I watched him disappear inside.
Then I sat alone in the SUV for a moment.
The nausea hit again.
Sudden. Violent.
A hot, suffocating wave surged from my stomach straight up to the back of my throat.
My body reacted before my mind could register it.
My hand flew over my mouth.
I bolted inside the mansion.
My boots slapped against the marble floors as I ran through the foyer, past the staircase, down the east hallway.
Everything blurred.
My vision tunneled.
I pushed open the nearest guest bathroom door and barely made it to the toilet before my body betrayed me completely.
I dropped to my knees on the cold tile.
My hands gripped the porcelain rim so tightly my knuckles turned white.
The first heave ripped through me.
Nothing solid came up — only sharp acid and bitter liquid burning my throat.
My stomach cramped violently again.
Another wave.
I gagged.
Dry retching.
My ribs ached from the force.
Tears gathered in my eyes — from physical strain.
A thin string of saliva hung from my lower lip.
I spat into the bowl.
Flushed.
The sound of water rushing felt loud in the small space.
My body convulsed again.
Smaller this time.
Just bile.
Just the sour aftertaste of food I barely remembered eating.
