Trapped In Lace

Rachel took a rubber band from the dresser and tied her hair. When she went to the bathroom to wash her face, someone knocked on the door.

She knew it was Jack.

Standing still, she didn't say anything. She wouldn't open the door anyway.

Jack, who was standing outside the door, waited for a while.

But there was no answer inside the room. The door didn't open either. He took a deep breath and asked, "Rachel, have you eaten yet? I cooked some Western food. Would you like to have some?"

"No, thanks," she replied.

But she also couldn't help wondering, 'Western food?

He cooked it himself?'

For some reason, Celine crossed her mind. Perhaps he learned how to cook Western food when they were still together.

This thought irritated her in an instant.

She heard his voice again, asking, "Did you work overtime at the hospital?"

Taking a few steps forward, she got closer to the door and answered, "No, I didn't. I went out this evening."

"Where did you go?" Jack wanted to know, but he waited in vain. Unfortunately, Rachel didn't answer his question.

The air around him seemed to have solidified.

Thinking that Rachel had no plans answering his question, he plucked up his courage to ask, "Rachel, how can you forgive me?" Still, there was no answer from the inside.

Rachel leaned against the wall, contemplating his question. If only he knew that she had also asked herself of it many times.

In the past, she didn't have feelings for Jack yet, s

ing there? Go and prepare the car now."

"Mr. Fu, where are we going?" Austin asked in a low voice.

He knew that no matter how much they stopped Jack from leaving, it would be useless.

Jack waved his hand and replied, "You'll know later."

When she felt that the two men had already agreed to leave, the nurse tried to persuade him again, "Mr. Fu, please stay even just for two or three hours. You need to rest after your operation.

If you walk around now, you will suffer from the complications."

"I will take responsibility for it,"

Jack said coldly and walked towards the elevator.

The porridge in the pot had finally begun to boil after a few minutes.

Rachel lifted the lid, stirred it with a ladle, and poured some into a bowl.

She wasn't actually home.

She was in a twenty-six square meters studio apartment.

The kitchen where she was cooking was just behind the door.

In the middle of the room was a bed, where a woman was lying. She was coughing from time to time, making her face turn abnormally red.

With the bowl of porridge in her hand, Rachel walked to the bedside and said, "It's a little hot. Be careful. How are you feeling today?"

"I feel much better now, except for the cough."

The woman had an oval face that looked delicate, a tall nose bridge, and an impenetrable complexion. She smiled and added, "Sorry for troubling you in the past two days, and thank you."

"Don't worry about it. I was free these past two days anyway."