hair with both hands.

"Don’t judge me!"

"I’m not judging you!"

"Well, stop telling me what to do!"

Dr. Whitmore paused.

Noah’s eyes flashed with anger, but beneath it was something far more painful.

Desperation.

"You don’t have the right to tell me what to do!" Noah shouted. "Yes, you’re my doctor, but this is your fault! All of this is your fault!"

He jabbed a finger toward the laptop.

"Look at what you’ve done to me! How am I supposed to return to a normal life after everything I’ve experienced? How am I supposed to forget the people I love and pretend that none of it ever happened?"

His voice broke.

"I want to go back."

For a moment, the anger disappeared from his face, leaving behind nothing but raw desperation.

"I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care if I have to face danger again. Just take me back, please!"

He swallowed painfully.

"I don’t belong here anymore."

Dr. Whitmore stared at him.

Whatever response he had prepared seemed to disappear before he could say it.

"Noah, I..."

He stopped and exhaled.

"I don’t know what to do."

The admission made Noah look up.

Dr. Whitmore appeared just as overwhelmed as he felt.

"Tell me how I’m supposed to act right now," the doctor continued. "I have no idea if something like this is even possible. If you hadn’t told me what you experienced, and if I weren’t remembering the future Chapters I’ve already planned for the story, I would never have believed you."

He glanced at the laptop, then back at Noah.

"This is insane. Someone has somehow lived through a story I wrote, and I can’t even find a solution to get you back where you want to be."

His jaw tightened.

"This shouldn’t have happened."

Noah’s heart sank.

For the first time since entering the office, he had nothing to say.

If the man who supposedly created that world couldn’t help him, then who could?

He had spent the last few hours clinging to the hope that there was some explanation for his return. Perhaps he could find a way back if he understood what had happened.

But now?

What if there was no way back?

What if he was trapped in this world forever?

The thought made his chest ache.

He would never see Eugene’s smile again.

He would never hear Killian tease him or feel Marcus’s reassuring touch.

He would never know whether Damian was safe, whether Lysander had survived the destruction, or whether Lamia had somehow managed to return after disappearing in that blinding light.

And the worst part was that Noah had no way of knowing whether any of them were still alive.

He lowered his head.

Dr. Whitmore’s expression softened when he saw how pale Noah had become.

"Okay. First, let’s take care of your bleeding."

He stepped closer, holding out a hand.

"Come on. You’ll end up dying from blood loss if you keep going like this. Stay in my office while I get the equipment we need to treat your wounds. I’ll also let your sister know where you are so she doesn’t panic when she comes back."

Noah wanted to refuse.

He didn’t want to stay in the office of the man who had apparently written his entire life. He didn’t want to sit there and pretend he could have a normal conversation with someone who had just turned his understanding of reality upside down.

But his head had become unbearably heavy.

The room swayed before his eyes.

He tried to take a step, only for his knees to buckle beneath him.

"Noah!"

Dr. Whitmore moved with startling speed.

He caught Noah before his head could strike the floor, wrapping an arm around his waist and supporting his weight.

For a brief moment, Noah felt the familiar sensation of being held by someone with Damian’s face.

His chest tightened.

Then the remaining strength left his body.

Dr. Whitmore carried him to a large, cushioned chair that resembled a massage chair and carefully lowered him into it.

"Easy," he murmured. "I’ve got you."

Noah barely heard him.

His eyelids felt impossibly heavy, and his body seemed determined to shut down whether he wanted it to or not.

Dr. Whitmore quickly examined his injured arm and reached for the supplies he needed.

"Now, try to relax. I’ll take care of the bleeding first, and once you’ve recovered, we can talk about everything else."

He looked at Noah’s face, his brows drawing together.

"You can’t keep collapsing every time you try to move. Look at you! Your face is practically white, and your eyes are bloodshot. You need to get better before you can start investigating anything."

Noah let out a tired sigh.

He wanted to argue.

He wanted to tell the doctor that he didn’t have time to sit around recovering while his loved ones were trapped in another world.

But he couldn’t even lift his head properly.

His body had finally reached its limit.

As Dr. Whitmore worked, Noah sank deeper into the chair, his thoughts drifting back to the people he had left behind.

Marcus.

Killian.

Both of them were trapped in a deep magical coma when he last saw them.

He remembered Killian’s presence, their conversations, and the way the Alpha could make him feel safe even when the entire world seemed determined to tear them apart.

But Marcus...

Noah’s fingers twitched against the armrest.

He didn’t know what Marcus was experiencing. He didn’t know whether his condition had changed or whether there was any hope of waking him.

What if something happened to him while Noah was gone?

What if he never got the chance to see either of them again?

The thought was unbearable.

And then there was Lysander.

Noah closed his eyes.

The demon prince had already endured so much, and Noah couldn’t imagine what he would do if he discovered that Noah had vanished without a trace.

Would Lysander search for him?

Would he tear the world apart trying to find him?

Knowing him, he probably would.

But that was precisely what frightened Noah.

The Quintorian Empire had been on the brink of disaster when he left.

He had destroyed countless witches, creatures who formed a crucial part of the empire’s magical foundation. The dragons, among the last of their kind to return to the world, had also been caught up in the destruction.

Entire regions might have been affected by the power he unleashed.

And the palace...

Noah didn’t even want to imagine the state of the palace after everything that had happened.

He had entered that world believing he was merely a person trapped inside a novel.

He had never imagined that his actions could bring so much destruction.

For someone who was supposed to become the world’s salvation, he had certainly left behind a trail of devastation.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips.

"Some savior I turned out to be."

Dr. Whitmore glanced at him but didn’t interrupt.

Noah swallowed the lump in his throat.

He didn’t know whether his mates were safe, whether Lysander had survived, or whether the supernatural world was still standing.

But he couldn’t give up.

Not when so many people were waiting for him, even if they didn’t know where he had gone.

"Please," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Just wait for me."

His eyes burned.

"Have faith in me. I’ll find a way back to you."

As those words left his mouth, another face appeared in his mind.

Lamia.

His heart clenched.

he had disappeared in a burst of light while protecting them, freezing the dragons and sacrificing himself to give everyone else a chance.

Noah still didn’t know what had happened to her.

Was he dead?

Had he survived somehow?

Or was she trapped somewhere he couldn’t reach?

He remembered the moment he vanished, the terrible helplessness that had consumed him, and the power that had erupted from him afterward.

He had been so desperate to protect everyone that he hadn’t even considered what would happen if he lost control.

Now he was here, trapped in a world that might not have a way back, while Lamia’s fate remained unknown.

Noah’s eyes filled with tears.

"I need you to come back, too," he whispered. "Wherever you are, Lamia, please be alive."

He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him behind.

He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving any of them behind.