ARIA'S POV
I’m standing in the kitchen alone. Sebastian stepped outside to take a call — something about shipments, timing, relocation. His voice faded through the glass doors while I stayed inside, staring at a bowl of fruit on the marble counter. The oranges look too bright. The smell hits me first. Citrus. Fresh. Clean. And suddenly overwhelming. My stomach twists without warning.
I grip the counter. It’s quick — a violent wave of nausea that rises so fast I barely make it to the sink. I just stand there, shaking, waiting for the dizziness to pass.
“Get it together,” I whisper to myself.
It’s stress. Anyone would feel sick living like this. Anyone would feel off. I rinse my mouth even though there’s nothing there. I wash my hands slowly, staring at my reflection in the kitchen wind
