Aria

I stepped out of the room, throat dry, skin crawling with discomfort I couldn’t shake. The thirst just wouldn’t quit, like something boiling under my skin, refusing to simmer down. Maybe it was rage. Maybe it was truth clawing its way up my throat, threatening to scatter everything, like I couldn't wait anymore.

Either way, I needed water.

If I could swallow my pride, I’d tell Grant I wanted to go back to the penthouse, where there was space to breathe, to think, to not be a ...