Aria stood at the door, heart pounding, expecting to see Damian, ready to beg, to explain, to plead for his understanding. But instead, Marco stood there, looking calm and gentle, a sharp contrast to the storm she had just faced.
“Marco…” she whispered, confused.
“I heard the commotion,” he said quietly, his eyes scanning her tear-streaked face. “Are you okay?”
Her lips trembled. She wanted to scream that nothing was okay, that everything had fallen apart, but all she could do was shake her head.
Marco stepped inside slowly. “You don’t look like yourself, Aria. What happened?”
“I don’t know,” she muttered, rubbing her arms as though trying to erase the memory. “Everything felt… strange. I—I was dizzy. I didn’t know what I was doing…”
“Maybe someone slipped something into your drink,”
