Too Late To Love Me I Already Left With His Twins (Lydia and Dave) novel Chapter 18

Lydia POV

By the time the charity event ended properly, my body had already started filing complaints.

At first, I ignored it.

Because obviously, after spending days planning an event, watching Cyn turn it into her own soft-launch as Mrs. Ashton, and then standing there while photographers cropped me out of my own idea, I assumed the pounding in my head was just regular emotional damage.

Very normal.

Very on brand for my life.

So when I got back to the house that night and my bones felt heavier than usual, I blamed exhaustion.

When my throat started scratching like I had swallowed sandpaper, I blamed stress.

When I woke up sometime around 2 a.m. sweating through my shirt and freezing at the same time, I blamed Satan

Then I rolled over, dragged the duvet up to my chin, and decided that if I slept hard enough, maybe my body would reset itself by morning,

It did not.

When I opened my eyes again, sunlight was pushing through the curtains in thin pale strips, and for one confusing second, I thought I had died.

Not dramatically.

Just… quietly.

Like maybe my soul had gotten tired of the Grey-to-Ashton nonsense and simply clocked out overnight.

My head throbbed.

My throat burned.

My entire body felt like I had been used as a football field by angry men with unresolved issues.

I lay there staring at the ceiling for a full minute, trying to decide whether I was genuinely sick or simply being dramatic.

Then I tried to sit up.

And the room tilted.

“Ah,” I muttered to no one. “Okay. So this is real.”

I dropped back onto the bed and blinked slowly.

The lavender diffuser in the corner was still doing its best to make the room feel peaceful, but even that smell was irritating me now.

Too sweet.

Too neat.

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+15 Bonus

Too alive for how terrible I felt.

urned my head toward the little plant on the windowsill.

It sat there looking green and hydrated and generally successful.

Must be nice.

After another five minutes of refusing reality, I finally forced myself out of bed. 1

The floor was cold under my feet.

The walk to the bathroom felt unnecessarily long, like the house had personally decided to test my resilience this morning.

I brushed my teeth in slow, miserable silence, then stared at my reflection and immediately regretted it.

My eyes looked swollen.

My skin had gone dull.

My lips were dry.

And my face had that exact look people get when their body is one inconvenience away from betrayal.

“Lovely,” I croaked.

My voice sounded like I had swallowed gravel.

I splashed water on my face and shuffled back into the room.

Maybe if I ate something, I’d feel better.

Or maybe if I ignored my symptoms long enough, they’d become embarrassed and leave.

Either way, I threw on an oversized sweatshirt, tied my hair into the saddest ponytail known to mankind, and made my way downstairs.

The house was quiet in that rich-people way.

Not peaceful.

Just expensive silence.

The kind that made every sound feel too loud.

By the time I reached the dining area, my knees were already annoyed with me.

Bernard appeared from the kitchen almost immediately, carrying that usual calm-but-alert energy he always had.

“Good morning, ma.”

I opened my mouth to reply and nearly coughed up my lungs.

He paused.

His eyes narrowed just slightly.

“Are you alright?”

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That was the problem with people like Bernard.

They paid attention.

And when you’re used to being invisible, being noticed can feel deeply inconvenient.

“I’m fine,” I said automatically.

The lie came out rough and pathetic.

Bernard looked unconvinced.

I dropped into one of the dining chairs and reached for the glass of water already set there.

Even lifting it felt unnecessarily difficult.

My hand shook slightly.

I pretended not to notice.

Bernard definitely noticed.

“I can make tea,” he said carefully. “Or call the doctor.”

I looked up at him like he had personally offended me.

“Doctor? It’s just bad cold”

“Ma, you don’t look well.”

“I never look well,” I muttered.

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