Ek villain

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝚾𝚾𝐈𝐕: 𝐆𝛐𝛐𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐬

The pungent odor hit Rocky the moment he stepped through the grand double doors of their Tuscan villa. It was unmistakable, the acrid tang of vomit clinging to the air like a shroud. His heart lurched. Reena, usually the picture of radiant health, was nowhere to be seen. He called out her name, his voice echoing hollowly in the silent, terracotta-tiled living room.

Following the trail of the smell, Rocky found her huddled in the opulent master bathroom, face buried in the gleaming porcelain bowl. Her shoulders were shaking with dry heaves, and a sheen of sweat covered her forehead despite the cool Italian air filtering through the arched window.

"Reena!" he rushed to her side, kneeling beside the polished marble floor. He gently placed a hand on her back, concern etching lines on his face usually relaxed under the Tuscan sun. "Hey, it's okay. What's wrong?"

Reena's face was pale, the color drained from her usually vibrant cheeks that mirrored the bougainvillea cascading outside the window. She weakly lifted her head, her eyes filled with misery. "I... I don't know," she croaked, her voice hoarse. "I've been throwing up all day."

A wave of nausea washed over Rocky himself in a wave of sympathy. He hated seeing her like this, so vulnerable and unwell, a stark contrast to the woman who usually commanded the villa with her infectious laughter.

"Have you eaten anything different?" he asked, his mind racing with possibilities. Food poisoning was the first culprit that came to mind.

Reena shook her head weakly. "Just my usual breakfast on the terrace this morning. Then... nothing but this."

She gestured weakly towards the porcelain bowl.

Rocky knew better than to pry further in her current state. He helped her rinse her mouth with cool water from the crystal faucet and then helped her back to their spacious bedroom.

The once vibrant room, decorated with warm Tuscan colors and sunlight streaming through the French doors leading to their private balcony, seemed dimmed and cheerless. Rocky helped her crawl onto the plush king-sized bed, the white linen sheets a stark contrast to her flushed skin.

"Do you want me to call a doctor?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

Reena closed her eyes, her face contorted in a grimace. "Maybe later," she mumbled. "Right now, all I want is to sleep."

Rocky understood. He settled himself beside her on the bed, his presence a silent reassurance. He dimmed the lights on the ornately carved headboard, the only sound the rhythmic tick of the antique grandfather clock in the corner.

For the next few hours, Rocky kept vigil by her side. He brought her cool cloths for her forehead, a damp washcloth to clean her face, and a glass of water with a few sips of ginger ale – a home remedy his grandmother swore by, a taste of home amidst the foreign luxury. Every few minutes, he'd check on her, his hand resting lightly on hers, a grounding touch in the vastness of the room.

Reena slept fitfully, occasionally waking with a gasp or another wave of nausea. Each time, Rocky would be there, his quiet presence a source of comfort. He didn't pressure her to talk, simply offering a reassuring smile and a squeeze of her hand.

As the afternoon wore on, the frequency of her vomiting subsided. By evening, she managed to keep down a few crackers and some bland chicken broth Rocky prepared in their well-equipped kitchen, a world away from the cramped city apartment kitchens they used to know. Relief washed over Rocky, a physical sensation that loosened the knot of worry in his stomach.

Exhausted, Reena finally drifted into a deep sleep. Rocky, his own body stiff from staying in one position for so long, carefully extricated himself from the bed. He stretched his aching muscles and padded to the kitchen, the terracotta tiles cool against his bare feet.