Rachel's POV "That’s your husband?” Emilia cocked her head toward where Alan and his friends were sitting. “That isn’t a human, Rachel. That’s a fucking greek god.” “Damn,” Mark sighed beside me. “I can’t believe that’s what you were complaining about.” I gaped my mouth at the both of them, looking over at Henry to see if he’d back me up. And like the good friend that he was, he frowned at the both of them, “What’s the matter with the both of you? Is that all you wish for in a husband - good looks? What about his cock?” My jaw dropped to the floor as Mark and Emilia burst out laughing. “Well, considering his looks, I’m guessing he’s great in bed too, right?” Mark spoke, trying to hide his grin. “What part of I hate him to the core did you not understand?” I asked them, annoyed. “I was even tempted to tear his skin open today while suturing his wound." “Jesus, I gotta be careful around you.” Emilia said took a small step back. “Oh yeah, you better.” “Anyway, Rachel.” Mark spoke

Rachel's POV We got pulled into an emergency trauma surgery right when we were about to leave the hospital and that delayed things for worse. By the time we were let off the hook, it was almost ten and we simply changed plans and decided to go to a club rather than a bar. I wasn’t a fan of clubs - the loud music and crowds were not really my thing - but after enduring a tiring week, I thought clubbing could help me blow off some of my heat in its busy vibe. Amy was a sweetheart and never complained about our change in plans. Amy had never been particular about things like me. While I never openly declared my disapproval, I had always tormented myself with the disappointment that things didn’t go my way and simply didn’t understand how people like Amy could move on so quickly. It was something I really wanted to change about myself because it brought harmony to nobody. In fact, it was beginning to pose as a self-destructive trait as I was essentially ruining my chance at having a fu

Not even coffee was going to help me.Until yesterday night, I was certain that I had lost contact with the word hangover because it had been ages since I last indulged myself in alcohol consumption.More often than not, I was a responsible drinker - I usually never made it past two drinks. On the occasions that I did get past two drinks, I learned to handle the alcohol uncommonly well. I was never fond of drinking anyway, so I seldom had any trouble dealing with its after-effects.It was quite odd that for being someone who always sought an escape, I never quite used alcohol as an aid.Well, it was mostly because I wanted to avoid creating more problems for myself. In that area, my plate was quite full. Drinking obviously created issues —ranging from a mild hangover to liver cirrhosis.But last night had clearly been an exception. I was drunk out of my mind. But boy, was it liberating. Just putting all the worries aside, all the troubles and stress - and merely focussing on relieving

Rachel's POV Perturbation of the highest order dominated me. I was baffled at the new reality I was facing and not a trace of an idea was bearing inside my mind that could help solve the situation at hand. What was I to make of this? “You said I’m out of danger for as long as he didn’t know me.” I muttered. “What happens now? Is he going to kill me? Can he really do that? Would he?” His eyes widened when he noticed how agonized I was. Seemingly ruled by protective instinct, he drew closer to me. “No, I’m not going to let him lay a finger on you." He promised. “I don’t trust you.” I said as I pulled away from him. Though seated on the same bed, I felt miles away from him. Through blurred eyes, I could detect a sense of hurt cross his eyes, but he quickly concealed it. I knew that it was a brutal thing to say but it was true and he ought to know that. All he's ever done till now was let me down. There was no way I'd give him my trust unless he earned it himself in righteous ways.

Rachel's POV Following the uneventful encounter with Douglas and his family, things had surprisingly started to simmer down. Easier than I had expected, both Alan and I had managed to fall into a quiet routine. After the initial shock had subsided, I’d begun to grasp the situation. Since I was no foreigner to acceptance, I had little difficulty in moving on from it. It didn’t mean that I no longer felt threatened to stay alone anywhere, but that notion wasn’t damaging my regular life as much as I’d expected it to. Alan was pleasantly taken aback with this, he had said earlier, as he had expected me to live in that trauma for at least a few weeks. Our conversations were always limited, but one particular evening, he made time to check up on how I was doing, and that was when he affirmed this. Like myself, Alan was a busy man. As expected of him considering his profession, he had barely any time for endeavours that people tend to do in their free time. Like a young trainee at the hos