~Aria's POV~

The next morning, the vibration of my phone jolted me awake, piercing through the haze of my hangover. I groaned, rolling over to grab the phone, and my head pounded in protest.

Every movement felt like an effort, and the ache in my temples threatened to split my skull open. I squinted at the screen — it was Richard, my father.

I answered with a weak, "Hello?" My voice was hoarse, and my throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper.

Richard's urgent voice ...