Mistaken Night With My Paper Husband

A wave of nausea churned in her stomach, accompanied by an intense, full-body ache that made her feel as if she were falling apart.

She looked down. She was wearing a man's silk pajama top, far too large for her. The collar gaped open, and in the dim morning light, she could see the faint, angry red marks blooming across her collarbone.

Clara Ross's head throbbed, a brutal hammer against her skull. She pried her eyes open, the lavish silk of a pillowcase brushing against her cheek. This wasn't her room.

She shot upright. The movement sent a fresh wave of dizziness through her, and the contents of her stomach threatened to rise. As the fog in her brain began to clear, she gradually recalled the events of yesterday.

Memory fragments, sharp and disjointed, pierced the fog in her brain.

She remembered her grandmother, Agnes Galloway, earnestly reminding her: since she had been in a nominal marriage for four years and the man was still alive, she ought to meet him face-to-face to clearly settle whether to get a divorce or actually live together.

Back then, she was forced to marry him on behalf of the Galloway family while he lay severely injured in the ICU, and they had never met. Her visit to the hotel yesterday wasn't out of submission to her adoptive father Richard's coercion, but solely to honor her grandmother's wishes. A face-to-face resolution was inevitable.

However, before she went up, her adoptive father, Richard, had sternly warned her beforehand that Cameron Hayes had a powerful background and the Galloway family absolutely could not afford to offend him. If she implicated the family, she would not be spared.

She remembered Richard handing her a glass of champagne. The clink of crystal.

Standing alone outside the hotel room door, she had pressed a hand to her throbbing temples. Her cheeks were burning, her mind in turmoil, a strange mix of anger and an unusual, rising heat swirling within her.

After taking a deep breath, she had knocked on the door of what she thought was her husband's room. When no one answered, feeling nervous and with a hoarse throat, she simply pushed the door open and walked in.

In the dim room, illuminated only by the warm, faint yellow glow of a bedside lamp, she saw a man leaning against the headboard, fast asleep.

When she steadied her mind and stepped closer, she was instantly struck with profound shock. The warm light traced his exquisite, flawless features; his appearance was absolutely peerless.

She was astonished that this man, whom she had always thought of as a short-lived invalid, had not only survived but possessed such breathtaking looks.

At the same time, she couldn't help but wonder what kind of terrifyingly deep background this frail man hid to make the Galloway family so fearful of him.

Seeing him completely unresponsive, Clara leaned in for a closer look. His face was unusually pale, and he exuded a shattered yet dangerously captivating aura that was incredibly alluring. Curious, she had stepped forward and poked his cheek, trying to wake him up.

The moment their skin touched, a sudden, overwhelming numbness swept through her, and the intense heat within her body flared completely out of control. It was then she realized she wasn't just drunk—the champagne Richard gave her had been secretly drugged.

Panic seized her, and she wanted to flee immediately, but the drug's effect was incredibly fast, making her entire body burn and her limbs too heavy to escape. Her gaze was entirely captivated by the man's devastatingly handsome face, unable to look away.

Suddenly, the sleeping man sensed her touch and raised his hand, tightly grabbing her wrist. The potent drug completely erupted, surging madly through her veins, bringing an excruciating, unbearable heat and restlessness.

She gritted her teeth, desperately trying to hold onto her reason and struggling to break free, but the sleeping man's grip was extraordinarily strong, firmly locking her in place.

As the drug spread further, Clara lost all her strength and collapsed directly onto his chest. Her senses were magnified infinitely; she could clearly hear their intertwined heartbeats and breaths, the physical torment reaching its absolute peak.

Driven into a corner by the drug, a paranoid thought took root in her hazy mind: Four years ago, I was forced to marry him. Now, having him act as my antidote in his capacity as my husband isn't too much to ask.

With that, Clara's last shred of reason completely crumbled, entirely dominated by the drug. She actively clung to him, taking the initiative to lean over and clumsily yet urgently kiss him.

Then, the man had thoroughly awakened, swiftly reversing their positions and pinning her down. They had spent the entire wild and passionate night together.