The morning sunlight was too bright. The toast on Aria's plate was too dry. And the smell of the eggs? Too strong.
She pushed her plate away quickly and stood from the table, one hand on her stomach, the other gripping the chair for balance.
Damien, seated across from her with a newspaper in hand, looked up. "You haven't touched your food again."
"I'm not hungry," Aria said, her voice clipped.
"That's the third day in a row."
"I'm not your pet, Damien. You don't need to monitor my feeding schedule."
He folded the paper neatly. "You're pale. Are you sick?"
She forced a laugh. "If I say yes, will you call a doctor or just ask your assistant to pick one from your contacts list?"
"Don't test me."
"Then stop pretending to care."
Damien's jaw tightened. "I don't pretend."
Her stomach rolled again. She swallowed it down and turned her back to him. "I'm going to lie down."
"You've been 'lying down' more often than usual," he said behind her. "I hope you're not hiding something."
Aria froze at the threshold.
She didn't turn. She couldn't. Not when the fear of being found out was clawing at her insides.
"I'm fine," she muttered, then walked away.
But she wasn't fine. Not even close.
She barely made it to the hallway before her knees buckled.
Her vision blurred. The world tilted. Her hand reached out instinctively too late.
She collapsed.
When Aria opened her eyes, she was lying on something soft.
Sheets. Pillows. A dark room.
Then she realized: Damien's bedroom.
She bolted upright too quickly.
A sharp pain shot through her side, and a cold hand pressed gently on her shoulder.
"Don't," Damien said, voice low. "You fainted. Just breathe."
He was seated beside the bed, sleeves rolled up, a glass of water in one hand. There was tension in his eyes anger, worry, confusion.
And something else.
"You found me?" she asked hoarsely.
He nodded once. "On the floor. Unconscious."
She looked away. "Great. Embarrassing and dramatic."
Damien's voice was cold now. "What's going on, Aria?"
"Nothing."
He stood, suddenly restless. "Don't lie to me. You're pale, dizzy, skipping meals—"
"Don't read into it," she snapped. "It's not your concern."
He stepped closer. "You are my wife. Temporary or not. If something's wrong—"
"Why do you care?" she fired back, eyes flashing. "This isn't love. This isn't even friendship. We're a deal. That's all."
Damien stared at her, jaw clenched, then quietly said, "I care because I've lost people without warning before. And I don't intend to let that happen again."
The words hit harder than she expected.
She looked away. Her throat burned.
Silence settled again.
Damien placed the glass of water on the nightstand. "The doctor's on the way."
"What? No," she said quickly. "Cancel it."
"Too late."
"Damien—"
"You passed out. My decision stands."
An hour later
Aria sat stiffly on the edge of the bed as the doctor packed up his bag.
Damien stood near the window, arms crossed, his face unreadable.
The doctor looked at them both. "You're a lucky woman, Mrs. Voss. A little more stress and it could've been worse. But otherwise, you're in good health."
Damien's voice was hard. "And the cause of her collapse?"
The doctor hesitated. "You should ask her."
Damien's eyes narrowed. "Ask her?"
The doctor gave Aria a pointed look. "If she hasn't told you, I can't. Patient confidentiality."
Aria's pulse spiked. She stood quickly. "Thank you, doctor. I'll walk you out."
Damien didn't move. His eyes followed her, sharp and suspicious.
At the front door, Aria grabbed the doctor's sleeve. "Don't say anything."
He looked at her kindly. "I won't. But you need to tell him soon. Secrets don't stay buried long in marriages like this."
"I know."
He left.
She leaned against the door, heart pounding.
How long could she keep this up?
Back upstairs
Damien was waiting in the hallway when she returned.
"I want the truth, Aria."
She met his gaze, forcing calm into her voice. "I fainted from stress and skipped meals. That's all."
"You're lying."
"And you're overreacting."
He stepped closer, studying her face. "Are you...?"
She held her breath.
"Are you sick?"
She blinked. "What?"
"Are you terminally ill?" he asked quietly. "Is that why you agreed to marry me so easily?"
A hollow laugh escaped her. "Seriously? You think I'm dying?"
"I don't know what to think. You're hiding something."
Her face hardened. "You don't get to demand the truth when you built this marriage on lies too."
His jaw clenched, but he didn't deny it.
Aria brushed past him. "If you want your perfect image for your company, you'll drop this. Let me rest, and I'll play your wife again tomorrow."
He turned but didn't follow her.
This time, he let her go.
But she felt his eyes on her back long after she disappeared into her room.