Poppy's instincts twitched immediately. Something about this whole arrangement felt… off. But refusing might cause more trouble, so she forced a small smile and accepted the cup. "Thank you."
Lydia kept staring at her, so she took a small sip. It tasted normal.
To avoid suspicion, she drank a few more mouthfuls, then handed the cup back. The maid bowed and left.
Lydia smiled. "The room ahead is yours. It's a suite, and you'll be staying there with—"
But her voice faded as Poppy's vision swayed slightly. The hallway tilted.
Her breath caught.
Her fingers tightened around her bag as her knees wobbled.
Something wasn't right.
She blinked rapidly, trying to steady herself, but the dizziness only worsened.
Then it hit her.
The milk.
Her pulse quickened in panic. They'd drugged her.
Before Lydia could take another step closer, Poppy spun around and bolted toward the door at the end of the hall. By some miracle, it wasn't locked. She rushed in and slammed it shut behind her, twisting the lock in place.
Her breaths came fast and shaky.
Drugging her could only mean one thing — they planned something. And in this isolated wing, she was completely at their mercy.
But her body wasn't listening to her fear anymore. The heat spreading through her veins turned into fire. Her skin tingled, her cheeks burned, and her heartbeat grew erratic.
"Damn it…" she whispered, pressing her palm against the cool door. Her body felt too heavy, too hot.
She stumbled deeper into the room, desperate for air.
Maybe a window—
She pushed open another door and stepped inside.
And then — she collided with something hard and warm.
Her breath hitched.
A strong hand shot out and caught her by the arm, steadying her before she fell.
The moment she looked up, her lips parted in shock.
Dark eyes met hers — cold, unreadable, and framed by the dim light that cut across his face.
Alaric Langford.
The man she had been avoiding all day.
Her new husband.
Her body, hot and trembling, betrayed her completely. Instead of pulling away, she swayed closer… and then rested against his chest.
The heat radiating from him felt like comfort, even when she knew it shouldn't.
"Who told you to come here?" His voice was deep — low enough to make her stomach twist.
"I… I didn't mean to…" she whispered, her voice trembling as her fingers unconsciously gripped the fabric of his shirt. "I just needed to breathe."
Her words slurred slightly, her lashes fluttering.
He frowned, his hand tightening on her shoulder as he studied her flushed face.
"What did they give you?" he muttered, almost to himself.
But Poppy didn't answer. Her head dropped weakly against his chest. The warmth of his body dulled the dizziness, and for a brief, shameful second — she let herself sink into it.
"Please…" she murmured faintly, her voice barely audible. "Just… don't push me away."
Alaric went still.
His jaw tightened, his dark eyes narrowing — not in anger, but in confusion.
Because the woman trembling in his arms didn't look like the troublemaker everyone described.
She looked… breakable.
And before he could stop himself, his hand brushed the side of her face, his touch slow, hesitant.
"Bella," he said quietly, his tone unreadable. "What did they do to you?"
But she was already slipping, her breathing soft and shallow, her head resting against him as darkness pulled her under.