NovelOnlineChapter 295
Her fingers gently prodded his calf. "Does it hurt?"
"Yeah."
Oh no, is his leg getting worse?
Clara was seriously worried. "The conditions here are pretty basic, and | know you're a bit of a neat freak, but
could you just bear with it this time? Take off your clothes and pants, and letmassage your leg."
With that, she started unbuttoning his shirt.
As soon as she undid the first button, she was taken aback by the large red patches on his skin.
"What's with these red patches?"
Dylan leaned against the table with his eyes closed, looking a bit defeated. "Probably an allergy to shellfish."
Clara felt a wave of concern wash over her. An allergy to shellfish?
Why did he eat when she was peeling shrimp for him?
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇt
And he ate so much!
She tossed his expensive suit aside and unbuttoned his shirt completely. There were red patches not just on his
chest but also on his back.
Clara turned pale, noticing how drowsy he seemed. She raised her hand to gently pat his face. "Mr. Dylan, don't
fall asleep. Are you running a fever?"
She placed her hand on his forehead, which was so hot that she almost pulled her hand back.
Dylan had dragged himself to find her in this state?
Clara was both angry and worried, her hand brushing against his belt.
Dylan slowly opened his eyes, looking less imposing than usual.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm taking off your clothes. I'll wipe you down with warm water, then you need to lie down on the bed. Your
clothes are wet, and if you lie down like this, you'll soak the bed. And there's only one bed here."
The mention of one bed made Dylan's eyes flicker, and he turned his head away.
Clara noticed the tips of his ears turning red, and she felt a bit embarrassed herself.
"Mr. Dylan, pardon my intrusion."
She helped him to the sofa and took off his pants, then hurried to the bathroom to fetch a basin of warm water to
wipe him down.
Dylan's physique was truly remarkable. How strange that someone who had been in a wheelchair for two years
could maintain such a good shape?
Blushing, she wiped him down thoroughly and helped him into bed, tucking him in snugly.
She checked his forehead again. Still feverish.
Quickly, she searched the room for medicine but found none.
Desperate, she returned to the bed. "Mr. Dylan, how are you feeling?"
"Cold, itchy."
His voice was hoarse, and his cheeks were flushed from the fever.
Clara, not caring about much else at that moment, quickly took a shower herself, grabbed a bedsheet from the
closet to wrap around her, and slipped into the bed.
With her there for warmth, maybe he wouldn't feel so cold.
She didn't want anything to happen to Dylan while he was under her care.
But as soon as they were close, she could see Dylan's face clearly.
Facing each other, Dylan's eyes were a bit unfocused as he slowly raised his hand, his fingertips brushing her
cheek.
Clara quickly pulled away, and cold air rushed in as she heard him mutter, "Cold."
She took a deep breath and inched a bit closer, this tnot facing him directly but gazing at the ceiling.
Hearing him constantly shifting, she asked, "What's wrong?"
"The allergic spots, they're itchy."
Dylan, you're quite the handful. Even the saints don't cause this much trouble. Reluctantly, she turned to face
him again. "Chest or back?"
"Chest."
Dylan's eyes were downcast, a few beads of sweat on his nose, looking unusually vulnerable.
Visit our social media platform to read fascinating stories every day and connect with the community!
