Danish's arrival in Amora's life was exactly like a horrifying nightmare. How could it not be, when that strange man had suddenly barged into her car and pressed a knife to her neck? As if that weren't enough, Danish had also admitted that he'd been following her for a week.
Amora hoped her nightmare would end there, but that hope was in vain when Danish insisted on renting an apartment room. Oh, God! What other horrible things would happen when Amora had to live under the same roof as that thug? She just hoped Danish wouldn't interfere in her life.
Amora hadn't been able to sleep the night before, worried that Danish might quietly pry open her door and sneak into her room. What if that bastard did something to her? Assaulted her, for example. Fortunately, Amora's fears didn't come true. After midnight, she finally fell asleep with her hand clutching a flower vase she planned to use to hit Danish if he bothered her.
And this morning, Amora woke up perfectly fine. She sighed as she set the hair dryer on the vanity. It was a miracle that the thug in the room next door respected her privacy, at least for now.
After brushing her long, slightly wavy hair, Amora decided to leave her room. Her stomach felt empty, and she had just remembered that she'd skipped dinner the night before. Okay, maybe a bowl of cereal and milk would be enough to fill her stomach.
"Good morning, Amor!" A cheerful baritone voice came from the pantry.
Amora's eyes widened in disbelief. Danish was standing in front of the stove, the spatula in his hand a stark contrast to the tattoo on his left arm. The delicious aroma of an omelet spread through the room.
"I only found eggs and sausage in the fridge, so I figured an omelet would be enough to fill us both up." Danish flashed a wide grin.
Us? Amora stared blankly. He looked like a husband making breakfast for his wife. Sweet, right? No! Amora couldn't let herself be impressed. This had to be nothing more than a trick to win her over. Argh! What was Danish really after?
"You're making a mess of my kitchen," Amora said coldly. Of course, she acted as if Danish had truly made a mess, even though the kitchen still looked neat.
"Relax. I'll clean it up later." Danish set down the spatula, then approached Amora and placed his hands on both her shoulders. "Sit down. Breakfast will be ready in a minute."
Gently, Danish guided Amora to the dining table, pulled out a chair, and invited her to sit. Then the tall, broad-shouldered man half-ran back to the pantry, lifted the omelet from the pan, and turned off the stove.
Amora rested her chin in her hand, her eyes never leaving Danish as he cut the omelet into several pieces on a cutting board. Apparently, besides being skilled at holding a gun to a girl's neck, those sturdy fingers were also adept at wielding a knife like a professional chef.
"I guarantee it tastes good. I've been learning to make omelets since I was ten." Danish placed two plates of omelet on the table, one for Amora and one for himself.
"I didn't ask."
"When I lived in an orphanage, I often helped the cook in the kitchen."
Amora rolled her eyes in annoyance. So now Danish was making up a sad story about being an orphan so she'd pity him? Too bad. Amora had no intention of trusting the stranger in front of her.
"Cut the crap." Amora picked up her spoon and fork and roughly cut into the omelet.
"Hey, even if I look like a thug, I don't like lying. I value honesty, even when the truth hurts." Danish pushed a bowl of sweet-and-sour sauce toward Amora.
The spoon in Amora's hand hovered in midair. With a cynical smile, she said, "So you want to tell me you're an orphan so I'll feel sorry for you?"
"Who said that? I never said I was an orphan. Both my parents are still alive."
Amora stopped herself from taking a bite of omelet. For some reason, Danish's life story sounded interesting. Even though she struggled not to show her interest, in the end her lips reflexively formed a question. "So?"
"They abandoned me an hour after I was born."
Silence fell for a moment. They stared at each other. Danish's eyes dimmed, hinting at disappointment, while Amora grew increasingly curious about what happened next.
"And then?"
"When I was fifteen, they came back and wanted me again. Disgusting, right?" Danish laughed and lowered his head as he roughly sliced the sausage. "Argh, I shouldn't be telling a stranger about my past. Forget it."
"Your story doesn't make me pity you. I hope you leave here as soon as possible."
"There you go again. Can't you stop bringing that up for the next few days?" Danish poured tea from the pot into a white cup decorated with flowers and handed it to Amora.
