She was about to scream at the top of her lungs when the person, holding her from behind, pulled her against his chest giving her an idea of who he was. Resting his head against hers, he whispered into her ears in a deep mellifluous husk that was too familiar for her to miss,
“It’s me,” the man said kissing the side of her head and then complained in a sullen whine, “You shouldn’t be here on your own, it’s not safe.”
For a few seconds Rhea forgot all about where she was, what had happened in the last few days and how the man holding her had denied having any relations with her, all she knew was that she was back in his arms. The arms that were the only place she felt at home.
Then it all came rushing to her; the avoidance, the denial, Serena's voice, Maxwell's lies, Aron’s denial of
