Chapter 3 A LITTLE ACCIDENT

My chest felt so tight as my feet led me away from the humiliation and pain. I kept cursing and sucking back the tears as I walked to where the pain and regrets dragged me. The pain was too much, unbearable, but I kept moving as far away from the betrayal as possible.

Finding myself at the parking lot, I discharged a huge breath I was holding, blinking away tears. The cool air did little, or better yet, nothing, to calm the storms raging within me. Tears streaked my cheeks yet again as I approached a car.

I needed a breather far away from that place. Even just for a few hours, because the truth is, I didn't want to let those cheaters weigh me down. I had already lost my man to a bitch; losing my job and myself over them was not worth it.

I started fumbling with my keys, tears turning my vision a blur.

I tried to unlock the door, but luck seemed to have run away from my side that day because, for some weird reason, the key didn't seem to work. I didn't want Vincent or Marylyn to find me still crying over the mess they had turned me into, yet the key was working against my wish.

"Damn it!" I cursed as I continued struggling to open the door.

Seconds ticked by, and the door had still not opened. My patience wore thin with every trial. Frustration was boiling over. The pain was increasing. The sobs were becoming uncontrollable. The urge to get away from that space, even just for a while, was growing ardent.

"Fuck you!" I pounded on the driver's side window, but it didn't budge.

Frustration boiling over more, I pounded on the driver's side window yet again. When it did not give, I hit it harder again with all my might and anger.

The glass shattered, shards of it scattering across the seat and the ground.

Shit! That damn hurt like hell...

"Ugh!" A loud growl came from the inside, making me step back in panic.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and a man stepped out. The man didn't speak at first, and I took the moment of his silence to inspect the car under my vague vision.

The car was a black Range Rover.

If those cursed cheaters had not messed with my brain, my car was a white Vitz, as far as I could remember.

My eyes widened in shock, and I took another safe step back. "Shit!" I cursed as I realized what had just happened.

I had broken another person's car. It was not my car I was working on all that while, and that explained why the key was not working.

The man stood tall before me, broad-shouldered, and he exuded an air that spoke nothing short of dominance. He was the type that would command even the earth itself, and it would obey. I felt so small in front of him. His sharp features were partially obscured by a streak of blood trickling down his cheek.

His piercing, cold, demeaning eyes locked onto me. "You are raging like a volcano of frustrations. Who do you need me to kill, miss?" His tone was cold yet so calm, so manly and sweet, that it elicited an adrenaline rush down my spine.

I swallowed hard and dry, blinking away the tears to clear my vision. "I am so...sorry, Sir," I stammered, finding it difficult to maintain eye contact. "I thought it was my car. I..." I trailed off as my eyes rested on the deep cut on his forehead.

How come I had not seen that deep cut?

So fresh, badly bleeding. There were a few shards of glass stuck in the wound.

Guilt gnawed at me. "Oh, my God! Sir, you are bleeding!"

I rummaged through my bag, pulling out a first aid kit. My hands trembled as I opened an alcohol pad. "I am going to clean your wound, sir. Please stay still," I stammered, my body still shaking.

But he stopped me before I could touch his face. He caught my wrist, and I tensed. His touch was firm but not rough. Tight but sweet and gentle in a way I could not explain. There was a tinge of gentleness in it that made my breath hitch at the unexpected contact. I swallowed hard as he inspected me.

"Do I really need a doctor?" He spoke finally, a hint of amusement in his cold tone.

I cleared my throat, snatching my hand reluctantly from the man. "You do, sir. The cut needs to be attended to immediately before it attracts some bacteria and gets infected."

He nodded faintly, his gaze still fixed on me, searching my eyes as if in doubt of my capabilities as a doctor.

'Not again! What? Even a stranger would just look at me and judge me? What the fuck is wrong with people and their fucking judgments?' My mind screamed, and anger bubbled in me.

Then the man spoke, uttering something that I did not expect. "Supposing I do believe that I really need a doctor, would I be wrong to trust that I am in good hands?"

That melted my heart. I felt it do a small dance inside amid the pain.

I nodded my head boldly, a ray of hope stroking the walls of my heart. At least he was willing to give me a chance to prove myself. Not like that idiotic cheat of a boyfriend who never gave me a chance to prove myself.

Being a surgeon entailed having so much confidence, and I had it all. I never ever doubted myself. Confidence was the first hope a doctor could give her patients, and I knew that so well.

I nodded again. "I know I look like a mess right now, sir, but I am a qualified doctor. I can handle this."

"Are you sure?" He asked, not really doubting me, but more of pulling my leg. I could see it by how his eyes flickered.

"Yes, sir," I responded, maintaining my professional look and without wasting a second and without any doubts. "I can fix it. It is also my way of being responsible for my misbehavior. You can proceed to have it rechecked if you still have doubts. But I suggest we get down to it ASAP to avoid it getting infected."

"Get down to it then," he said, a small mischievous smile playing at the corner of his lips as he leaned against the car.

I started cleaning the cut, my pulse racing under his intense, sharp gaze, but I was so happy that the stranger trusted me immediately, unlike my ex-moronic fiancé, who would not allow me to touch him.

Vincent was always doubting even the obvious, mere things about me. And at that moment, while I attended to the man, I wondered whether Vincent ever felt an ounce of love at all. Or he was just with me for sex. I wanted to cry thinking of the years I had wasted on him, but I promised myself not to let him torment me anymore. I was done-done with him and done with love.

I focused on the task at hand, cleaning the wound gently. At some point, when my fingers brushed his skin, an electric wave erupted between us, causing a moment of uneasiness.

The way he stiffened, his eyes locking on mine and his hand gripping my waist, every gesture spoke volumes, evoking an unknown inferno between us. I could feel myself sweating under his touch; thanks to my fabrics, he didn't know how he was affecting me.

At that awkward moment, I decided to stop. I was done anyway, and I needed to break free from his seductive touch.

"You..." I cleared my throat, pulling myself away reluctantly until my waist slipped from his hands. "You are good to go now, sir," I said softly, almost swallowing my own words due to tension. I stepped back and put the supplies back in my bag.

He swept his right hand over the now cleaned and bandaged wound and sighed in contentment. He then reached out, taking my hand and scanning it for a while. He lifted his eyes, locking mine yet again, his thumb brushing smoothly at the center of my palm, sending a jolt through me.

That touch...it was not what I needed in my messed-up state. But I craved it.