Clara Winslow sat stiffly on the bed, wrapped in a bright red wedding dress, her head weighed down by a phoenix coronet and covered with a red veil. Her fingers fidgeted nervously, tangling and untangling in silence.
On the bed behind her lay a man, motionless.
The steady "beep-beep" of the monitoring equipment echoed through the spacious, eerily quiet room, each sound amplifying the tension she felt.
Clara tilted her head slightly. Through the veil, she could make out the faint contours of the man’s face. Even with such a limited view, his looks seemed flawless, almost unreal.
If only he wasn’t comatose.
She lowered her eyes, exhaling softly, more like a sigh swallowed back than released.
“Clara, you’re just some rural girl. Being able to marry into the Shaw family, even as a substitution, is the greatest fortune you’ll ever have. Don’t you dare act ungrateful!”
The sharp words from her stepsister, Amelia James, still rang in her head.
Great fortune? To her, it felt more like a harsh sentence.
Besides... this man was supposed to marry Amelia in the first place.
But...
“Clara, Mom didn’t have another choice,” her mother had said, a pleading tremor in her voice. “I’m a second wife, a stepmother. If it weren’t absolutely necessary, I’d never ask this of you.”
“You just have to do this for Mom, alright? Marry into the Shaw family in your sister’s place. Please?” Thinking about how her own mother had tricked her into returning from the countryside, just to marry into the Shaw family instead of her stepsister Amelia James, Clara Winslow couldn't stop her eyes from getting misty.
Her mom had always cared for someone else's daughter, always thought about someone else's daughter!
And she, the real daughter, had been ignored for over twenty years, even to the point of sacrificing her whole life's happiness.
"Fine, I'll marry."
"This will be repaying the favor of giving me life. After this, we'll have nothing to do with each other anymore."
She figured, this had to be it.
After this, they wouldn't matter to each other anymore, and they couldn't hurt her again.
Clara took a deep breath, stood up, and pulled off the red veil. Turning back to look at the man on the bed, she murmured to herself, "Guess we're alike in some way, aren't we?"
Neither of them had any choice in their marriage.
Without the veil covering her sight, Clara could now fully see the man's face on the bed, and it was even more stunning than the glimpse she'd caught earlier.
His complexion was clean and pale, with defined sharp features — thick eyebrows, a perfectly straight nose, and striking lips.
Though his eyes were shut, his long, curled lashes defiantly pointed upwards, and she could imagine what a dazzling pair of eyes might lay beneath them. At that moment, even in his sleep, the air of nobility and elegance surrounding him was undeniable.
Such a stunning man, just lying here day after day—what a waste!
Clara Winslow's hands itched with curiosity. She couldn’t hold back any longer and decided to give the man on the bed a thorough check-up.
After all, she'd been learning traditional medicine from Grandfather Pearl since she was little, and now she was studying medicine at Yucheng University. With a patient right in front of her, how could she resist?
As she leaned in to examine him, a sharp medicinal scent hit her nose.
Following the smell downward, her eyes finally landed on the area between the man’s legs.
That’s where it was coming from.
Without hesitation, she lifted the blanket, and an overwhelming stench surged toward her.
“A medicinal patch?” she murmured, her lips parting slightly.
Frowning deeply, she noticed two patches stuck to the inside of his thighs. Intrigued, she leaned closer to sniff. The patches contained camphorwood, mulberry branches, knotweed, mugwort, and safflower.
Those ingredients could indeed soothe muscle soreness and improve circulation, but they were completely useless for his condition.
Not thinking twice, Clara tore the patches off in one quick motion.
A low, restrained groan escaped him.Clara ignored the faint noise, so she didn’t realize that as she ripped off the medicine pouch, she accidentally yanked down the man's pajama pants as well.
And just like that, his... well, his "private area" came into full view.
Her cheeks turned bright red instantly, and even her ears felt like they were burning.
Clara nervously raised her gaze, trying to move past the embarrassing sight, and finally, her eyes landed on his face.
"Phew..." She let out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding.
She’d actually been worried that he might suddenly wake up—how ridiculous! After all, he was just a vegetative patient.
Carefully, she tried to pull his pajama pants back up. But, let’s be real, she didn’t exactly have experience "taking care" of a man like this. Her slender fingers accidentally brushed against his sensitive spot...
It felt like her hand was struck by lightning—it was burning hot!
She instinctively glanced up at his face to check for any reaction.
And in the next second, their eyes met.
The man’s eyes, which had been tightly shut just a moment ago, now stared directly at her.