Ella POV
"What do you mean you're dying?" I demanded, rushing to my father's side, my voice shaky despite my efforts to sound composed. I instinctively checked his pulse, his body temperature—anything that might confirm or contradict the bombshell he'd just dropped on me.
My father—the indomitable, unshakable, larger-than-life Kingsley—dying? It sounded impossible. He still looked as youthful and commanding as ever, with barely a hint of gray in his dark hair and a vitality that could outmatch men half his age.
He chuckled softly, a sound that normally soothed me but now only heightened my anxiety. "Calm down, Ella. I'm not dying tomorrow, if that's what you're worried about."
"Then what do you mean?" I snapped, guiding him to the couch. "This isn't funny, Dad. If this is some manipulative ploy to get me back into your world—"
