Chapter 116 My Angel | 009
NOELLE
Azren’s hand wraps around my wrist before I can retreat to my room. I freeze, my breathing quickening. What is he trying to do? I know what I heard. If he's trying to deceive me—
"She's my doctor," he blurts out, and I whirl around, bewildered.
"What?"
He sighs, limping slightly as he moves closer to me until he's all I can smell and see.
"She was administering my medication," he sighs, stepping aside.
The blonde woman waves a large needle and syringe in front of my face, and I nearly pass out at the sight of it. Only the syringe is the size of Azren's forearm.
"How is that—"
Blood drains from my face. Azren bends over a little, pulling up one leg of his loose black pants to reveal a bandage wrapped around his thigh. It's stained with blood.
"He requires a larger dose since he's a literal powerhouse, plus a needle that works like a drill. And we have to be very careful about it so he doesn't heal and end up with the needle stuck inside," the woman deadpans, and I sway. Azren steadies me right away, a worried look on his face.
A needle that works like a freaking drill?!
"Nice to meet you. I'm Sabrina," the woman says, a smirk curling her lips as she holds out a hand for a handshake.
She must be supernatural, just like Azren, seeing how she seems to know a lot about his condition. To think that I just embarrassed myself. My face burns as I accept her handshake, unable to look her in the eye.
"I'm Noelle," I tell her, and her grip tightens slightly.
"I heard about you," she replies. And my stomach chooses the worst possible moment to announce itself.
A loud rumble punctuates the air, and I grimace.
To think that I believed that I’ve gone through enough humiliation for the day.
Dammit.
I peek at Azren, who watches me with amusement in his eyes. Then I lower my gaze.
"Come on, let's go feed that wild beast." He tells me, wrapping an arm around my waist.
I blink at him, bewildered. Didn't he write that we can't touch? What's going on?
Too hungry to ask questions, I let him lead me to the kitchen. As he plates the food, he glances at me. Sabrina is by the fridge, taking out juice.
"You're lucky my mum stopped by earlier. I'm a terrible cook," he says, and I snort.
"I was worried you wouldn't want to share your food with me."
He shakes his head in disbelief. "Why would I?"
Sabrina lets out a puff of breath, walking towards us.
"It's unfortunate how you didn't get your dad's insane kitchen skills," she says and I tense instinctively.
She knows his dad too?
Azren rolls his eyes, and I gape at him.
"Can you not talk about him, Sabrina? It dampens my mood," he drones, and she flashes him a big smile.
"Come on now. Don't do that. Speaking of your incredibly sexy old man, he dropped by at the office. He asked about your health. He's worried about you, you know?"
I've never felt so out of place and distant. It's clear he has quite the history with Sabrina, and I don't know how to feel about that.
He looks away, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "Drop it, Sabrina."
"It's been ten years already, hottie. He misses you a lot. He had tears in his eyes when he asked about—"
"Sabrina," his voice drops, a sudden chill in the air.
She seems to get the memo. She quickly closes her mouth. But I am curious now. Why exactly is he avoiding his dad?
Azren slides a plate towards me—pasta with some kind of creamy sauce, roasted vegetables on the side, a piece of garlic bread that smells like heaven and hell at the same time. My stomach twists again, but this time it's not just hunger. It's the old, familiar dread.
Azren leans one hip against the counter, his arms crossed, watching me with that quiet intensity that makes my skin prickle. Sabrina is perched on a bar stool a few feet away, sipping juice straight from the carton. She's still smirking, but now it feels aimed at me.
"Eat," Azren says.
I pick up the fork. My hand trembles just enough that the metal clinks against the plate. I force a small bite and chew slowly. The flavour explodes on my tongue. It's so good, but my throat closes halfway through the swallow. I have to concentrate to get it down.
One bite. Two.
Each one feels like pushing a boulder uphill.
Sabrina tilts her head, studying me over the rim of the carton. "You're not used to eating this much at once, are you?"
I freeze, and Azren's gaze snaps to her.
"Sabrina," he warns.
She shrugs, unbothered. "Just asking. Thought you'd want to know if your new wife is starving herself on top of everything else."
My cheeks burn. I set the fork down carefully, my fingers curling into my palms under the counter where they can't see. The food sits heavy in my stomach already, a foreign weight that makes me want to run to the bathroom and undo it all. I hate that the urge is still there, whispering that with one flush, I'd feel lighter again.
Azren's jaw tightens. He doesn't look at me right away. He keeps his eyes on Sabrina like he's deciding whether to throw her out the window.
"She's eating," he says finally, his voice flat. "That's all that matters."
Sabrina raises both hands in mock surrender. "Touchy. I'm just the doctor, remember? If she's malnourished, it's going to affect how her body processes your blood next time you have to play vampire daddy."
My gaze flies to Azren. He doesn't flinch, but the muscle in his cheek jumps.
"Enough," he says.
Sabrina sighs dramatically and hops off the stool. "Fine. I'll leave you two lovebirds to your domestic bliss. Call me when you need another dose, hottie."
She winks at him, then she glances at me with something almost like pity. "Take care of yourself, Noelle. He's useless when he's worried."
She saunters out, her hips swaying, leaving the kitchen suddenly too quiet.
Azren exhales through his nose, then he turns to me. His expression softens the second our eyes meet.
"You don't have to finish it all," he says. "Just... a little more. Please."
I look down at the plate. Half the pasta is still there, mocking me. Eat and feel too full, too visible and too much. Don't eat and prove Sabrina right. Prove I'm still broken.
"I'm trying," I whisper.
"I know." He rounds the island and stops just behind me. "You don't have to do it alone."
He reaches past me, picks up the fork, spears a small piece of vegetable, and holds it out like he's offering it to a scared animal.
My breath catches in my throat. "I'm not a child."
"No," he agrees softly. "You're my wife. And I'm going to take care of you. Even when you hate it."
We're not even married yet!
Even so, I open my mouth. He slides the bite in gently. I chew and swallow. It goes down easier this time.
"Good girl," he murmurs.
The praise lands low in my belly, warm and wrong and right all at once. My thighs press together under the counter. His eyes seem to darken at once.
"After this, we'll head to the marriage registry," he drops the bomb without batting an eye.
I nearly choke on the next forkful of food which he offers me. I know I suggested the marriage thing, but it doesn't feel real at all. Months ago, he was just my distant, hot-as-hell boss.
Now he's about to become my husband. Holy shit.
He feeds me in silence until half the plate is gone. My stomach feels stretched and uncomfortable, but not unbearable. The urge to purge is still there, lurking, but it's drowned out by the steady rhythm of his breathing and the careful way he's feeding me like I'm something precious.
When I finally shake my head at the next forkful, he sets it down without argument.
"Better?" he asks.
I nod, my throat tight. "A little."
His gaze softens.
Then he takes a deep breath. Almost as if he’s preparing himself to say something huge.
“Noelle,” he says, and I gulp.
“Hmm?”
“I have made a new addition to the rules,” he utters, and I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms.
Now what? I thought we were getting along well. Guess not.
“You have what I need, Noelle. I’ve been searching for it for years,” he says thickly.
I frown slightly. “W-what you need?”
He places his hands flat on the counter, leaning in. My breath hitches, my heart beating hard. He’s so fucking glorious. Does he even know it?
“From now onwards, Noelle, you will sleep in my bed.”
My eyes go wide. “W-what?”