Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Clara kept turning it over in her mind. This can't be, she thought. It just can't.

Did Z already know she was married?

The second the idea hit her, she went cold all over. She struggled to open her eyes, but something heavy pressed her down, like she was still trapped inside that burning furnace.

"Don't be mad, okay? The bracelet's still here," she mumbled, trying to coax him— and herself back to calm. Sleepiness tugged at her, making her words soft and slow.

But when everything was over, Clara felt... off. Unsatisfied.

It was like he hadn't really tried tonight.

She was kind of annoyed about it, honestly. Everything had ended so quickly, she barely even had time to react.

A warm towel slid over her skin. Maybe sensing her mood, the man's voice was calm, almost gentle.

"Your health isn't great."noveldrama

Oh.

So he was still worried about her, after all.

Clara let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and shot back, "As long as it's not because you can't, that's fine."

The towel paused in his hand. He laughed, low and quiet.

Clara didn't hear him. In her own little fantasy, she imagined she'd managed to make it up to Z. She pictured him soothed, forgiving her, and she drifted off into the best sleep she'd had in ages, a small smile tugging at her lips.

But her fever still hadn't gone down. Once her mind started spinning again, all she could do was stress about how on earth she could ask Dylan for a divorce.

The thought made her head pound. She felt like she'd been thrown right back into the fire.

It wasn't until the third day, as the sun was setting, that Clara finally woke up feeling somewhat human.

She hadn't slept that well in forever. She stretched out, feeling every muscle loosen.

But before she could finish, a hand gently pressed her arm back down.

She turned. Dylan was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking immaculate. His suit was perfectly tailored and every single button on his shirt was done all the way up.

She stared at him for a few seconds, then remembered her shoulder-no wonder it hurt every time she moved.

Looking around, she realized this wasn't her own room. It was Dylan's master bedroom.

Thank goodness she hadn't woken up actually sharing a blanket with him. She had no idea how she'd ever explain that.

She let out a slow breath, feeling a bit more relaxed.

"Dylan, you're looking pretty good. I've been hogging your bed the past few days where did you sleep?"

She was so honest, it probably never even crossed her mind that the two of them had been sharing this bed for days-maybe even...

Dylan's gaze lingered on her cheek for a moment before he looked away, his lashes casting a shadow over his eyes.

Clara frowned. Why did he always look so serious?

She threw off the covers and got out of bed. She felt better, but still a little tired.

"You should have someone change the sheets. Sorry-I must've wandered in here that night, still groggy from the meds."

Honestly, in some ways, she was as clueless as a kid.

Dylan just sat there, quietly watching her leave.

Clara went back to her own room, collapsed onto her bed, and was ready to fall asleep again.

A housekeeper knocked on her door. "Ma'am, would you like something to eat? You've been sleeping for days, and now that your fever's broken, we thought we'd make you some soup to help you recover."

Clara kept her eyes closed, but her stomach rumbled. "That sounds great, thank you."

The housekeeper practically beamed. It was the first time Mrs. Ferguson had ever actually asked for soup herself. She hurried off to the kitchen, calling for a big pot of soup to be made.

Clara was still so tired. She probably should've taken a shower, but she felt surprisingly clean. In her dreams. shed been sweating a lot, but now she just felt fresh and comfortable. Too lazy to care, she snuggled into her pillow and drifted off.

Dylan was still sitting by the bed. The sheets in the master had already been changed the night before, when her fever finally started to go down.

He brushed his fingers over the pillow, noticing a few strands of black hair.

He picked them up, winding them around his finger just as Aiden stepped into the doorway.

"Sir, Mrs. Ferguson keeps asking for you to come downstairs."

That day, after Dylan came back from the old estate, he hadn't even gotten a chance to take care of anything else he'd just ended up stuck at Clara's bedside for three days, barely leaving her side.

He looked at the strands of hair wrapped around his finger and a faint smile tugged at his lips.

"I'll be down in a minute."

He headed for a shower, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. There was a

faint bite mark on his collarbone.

It was barely noticeable.

He rubbed at it, staring for a while before finally looking away and changing into a fresh suit.

The moment he stepped out of the master, Aiden was waiting. When he saw Dylan looking better, he let out a sigh of relief.

One night, while passing by the master bedroom, Aiden had heard noises-quiet, but unmistakable.

But just now, Mrs. Ferguson didn't look like anything had happened. Maybe he'd imagined it?

Still, the boss seemed to be in a good mood, so... had something happened or not?

Aiden really couldn't figure these two out.