CHAPTER 427: TEN MINUTES

I kissed her. It started gentle, a question, a brush of lips against lips. But the second she gasped, a tiny, yielding sound, it turned desperate. I couldn’t stop.

My mouth moved from her lips to the line of her jaw, down the column of her throat, to the delicate hollow of her shoulder. I inhaled the clean, soapy scent of her skin, felt her arms lock around my neck, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer.

She made a small, broken sound that went straight to my soul.

Then her stomach growled.

A loud, unmistakable, profoundly human rumble.

Aria went rigid beneath me, her face flushing a deep, mortified red.

"I—that’s not—I mean, I ate, but—"

I pulled back just enough to look at her, the corner of my mouth twitching despite the war inside me.

Then I leaned in and bit her lower lip, a gentle, possessive pressure, before forcing myself to peel my body away from the heaven of hers.

"Stay," I commanded, the word rough as I reached for the phone.

I ordered brunch. A barrage of options... eggs every way, toast, fruit, yogurt, pastries. A feast for a queen, or a prisoner on death row.

"What else do you want?" I asked, my hand covering the mouthpiece.

"I’m not sure," she murmured, still flushed. "Maybe... nothing too heavy? My stomach has been... unsettled."

My focus narrowed to a laser point on her.

"Unsettled?" The word was dangerously soft.

"It’s nothing," she said, too quickly. A frantic edge to her voice. "Just... stress. You know."

I didn’t believe her. But I finished the order and hung up.

"I can take you to a doctor. Now," I said, moving back to sit beside her, the mattress dipping under my weight.

"No!" Her hand shot out, grabbing mine, her grip surprisingly strong. "I’m fine. Really. It’s just... weeks of cheap noodles probably. My body’s forgotten what real food is."

"Aria—"

"And Ash and I are going to a clinic later," she added, the words tumbling out. "Just a routine check-up. Nothing to worry about."

I studied her face, searching for the cracks in the façade, for the truth she was guarding so fiercely. The desperation in her eyes was a palpable thing.

Finally, I gave a single, curt nod. "Okay. But if you’re still feeling unwell after that clinic, I’m taking you to my family’s physician. No arguments. No discussions."

"Deal," she breathed, the relief washing over her so visibly it was another piece of the puzzle.

I kissed her again, because not kissing her was an impossibility, then retreated to the shower, the cold water doing little to slake the fire she had reignited.

---

When I emerged, the food had arrived.

Aria was at the small table, still wrapped in that damned towel, a siren testing my resolve. The dishes were spread before her like an offering. Scrambled eggs flecked with herbs, golden toast, a mosaic of fresh berries, thick yogurt, flaky croissants, slices of pale melon.

But she wasn’t eating.

She was... conducting an autopsy.

I watched, my own food forgotten, as she leaned forward and delicately sniffed the eggs. She took a microscopic bite, chewed with a thoughtful frown, and set her fork down with an air of finality.

The toast received the same treatment... a tiny, hesitant nibble, then rejection.

The fruit seemed to pass whatever silent test she was conducting; she ate a few berries, one by one.

But the eggs she pushed firmly away, a faint look of distaste crossing her features.

My frown deepened. This was alien. The Aria I knew possessed an appetite that was both endearing and relentless. I had watched her devour these very foods with uncomplicated joy.

"Aria... If you’re feeling unwell... Then we have to.." I said, my voice carefully neutral.

"I’m fine," she replied quickly, offering a smile that was a pale imitation of the real thing. "Just... not very hungry. Picky, I guess."

Not hungry... Even when we both heard her stomach protest.

I wanted to press. To demand the truth. To shake it out of her.

But I had promised. The clinic with Ash was the agreed-upon boundary. So I forced myself to eat, each bite like ash, my eyes never leaving her.

She managed a few more pieces of fruit and half a slice of toast before decisively pushing her plate away.

It was not enough. Not nearly enough to sustain a bird.

But I held my tongue.

For now.

Two hours later, we were preparing to leave.

Aria was dressed in the clothes Ash had brought... simple, soft, making her look heartbreakingly young and vulnerable.

I shrugged into a suit, the fine wool feeling like a suit of armor, a disguise for the primal fear coiling in my gut.

As I fastened my jacket, she stepped in front of me, her small hands smoothing the lapels, her touch a brand through the fabric.

"Don’t frown so much," she whispered, a fragile smile touching her lips. "Just wait in the car. I’ll be okay."

"Ten minutes," I said, the words leaving no room for negotiation. "You have ten minutes to talk to her. Not a second more. Then I am through that door."

She exhaled, a soft surrender. "Fine."

"I mean it, Aria. The instant I feel something is wrong—"

"I know." She cupped my jaw, her thumb stroking my cheekbone, and the tenderness in the gesture was a knife to my heart. "I know. And I love you for it."

The words, so simply said, shattered me.

"I love you too," I rasped, the confession torn from a place of raw, unprotected need. "Which is why the thought of you in that room alone is killing me."

She nodded, and we left, stepping out into a world that felt newly dangerous.

---

The drive was a study in silent tension.

Aria sat beside me, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap her knuckles were white. She stared out the window, seeing nothing.

I drove with one hand, the other reaching across to cover her frozen fingers with mine.

"You can still turn back," I said, my voice low. "We can turn the car around right now. The evidence is enough. You don’t need to do this."

"I need to," she said, her voice distant but firm. "I need to look her in the eye."

I didn’t understand it. I would have burned every bridge and salted the earth behind us. But this was her path to peace.

And I would walk through hell to give her whatever she needed.

Even this.

The café appeared, a quaint, deceptively peaceful little shop on a quiet corner.

I pulled to the curb but left the engine running.

"Ten minutes," I repeated, the words a vow and a threat.

"Ten minutes," she agreed.

Then she leaned over, her hand coming to my cheek, and she kissed me. It was soft, and deep, and full of a promise that felt like both a blessing and a goodbye.

"I’ll be right here," I breathed against her lips, my hand tangling in her hair, holding her to me for one desperate second longer.

"I know."

She slipped from the car and walked toward the entrance, a solitary figure moving toward the heart of the storm.

And I watched her go, every cell in my body screaming to follow, to shield her, to destroy any threat.

But I stayed.

Parked at the curb.

Engine running.

Because she had asked me to trust her.

And I did.

With my life. With my sanity. With my very soul.

Even as the clock began its torturous countdown in my head.