The rain pours down relentlessly, beating all those who dare stand outside without proper protection into a miserable state. Thunderous booms echo across the horizon, filling the dark skies with brilliant flashes of lightning. Even the street lanterns cannot pierce the gloom, allowing the rain to soak the streets in almost complete darkness; where occasional, deep groans escapes a wounded man laying there on the ground.

The man attempts to retrieve his phone from his trousers, only to find its battery dead. He curses in irritation, flinging the phone across the alley and blowing out a breath. He struggles to cope with his agony, trying to hold back the groaning from his wounds. He rests his head against the wall, closing his eyes, feeling the rain pour over his face. Maybe this is his end. This is how he's supposed to die. All alone in the alleyway, surrounded by nothing but darkness. His mind wanders to the incident that resulted in him lying helpless in the alley, in the pool of his blood. He would not be here if he had just listened to his second in command. The attackers got lucky, taking advantage of his moments of weakness. He vows to kill those people responsible for his current condition if he manages to make it out alive, which seems unlikely as he goes over his lack of options for help, staring at his broken cellphone that lies before him.

There are footsteps approaching, making his ears perk up at the sound. He moves his body in a failed attempt to stand up, a pained growl leaving his mouth, catching the attention of the person rushing by the alleyway.

A duffle bag over her shoulder, an umbrella in her clutches Amayra was in a hurry to reach home in this thundering weather, but the sound of groaning caught her attention as she passed by the dark alley, causing her to halt and look around, trying to locate the source of the sound, before she noticed there was a shape on the ground.

Her grip tightened around her umbrella as she got closer. She realized it was an injured man, likely a robber or something, as he was groaning and clutching his side as though he'd been stabbed. The alley was dark and shadowy, with the only thing visible being the sudden bursts of lightning, showing flashes of his face and the pool of blood at his feet.

The man looked too sophisticated to be a robber as Amayra scanned his three-piece suit. She couldn't make out his face, as it was hidden with his wet locks veiling his eyes, and his chin lowered. She warily approaches him, crouching at his side as she inspects his bleeding wound. She hurriedly fishes out her phone, ready to call an ambulance, before his arm shoots out, gripping her wrists and shocking her.

"No hospital." He gruff out over the heavy rain, his voice dominating.

Amayra blinks, still in shock, before finding her voice. "But how am I supposed to help you? You're injured, and you're bleeding!" She exclaims, her thumb hovering over the green call button.

The man lifts his face; his silver eyes, matching the thundering weather, are set in a hard glare. "No hospital." He grits his teeth, his grip tightening around her wrist. "Take me to your place or walk the fuck away." He releases her wrist. There would be hell lot of problems if she called the ambulance which he cannot afford to deal with right now. They would ask countless questions regarding his injuries which would eventually lead to involvement of the police.

Amayra scowls at his rude behavior. She should leave him alone. She should take his advice and walk away and forget she ever saw him. However, her kind heart does not allow her to leave the injured man alone.

She huffs, rolling her eyes. "You're lucky my place is nearby."

Forgetting her umbrella, she helps him stand up with great difficulty, as he is no weak man. It was a short walk to her house. Fortunately, her parents were out of town and they will not be returning until next week, leaving the house all to herself.

Once inside the warmth of her home, she eased him onto the couch. Throwing her duffle bag near the couch, she rushed to the bathroom to get the first aid box, not minding her wet, blood-stained clothes.

Helping him was her first priority at this moment.

She starts with gently removing his suit jacket, followed by the vest, and finally the black shirt. Her eyes widened and her throat dried as his muscled physique came into view. His broad shoulders were covered with rippling muscles that glistened with the wetness of rain, the outline of every muscle clearly visible as they flexed and strained with any movement he made. His hard abs were also visible, every ab flexing and straining as he breathed, the muscles standing out boldly in the bright light of her home, bulging with power. The entire sight left her breathless, with his physique seemingly carved from marble.

She was so engrossed in ogling at his half-naked body that she failed to notice the gun tucked in the holster around his waist. As if remembering her purpose, she mentally reprimanded herself for staring at the injured man like a creep. She inspected the angry gash on his side; she was no expert when it came to treating wounds, especially as deep and serious as his. However, she managed to temporarily stop the bleeding. Satisfied with the dressing, she grabs a clean towel to wipe the dirt off his face. She pushes his wet curls out of the way, her breath hitching as she comes across the most handsome man she has ever seen. The man's face was sculpted with delicate features, as though he were a masterpiece by a famed artist. His sharp jaw and high cheekbones were the focus of it all, surrounded by his soft curls brushing perfectly against his face. His straight lips were full and pink, and his long, dark lashes were the centre point of his captivating face. The shadows of the artificial light cast across his skin highlighted the angles of his face, leaving her mesmerised by his stunning beauty. However, what caught her attention was the small scar, barely 2 inches long that ran along the left corner of his lips. Her fingers itched to trace it but she refrains herself from doing so.

 God, was he handsome.

 She carefully cleans his face, gazing at his slightly flushed cheeks and parted lips. She noticed the man was sweating profusely, his skin hot to touch. Her gentle hand brushed against the man's forehead, as though trying to comfort him in his time of illness. Her soft, delicate features were framed by curls that fell to her shoulders, while her bright caramel eyes were filled with concern as she looked at the man. 

 He was just a stranger to her, yet she was worried about him. 

 Throughout the night, she tended to him calmly and carefully, as though he were the most fragile of things, as she tried to ease his fever. Her face was worn and tired from attending to the man in his fever. Her eyes were red and tired, and her hair pulled back into a messy bun as she put the cold, damp rag on his forehead. She seemed to have neglected herself in order to take care of the man, who lay on the couch with his face flushed and covered in sweat. Each breath he took was laboured and shallow, seemingly taking every ounce of her energy just to keep the man alive.

 Amayra felt the tiredness hit her like a wave, her eyes growing heavy despite her efforts to stay awake. Her lids slowly began to droop as she sat next to him, trying to keep him hydrated and comfortable. The man's fever showed no signs of easing, his face was red and sweaty, and his breathing was shallow and rapid. She kept her hand gently on his neck to make sure his temperature wasn't rising even further, but she felt her eyes closing against her will.