Amora eyed it suspiciously. Steam rose from the warm drink, carrying the distinctive aroma of jasmine tea. "Did you put something in it?"
"It's okay. If this tea is poisoned, then we'll die together." This time, Danish took a new cup and poured tea from the same pot, sipping it without the slightest hesitation. "Stop thinking the worst of me."
"I'll never trust you."
"What are you afraid of? If I wanted to kill you, I would've done it in the car last night. Or are you afraid I'll assault you?" Danish looked into Amora's eyes for a moment. "Sorry to say, but a skinny, flat-chested girl like you can't turn me on at all."
Amora ground her teeth. Danish had the nerve to insult her? What a jerk! "You think I'm interested in a thug like you? Sorry, but my boyfriend is far more attractive than a bastard like you."
"Proud to be a mistress?"
"Oh, my God! How many times do I have to tell you? The relationship between Doctor Andre and me is strictly between a patient and her doctor. Besides, I already have a boyfriend. So stop thinking I'm some kind of mistress."
Danish shrugged. "For now, I only believe what I see. Or maybe... besides Doctor Andre, you have plenty of other lovers too? Wow! I never would've guessed that innocent face you show everyone is just a mask."
Amora pushed the plate in front of her away, lazily shoving aside the leftover omelet. She'd lost her appetite. Danish's chatter had suddenly made her feel full. What planet was Danish even from? Amora wanted to kick that man's ass and send him flying back where he came from.
"Having you here makes me feel like I'm in hell," Amora sneered, her eyes fixed sharply on Danish.
Meanwhile, the person being glared at remained relaxed, enjoying the last piece of omelet and finishing the tea in his cup. Danish showed no sign of guilt. Oh, right—not even an apology.
"Hell or heaven depends on how you look at it. I've been trying to behave here, but you always assume I mean you harm."
"How could I not think you're—"
Amora's words were cut off when Danish shot up from his chair and smashed a glass. She nearly jumped at the loud crash as the glass struck the floor and shattered into pieces.
Amora squeezed her eyes shut as Danish picked up a shard and held it to the girl's neck. "This is what's going through your mind, isn't it?" Danish hissed. "I'm a thug holding a girl hostage. You don't like me being nice? Then tell me what you want."
"Stay out of my life." Amora's voice trembled. She felt a sting in her neck as Danish slowly moved the shard, leaving a thin line of blood behind.
"Even if I had to kill you right now, I wouldn't be afraid. I've been arrested by the police several times for criminal acts, but I'm always released within an hour. You know why? Because my parents post bail for me."
"Then kill me now." Amora dared to lift her chin and meet Danish's sharp gaze.
Danish clicked his tongue and smiled cynically. His broad frame bent forward, bringing his face closer to Amora's. His hand drew the shard across the girl's neck again. Amora winced and bit her lip.
"Killing you would be easy, Miss. But unfortunately, I'm not interested in doing that."
"Why?"
"I'm more interested in diving into the depths of your eyes and finding out why those gray eyes always hint at some kind of pain." Danish tossed the shard from his hand. His sensual lips, topped by a thin mustache, curved into a gentle smile. "We both have wounds from the past. Maybe we can heal each other?"
For a moment, Amora almost succumbed to Danish's gentleness. Fortunately, she regained her senses the next second. Did Danish think Amora would sympathize with him just because he'd mentioned his wounds from the past? Bullshit! Amora would never trust that thug.
Faintly, red liquid began to appear on Danish's palm. His hand had been cut by both sharp edges of the glass shard when he'd gripped it moments earlier.
Amora's neck stung as well. Slowly, she touched the thin wound—two small scratches. Why had Danish given her only minor injuries? Why hadn't he simply killed her?
"I'm not going to leave you alone, Amor. At least not until I make sure there are no more gaping wounds hurting you." Danish reached for a tissue on the table, then wiped a drop of blood from Amora's neck. "I don't like seeing women hurt."
And Amora could only stand frozen as Danish gently stroked her head. Argh! What kind of act was Danish putting on? Why did he seem so mysterious, always changing his attitude? Sweet at times, and frightening at others.