She Flash-Married To His Rival by Harber Venus

She reached up, her fingers curling around his neck, turning her face to rest against Barclay's chest with feigned casualness.

She thought, 'No surprise it was Barclay. How could he carry me so swiftly without even a gasp, keeping his heartbeat steady as ever! Ah, what a strong physique he had. Perhaps that portrayal in novels of a CEO capable of seven encounters in a single night refers to Mr. Covington! Moira, don't indulge in idle fantasies!'

After a journey filled with wandering thoughts, Moira was finally escorted to the emergency room doors. Despite her slightly flushed complexion, she appeared remarkably sturdy compared to the other patients in the ER.

Barclay seated her in a chair outside the door and went off to register her.

Moira instinctively moved to follow, but he had already anticipated her intention. Like calming a child, he raised his hand and gently patted her head. "Stay put for me."

Moira suspected Barclay even added a "be good" at the end, though she had no evidence.

It had been years since anyone had treated Moira so tenderly, not since she was ten. Even though Aiken often comforted her, he never patted her head.

Her already warm cheeks flushed even more. Obediently nodding, she watched as Barclay walked toward the registration desk.

With the hospital relatively quiet at this hour, Barclay returned promptly and sat beside her.

The woman across from them had been studying Moira intently, evidently puzzled by her flushed appearance as she hurried into the ER.

Feeling the woman's scrutiny, Moira glanced at Barclay helplessly. "Mr. Covington, may I lean on your shoulder?"

Hearing her request, Barclay chuckled. "Weren't you quite bold when you hugged me?"

Flushed with embarrassment, Moira closed her eyes and rested her head against Barclay's shoulder, feigning unconsciousness.

Her seemingly delicate state finally ceased to draw the woman's attention, who now redirected her gaze to Barclay.

She thought, 'Such a striking man undoubtedly warranted a second look! But what was the woman's fascination? Why was she incessantly eyeing my husband? Even if he's a fictional husband, he's still a husband!'

Moira pursed her lips and reached out to grasp Barclay's hand. "What time is it?" she asked.

Barclay glanced down at her and voluntarily extended his wristwatch-clad hand. "It's half past ten," he replied.

"It's quite late," Moira remarked.

Thinking she was distressed, Barclay reassured her, "You'll be seen soon."

"Do you have an early meeting tomorrow?" Moira inquired, tilting her head before sliding from his shoulder to his chest.

Barclay hurriedly escorted her to the hospital, still clad in his pajamas. Moira could see the muscular chest beneath his collar from her vantage point.

Moira felt a reluctance to move away, shamelessly leaning closer. Unbeknownst to her, while she admired the view, she was also a sight to behold in the eyes of others.

Barclay lowered his gaze to Moira, nestled against his black sleepwear. Her fair cheeks glowed against the dark fabric, resembling a blooming flower Observing her fluttering eyelashes, his dark eyes softened as he clenched his fist with restraint. "We can postpone," he suggested.

Moira felt a pang of guilt upon hearing his words. She felt like a sinner for delaying Mr. Covington from earning his living.

The guilt clarified Moira's mind, prompting her to stand up straight. She glanced at the display screen next to the examination room door, catching sight of her name just as the intercom began announcing it: "Number 018, Moira, please proceed to Emergency Room 1."

"It's your turn," Barclay said, releasing his clenched fist and taking her hand.

A warmth spread through Moira's hand, leaving her momentarily stunned. She stared at her hand clasped in his, mouth agape, yet unable to speak.

In her intoxicated state, Moira's thoughts were muddled, requiring his guidance.

Yes, this was how it was supposed to be.

Moira followed Barclay into the

examination room, briefly noticing the curious gaze of the woman observing them. With a slight furrow of his brow, Barclay swiftly closedNôvelDrama.Org owns this text.

the door, shielding them from prying eyes.

Well done, Mr. Covington!