Ava's POV
It started subtly. I can feel my body turning against me, piece by piece, like it's punishing me.
By nightfall, I knew something was wrong.
I tossed and turned, sweat clinging to me like a second skin. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. I could barely stand. But the worst part?
I felt him.
Dante.
Even miles away, his presence haunted my senses. My thoughts circled him like a moth drawn to the flame.
And the more I resisted, the worse it got.
At first, I blamed the stress. The insomnia.
I said no. I walked away. I did the right thing.
Didn't I?
So why do I feel like I'm dying?
I curl up on the couch, shivering even though the room is warm. My fingertips are numb. My vision's been blurry for hours, and my body aches like I've been running for days—when I haven't even left the apartment.
I want to cry, but I'm too exhausted. Too confused.
This doesn't feel normal. I was healthy few days back. Heading meetings and signing contracts. So what is wrong with me.
Is it guilt? Withdrawal? Some kind of delayed emotional breakdown? I don't know. I just know I'm scared.
And no one can tell me what's happening.
The doctors say I'm fine. My bloodwork came back perfect. Perfect, even though I can't keep food down and sometimes I feel like I can't breathe.
I haven't told anyone about Dante. About what he is. About what he said.
Because part of me thought if I ignored it long enough, it would all go away.
But now I wonder if I was wrong. If walking away from him broke something in me.
I don't want to think it. Don't want to admit it.
Because if it's true—if this is somehow because of him—then he lied.
He knew.
And he let me walk away anyway.