The morning everything went back to normal, I woke up with an upset stomach. Nothing extraordinary: a dull discomfort, a weight I couldn't get comfortable with. I took a half-hearted shower and went down to breakfast with Roman and Eva, as usual. She wouldn't leave the mansion until Camila was arrested and the prosecution had tied up the last loose ends. My favorite breakfast awaited us at the table: crispy toast, sliced fruit, strong coffee, and a small glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

As soon as I took the first sip, a visceral rejection rose in my throat like a wave.

"Isa?" Eva asked, frowning.

"I'm fine," I lied, trying to chew. "I just have an upset stomach..."

I didn't finish. I got up so fast that the chair scraped the floor. I ran to the bathroom with my hand over my mouth and threw up all my breakfast and part of last night's dinner. It was horror movie vomiting, loud and unavoidable. When I rinsed my mouth, Roman was already behind me with a small towel and a look of