No sooner had Sandro reached the pack house and his room, then he staggered. Fortunately, Arabe wasn’t on his back anymore.


    “I thought I weighed nothing,” Arabe remarked dryly.


    “Yeah, you weighed nothing,” he said, clutching his side. Straightening, he started forward but stumbled again.


    “What’s wrong?” Arabe frowned, stepping towards him.


    “I think I took a hit from one of the rogues,” Sandro lifted his hand, eyes widening as he saw the blood that coated it.


    “What the hell?” Arabe eximed, catching Sandro just in time as he stumbled for the third time. She dragged him towards the bed, setting him down, only to find he was unconscious.


    Removing his hand that was still gripping his side, she grimaced. “This looks awful.” The injury wasn’t that deep, and it wasn’t something he wouldn’t be able to heal from, but it stunk.


    Arabe wondered if it was normal for an injury that wasn’t even up to an hour old to stink. Walking to the bathroom, she filled a bowl with water, grasped a towel, then returned to the room.


    She cleaned Sandro’s injury, applying some disinfectant before returning the bowl filled with his blood and water to the bathroom.


    She returned a whileter to find he was now sitting up. His face was pale, and he brushed a hand through his hair.


    “Water,” he murmured.


    “Are you alright?” Arabe asked.


    “I feel like shit,” Sandro said, his eyes moving to his side. He noticed the injury there and how Arabe had done her best to make it even better than it was before. He let his gaze wander to her; his brows raised as he assessed her from head to toe. “Are you alright?”


    “I am not the one with an injury that deep at my side. I look well,” she stepped towards him, cing a hand on his forehead. “You’re pale and running a fever. Are the rogues diseased?”


    “Not that I know of,” Sandro grunted. “Except the goddess is trying to punish me.”


    “Why?” Arabe muttered. As far as she knew, Sandro had been doing right by the goddess, and he had not done anything to warrant punishment from her.


    “I don’t know. She enjoys toying with me,” he said, then added, “I need water, Be.”


    Arabe walked to the tabletop fridge situated at the corner of the room, brought out a bottled of water, uncapped it, and handed it to Sandro. He gulped directly from the stic bottle, emptying the contents before scrunching it up and tossing it across the room.


    “That tastes like shit too,” he groaned, falling back on the bed.


    Arabe sighed, “You should rest. I’ll find a solution to what is going on. It might not be that serious.”


    “I am burning up, Be. How can you say it’s not that serious? Would you have said the same if ze was in a simr position?” Sandro asked.


    “This isn’t about ze,” scowled Arabe.


    “Of course, it isn’t. It’s about me,” he pointed out.


    “Can you be less insensitive now? You’ve mentioned ze’s name a lot this week, and I don’t think it’s fair for you to do so.”


    Sandro snorted, sitting up straight. “Why? Is it because he’s dead?”


    Arabe shook her head. “Yes. And he should be respected.”


    “Would you respect me in the same manner? Also, would you even have a second thought about me, considering I am the father of your unborn children?”


    “Sandro…”


    “No, Be. I am done pretending as though I was fine with all that happened between you and ze. He was my friend, but he still messed with you. He still has a hold over your mind, even in death. I owned you, Be.”


    Arabe’s hands clenched by her side. “You don’t own me, Sandro. I am not a possession.”


    “But I do,” Sandro said. “You might try convincing yourself otherwise, but at the end of the day, you are mine.”


    “You know what? I am done with this conversation,” Arabe said, stalking out of the room.


    Perhaps she shouldn’t get mad, considering how Sandro’s behavior had always been, but she couldn’t help it. She had thought he had changed.


    Was he only pretending to get her to like him? Definitely, he was. He had told her he was trying to be nicer to her, but it wasn’t genuine. He wanted to see if she would ever soften towards him.


    Arabe felt stupid for believing he had changed. “Goodness, I hate him so much.” She groaned as she felt a kick after her deration and nced at her stomach, caressing it. “You little demons. Are you supporting your father now?”


    “If I could turn back the hands of time, I would have preferred he died.” She felt another kick. “Okay, fine. Support him!” she shouted, storming towards Thalia’s room. Anywhere was better than where Sandro was.


    “My stupid big mouth,” Sandro muttered. He hadn’t meant to say that. He would me his jealous heart.


    He was envious that Arabe didn’t soften towards him despite all he was doing. Was he doing it all wrong? He wondered. He had gotten her a puppy and saved her life several times, yet all he got from her was some coolness rather than the warmth he desperately craved.


    Sandro nced at the dent that formed in his pants, his lips twisting in disgust. He was aroused despite his condition. He wanted her, but there was no way he could have her if she didn’te willingly to him. He didn’t want to force it.This belongs to N?velDrama.Org: ?.


    Also, the fact that the injury wasn’t as severe as he was making it out to be, just to see her reaction, made him feel even more stupid. He knew what she would have done if it was ze in the same position. She would have gone all out for him.


    Perhaps, it wasn’t fair that he had mentioned ze’s name out of frustration, but what Arabe was currently doing to him wasn’t fair either.


    Sandro grimaced as the water he drank surged up his throat, and the urge to hurl filled him. He tried to push it down, but it was futile. He dashed into the bathroom, emptying his stomach in the toilet. Weakened, he stayed there for a while, eventually lying on the floor and drifting off to sleep.