CHAPTER 213: SICK?

"I’ll be fine, boyfriend" I assured Adrien. He’d kissed my forehead, a lingering press that spoke volumes of his concern, before turning his car around and heading back down the driveway. The dizziness had subsided, for the moment, a temporary reprieve that I clung to like a lifeline.

The familiar creak of our front gate greeted me, followed by the rich, savory smell of garlic and herbs wafting out from the kitchen window. My lips curved into a smile even before I opened the door.

"Ivy!"

The little snow-white ball of fluff shot out of nowhere the second I stepped inside. My dog launched herself at me, front paws on my thighs, tail wagging like it might fly clean off her body. I dropped my bag with a thud and knelt, wrapping my arms around her warm, wriggly body.

"Did you miss me, baby?" I cooed, pressing my face into her soft fur. She licked my cheek enthusiastically, answering the only way she knew how.

"That you, sweet pea?" Dad’s voice boomed from the kitchen, richer and more resonant than usual, indicating he was well into his culinary groove.

I walked in, Ivy still doing figure eights around my legs, occasionally bumping into my knees as I followed the sounds of sizzling oil and laughter. There, at the counter, stood my father, chopping vegetables with practiced ease. Beside him, Aria wore my apron like she’d claimed the house as her own, stirring a pot while keeping up a stream of commentary that made Dad chuckle every few seconds.

"Look who’s home," Aria announced when she spotted me, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Perfect timing, Miller. We’ve been slaving away while you’ve been off living the glamorous corporate life."

"Glamorous?" I scoffed, dropping onto one of the stools at the counter. "Try exhausting. And what are you doing in my apron?"

"It looks better on me." She smirked, flicking her hair over her shoulder with mock drama.

Dad glanced up, eyes crinkling with warmth. "Long day?"

"The longest." I smiled faintly. "But this smells amazing. What are we making?"

"Roast chicken with garlic potatoes," he said, sliding the chopped vegetables into the pan with a sizzle.

Before I could respond, the back door banged open, and Leo strolled in, still in his university hoodie, hair sticking up like he’d lost a fight with gravity.

"What’s for dinner? I’m starving," he announced to the room, bypassing any formal greeting as he headed straight for the pots on the stove.

"Hands off, vulture," Aria swatted him away with her wooden spoon. "It’s not ready."

"A taste test is a crucial part of quality control," Leo argued, deftly dodging her next swing and trying to peek under a lid.

The familiar, chaotic energy of my family settled over me like a warm blanket. "I’m going to go change," I said, ruffling Leo’s already messy hair as I passed. "Don’t let him eat everything before I get back."

My room was a sanctuary. I kicked off my heels, pulling off the restrictive work clothes, replacing them with my oldest, softest sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt [Adrien’s own. Hehe]. The transformation from corporate drone to comfortable homebody was instant and immensely satisfying. The faint shadow of dizziness, thankfully, hadn’t returned in full force, only a subtle, lingering presence at the very edges of my awareness.

When I returned, the kitchen was alive. The oven timer was beeping, and Dad was pulling out a large roasting pan. The chicken was a masterpiece of crackling, golden-brown skin, glistening under the kitchen lights. My stomach rumbled in genuine appreciation.

"Ah, perfect," Dad said, his face glowing with pride and heat from the oven. "Here, sweet pea, you get the first taste. Quality control."

He used a pair of tongs to pluck a small, perfect drumette from the pan and held it out for me. My fingers were just about to close around the bone, the savory scent making my mouth water, when a hand shot past me like a viper. Leo. He snatched the chicken, a triumphant grin spreading across his face as he popped it into his mouth and took a bite.

"LEO!" I shrieked, genuinely outraged. "That was mine!"

He grinned around his first bite, shameless. "Mmm. Perfectly seasoned. Thanks, sis."

I grabbed the nearest weapon – a wooden turning stick – and charged. Leo, sensing my impending wrath, let out a yelp of mischievous laughter and bolted from the kitchen.

"Get back here, you chicken thief!" I yelled, launching after him into the living room.

He dodged behind the sofa, laughing a full-throated, infuriating laugh. I rounded the armchair, brandishing the stick like a sword. Just as I lunged, Aria, who had been watching the whole spectacle with an amused smirk from the kitchen doorway, casually stuck out her leg. It was a perfectly executed trip. Leo stumbled, arms flailing, but managing to swallow the last morsel of my

chicken leg with a final, defiant gulp just before he hit the floor with a theatrical grunt.

"Totally worth it!" he declared, rubbing his backside.

I stood over him, turning stick poised, but the damage was done. My beautiful chicken leg was gone.

From the doorway, Dad chuckled. "Don’t worry, sweet pea. There’s plenty. Here."

I glared at Leo one last time before accepting the peace offering. The chicken was delicious, the skin perfectly crispy, the meat tender and juicy.

Soon, we were all gathered around the dinner table. The chaotic energy mellowed into a comfortable hum of conversation. Laughter bounced off the walls as Leo recounted a disastrous chemistry experiment and Aria dissected her latest terrible date with surgical precision. Dad just sat back, a quiet, contented smile on his face as he watched his children and the girl who was practically his daughter fill his house with life. This was home. This was everything that mattered.

I was mid-laugh at one of Aria’s witty comebacks when it hit me as I chewed, a familiar unease began to stir in my stomach.

The rich flavor of the garlic potatoes suddenly turned cloying in my mouth. I swallowed hard, trying to force the feeling back down, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the edge of the table.

It was the same queasy, off-kilter feeling I’d had this morning when I’d bent down to something off the floor. And again after my salad at lunch, which I’d blamed on the dressing. Then in the elevator on my way out of the office. And the time Adrien and I were talking in his office before I started feeling dizzy...

My breath hitched. I mentally counted them. One, two, three, four... this was the fifth time today. A cold knot of unease formed in the pit of my stomach, entirely separate from the sickness. Something wasn’t right.

The laughter and chatter around me started to recede, the sounds becoming muffled as my focus narrowed on the churning in my gut. The delicious smell of dinner suddenly turned cloying, the warmth of the room transforming into an oppressive heat. My throat tightened.

Oh, no.

The urge to vomit became overwhelmingly powerful, a sudden, desperate lurch that left no room for thought or composure.

I pushed my chair back so abruptly that its legs screeched against the hardwood floor, silencing the table. Three pairs of concerned eyes snapped to me.

"I just... need a second," I choked out, the words tasting like bile.

I didn’t wait for a reply. I bolted, one hand clamped over my mouth, sprinting for my bathroom. I crashed through the door, barely making it to the toilet before my body violently expelled the delicious dinner I had just been enjoying. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I braced myself against the cool porcelain, my body trembling with the force of it.

A soft knock on the door. Then, it opened gently. A cool hand found its way to my back, rubbing soothing circles, steady and comforting. Aria.

My vision swam, tears stinging my eyes, not from sadness, but from the sheer, brutal force of the expulsion. I leaned heavily against the cold porcelain, gasping for air, the taste of bile bitter on my tongue.

"Are you good?" Aria’s voice, soft with concern, cut through the ringing in my ears.