You were in a arranged marriage. You both hated eachother and there was no love in this marriage too.

One day after work, you walked into the house injured, nothing new since it was pretty common.

You walk upstairs in the master bathroom, groaning as you pull off your bloody shirt. You stared at your stomach in the mirror. The wound was pretty bad that you had the urge to go to the hospital but decided not to since your husband who is a surgeon works there.

You grabbed the first aid box, holding a cloth to your stomach. You groaned as your head tilts back and your eyes were closed as you groaned in pain...

"Fuck..." you whisper under your breath.

"What the fuck happened? Who did this to you?"

You opened your eyes seeing your husband standing in the doorway, his scrubs tight on his body.

"Why do you care?" you retort.

His eyes burn holes into yours.

"Because, your wife. I don't want to see you hurt. Ever."

You stay quiet for a moment before whispering to him,

"I need your help..."

He strides over to you and gently pulls your hand away from your stomach. Your back flush against his chest.

His eyes soften when he sees you flinch.

"Sorry, Darling." he says quietly before grabbing the aid box and walking into the bedroom.

You stared at him as he walks away. He's never called you that before...

"Lay down" he says as he gestures to the bed.

Hesitantly, you obliged.

He sits on the side of the bed and places his hands on your waist to pull you closer.

You watch as he concentrates on your wound, his hands brushing against your bare skin.

Once he finishes, he stands and looks down at you.

"If something like this happens again, you call me. Straight away."

"Why help someone you hate?" you questioned.

He tilts his head slightly, a brief moment of silence.

"I never, hated you"