No Strings Attached

Chapter 221

Before Clara could react, Ian, with a mischievous glint in his eye, grabbed her hand and shoved it down his sweatpants. The searing heat startled Clara, and she jerked her hand back as if she'd touched a hot stove. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and her voice came out raspy, "Ian, if you don't stop messing around, I swear I'm done with you!" Belonging © NôvelDram/a.Org.

She had already lost control once and was determined not to fall into Ian's trap again.

Ian, staring at her slightly swollen lips from his kisses, couldn't help the smug curve that found its way onto his lips. "Clara, you still got the hots for me. You were enjoying it just now, weren't you?"

"Shut up!" In a burst of embarrassment and anger, Clara grabbed a pillow and hurled it at him.

His laughter echoed in the room at her feisty reaction – this was the Clara he loved to rile up. But as he dodged the incoming pillow, he accidentally pulled at his wound and inhaled sharply from the pain.

"I'm sorry, Clara, it hurts," he winced, his voice suddenly gentle.

Immediately, Clara lifted his shirt to inspect the damage. The white gauze was soaked with fresh blood, staining even his pajama top.

She hit the emergency button without hesitation.

When the doctor arrived to check on Ian, it was clear to the experienced eye why the wound had reopened. Ian's pants still formed a noticeable tent.

The doctor, well aware of young couples' urges, advised with a kind voice, "I know you're both young and full of life, but this is a serious injury, especially with a spleen involved. You need to take care of yourself to avoid any complications. You've got your whole life ahead to enjoy marital bliss, so you must be mindful."

As he spoke, he expertly re-bandaged Ian's wound. Before leaving, he turned to Clara with a few cautionary words, "No sex for at least two weeks, and he mustn't exert himself. Understand?"

Clara could only nod, her cheeks burning with embarrassment like she'd never felt before. All night, no matter how much Ian teased her, she chose to remain silent, busying herself on the couch with work.

It wasn't until the next morning, when Chase and Roger walked in, that the tense atmosphere was broken.

Seeing Ian lying in bed, pale but in high spirits, Chase couldn't help but tease, "Most people are miserable when they're hurt, but you? You're still acting like a love-struck teenager."

Ian arched an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk on his lips. "Jealous? Too bad, even if you were on your deathbed, no one would care for you like this. What can I say? You've never been lucky in love. You finally get a wife, and she runs off – talk about cold feet."

Chase, enraged, lifted the bouquet he was holding as if to throw it at Ian but was stopped by Roger. "Don't waste them. These are beautiful flowers. I picked them out myself after a lot of trouble."

Ian glanced at the sorry-looking flowers in their hands and couldn't help but feel irritated. These fools had brought him flowers, but of all things, they'd picked white lilies. He gritted his teeth and asked, "Where did you find these?"

Roger pointed outside, "There's a florist near the hospital entrance. My wife's been tight with the purse strings lately and took all my pocket money. So, I just picked a few flowers for you – it's the thought that counts, right? Don't be mad."

Ian leaned back, his tongue pressing against his cheek in mock thought. "You've gone through so much trouble. Why didn't you just pick up an urn for me while you were at it and send me off in

style?"