Nathaniel leaned back in his chair, his face tense with discomfort. A sharp ache twisted through his stomach, forcing a low groan from his throat. He pressed a hand to his abdomen, his other hand gripping the armrest as sweat beaded along his brow.
'I should've eaten something,' he thought, regretting skipping his breakfast.
He gritted his teeth, trying to breathe through the pain. His mind drifted to Zara—how she always gently reminded him to keep his medicine within reach in case of emergencies, tucked neatly in the drawer beside his desk.
He reached over, yanked the drawer open, and rummaged through until his fingers brushed the white vial. He uncapped it quickly and shook a few pills into his palm. With shaking hands, he grabbed the glass of water on his desk and took a long drink, swallowing the medicine down.
Just then, there were two sharp knocks at the door.
Roberto stepped in but halted as soon as he saw Nathaniel's pale, sweat-soaked face.
