Fake Date, Real Fate-Chapter 172: The Eve[III]

At first, it was subtle.

Just a soft flush in my chest. A tingle spreading low in my belly, like warmth blooming beneath my skin.

I blinked and shifted my weight, assuming it was the heat of the room or maybe the sugar from those ridiculous little tarts. I’d barely moved from where Adrien left me. The music swirled overhead like smoke, rhythmic and slow.

But then—

A deeper thirst unfurled in me. I need water. Although, I’d already taken a sip from the glass of water a server passed by with, and it had done nothing. The dryness clung to the roof of my mouth, my lips.

I shook my head, confused. Why do I feel so thirsty?

I tried to focus on the swirling performers around me, the dancers with their lithe bodies weaving through the crowd, the air thick with music, perfume, and the scent of sweet things.

Five more minutes passed and I felt it again. A sudden spike of sensation. The soft lining of my dress began to itch — not uncomfortably, but sharply. Every seam felt like it was whispering across my skin. I shifted uncomfortably, running a hand over my neck.

The ambient lights, once beautiful and moody, now pulsed too bright. The walls shimmered unnaturally. Voices nearby stretched and warped, echoing like they were speaking through water.

I reached out to steady myself against a column.

What the hell?

My fingers trembled.

There was a low hum — not in the room, but inside me. At the base of my skull. A buzzing that built in waves. My heartbeat felt too fast. My lips tingled. And suddenly... everything felt too much.

Too loud. Too warm. Too far away.

Or maybe... I was just not close enough.

Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.

I pressed a hand to my stomach, trying to catch my breath. I needed air. Or silence. Or maybe—Adrien. I needed him. His voice. His hands. His—

I closed my eyes.

Okay. Okay. This was fine. Just a moment. A dizzy spell. I’d eaten sugar, I’d had champagne — that’s all. Nothing to worry about.

Just... needed a moment.

A breath.

But I couldn’t stop licking my lips.

I need to get out. Out of the music, the lights, the heat, the hands brushing my skin. My thoughts are unspooling, tangling — every second stretched and warped like a nightmare that won’t wake.

I needed to go to the bathroom.

My head was starting to pound—not like a normal headache, but like something inside me was trying to push its way out. My skin felt... tight. Too warm. Too exposed. The music had turned into something distant and pulsing, like it was vibrating through my bones instead of my ears.

My hand trembled around the delicate stem of the flute.

"I..." I started, but I didn’t even know how to finish the sentence. What was happening?

Then a hand closed gently around my arm.

"Isabella," Clara’s voice was softer than I’d ever heard it. Concerned. "Are you okay?"

I turned toward her. She looked like she was underwater. Wavy. A little too golden.

I shook my head—too fast. The room tilted. "No. I don’t—I feel... weird." My voice cracked on the word.

She immediately stepped closer, steadying me. "Do you need to sit down?"

"No," I whispered. "I think I need... maybe some air. Or the bathroom. I don’t know." My throat was dry. So dry. I tried to lick my lips, but even that felt slow.

"Alright," Clara said, already sliding an arm around my waist. "Come on. Let’s go upstairs. The venue has private rooms for guests—you can rest there for a few minutes."

I didn’t argue. I couldn’t. My body felt like it wasn’t mine. I leaned into her a little too easily as she guided me toward the elevators, murmuring something to a nearby staff member that I couldn’t make out.

We reached the elevator, and just as the doors opened, she suddenly froze.

"Oh—damn it," she muttered, patting her clutch. "My purse. I left it downstairs."

I blinked, trying to make sense of her words. "It’s okay. I can wait—"

"No, no. You don’t look like you should be standing for long." She reached into a thin slit of her gown and pulled out a small, glossy card. "Here. This is the keycard. It’s suite 14B, just at the end of the hallway when you step out. Only one door has a golden serpent handle—you can’t miss it."

I stared at the card in her hand. The glossy surface seemed to pulse faintly, reflecting the dim, shifting lights of the hall like liquid mercury. It felt oddly warm against my palm when she pressed it there, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor running through it.

"I’ll be right behind you, okay? Go in and lie down for a bit. I’ll grab my bag and come right up." Clara gave my arm a reassuring squeeze and then, with a worried glance, walked quickly back towards the main ballroom, her figure blurring even as she moved away.

My eyes burned. My head spun. The buzzing at the base of my skull ratcheted up a notch, like a thousand tiny insects trapped inside. I clutched the keycard, its warmth spreading, and a bizarre comfort in the surging chaos of my body. Suite 14B. Golden serpent handle.

Taking a shaky breath, I stumbled into the elevator. The doors hissed shut, and the mirror-like interior warped my reflection into something stretched and alien. The ascent was too fast, too smooth, my stomach lurching with each floor. The numbers above the door flickered, blurred, and then solidified to ’14’. The soft chime of arrival was a deafening clang in my ears.

The elevator doors whispered open like a breath I didn’t want to take. I stepped out, the hallway stretching longer than it should — too quiet, too colorful. My feet felt soft. Not cushioned, just... disconnected.

Suite 14B. End of the hallway. Serpent handle. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

I walked like I was underwater. Each step an echo. The keycard clutched in my damp palm, my fingers twitching as if the glossy plastic had a pulse of its own. Did it? God, what was happening to me?

The hallway pulsed. The sconces on the wall blinked. Or maybe I did. I stared at the serpent handle. Its eyes gleamed. I imagined it breathing. I imagined it speaking. I imagined it biting.

I swiped the card and the door unlocked with a low click. That sound terrified me. It was real. Solid. It meant I was here. Alone.

Inside, the suite was dark and lavish — shadows painted over velvet, the windows towering and moonlit. I stumbled in. I didn’t lie down. I didn’t make it that far.

My knees buckled. I landed on the thick carpet like a marionette whose strings had been sliced. My breathing came in sharp, jagged gulps. My chest was too tight to hold them. My skin crawled. The hum at the base of my skull was louder now. Angry. Alive.