The door swung open and Clara appeared, Darian’s hand on her back as he all but pushed her into the room. “She face is hot and she went all swoony onstage,” the Wolf announced. Clara gave Bella a perplexed look and set a black bag on the table where her scotch rested. “Thank you, Darian. I’ll take it from here.” Her gaze traveled disapprovingly between her and the glass, but she said nothing of it. “Hi again, Starr. I hear you’re not feeling well?” Bella reiterated for what felt like the hundredth time that night, “I’m anemic and I have low blood sugar. I just got a little sick on the pedestal with the bright lights, but I’m fine now.” “Oh shit, I forgot the food,” Darian exclaimed, rushing towards the door. “I had it, then I saw her and—shit, I’ll be right back, don’t faint.” He pointed at Bella, as if she had any control over that. Clara rolled her eyes. “Now that the mother hen is gone, let’s take a look at you,” she said, retrieving a smal
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