Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

It was a regular weekday, but when Clara came downstairs, she was surprised to see Dylan lounging on the sofa.

Well, she figured, if Dylan wasn't here, she'd be stuck in the master bedroom with nowhere to go anyway. The thought made her even more annoyed.

She dropped herself on the other end of the sofa just as the housekeeper brought over her medication.

Dylan glanced at the pills, puzzled. "Not feeling well?"

Clara grabbed the medicine and gulped it down with warm water, her voice sharp. "My lips. Allergic reaction-can't you see? They're all swollen."

He paused, fingers hovering above his laptop, looking at her with an unreadable expression.

Clara squirmed under his gaze, pressing her lips together. The tingling, prickly pain came back, and she couldn't help but let out a soft hiss.noveldrama

Dylan turned back to his screen, a tiny, amused smile curling at his lips.

Since he seemed to be in a good mood, Clara decided to bring it up. "So, any progress on Z? Didn't you say you'd help me look into it?"

"Working on it," he replied, sounding way too casual.

Clara frowned. "With your connections, does it really take this long? Dylan, are you even trying?"

"I am."

His tone was so light, it was almost dismissive.

Clara took a deep breath. "Can you find something in three days?"

"No guarantees."

The words were barely out of his mouth when she chucked a clementine at him.

Even if she wasn't the sharpest, she could tell he was just brushing her off.

Face stormy, she got up and headed for the door, but before she could step outside, someone blocked her path.

The same line as always: "Ma'am, please go back inside."

Clara turned back, glaring at Dylan, who was still calmly working away. Her eyes stung with sudden frustration.

Dylan closed his laptop and looked over. "Want to go out?"

She didn't answer, just listened as he made a call, sounding like he was setting up some kind of get-together at an estate.

When he hung up, he said, "Jackson's hosting something tonight at his place outside the city. Barbecue and all that. I'll take you."

He'd never shown any interest in these sorts of parties before.

Clara trudged upstairs, tossing over her shoulder, "I'm not going."

"Clara."

She stopped, finally snapping, "Don't call me that. Only people close to me get to use my name like that."

He sighed. "Three days. I'll get you an answer in three days."

That stubborn anger inside her vanished in an instant, replaced by doubt. "Really?"

"Yeah."

If Dylan said he'd do something, he always followed through.

She turned and flopped back onto the sofa. "Still don't feel like going."

"Come with me, or I stop looking into it."

Her face froze. After a long silence, she muttered, "You don't even like these kinds of events."

He'd never been part of the young, carefree crow He always seemed so serious, so out of place-definitely not the partying type.

"Guess I like them now."

Clara didn't bother arguing. Whatever. She'd just wait out these three days.

Later that night, as she changed and followed him out the door, she suddenly had the strangest feeling.

Was Dylan trying to parade her around and introduce her to everyone in their circle?

Mrs. Ferguson had once told her the marriage certificate was just a joke. But now, Dylan had introduced her to Richard and the others, and tonight he was bringing her to meet even more people. Was he quietly showing everyone that their

marriage wasn't a joke after all?

Clara frowned, unsure if she was just overthinking it. Honestly, what other reason

did Dylan have for taking her out like this?

Her gaze drifted to the little box still sitting on the partition. Why was he doing

this? Wasn't he supposed to like Tara?

She dropped her gaze, lost in

thought, until the car finally pulled up outside the country estate. Only then did she realize just how huge the place was.

Even from the outside, it looked like pure luxury.

Standing behind Dylan's wheelchair, she couldn't help but mutter, "You rich people really know how to live. There must be at least a dozen estates like this in the Capital.”"

The biggest ones were probably near Nightshade.

No one really knew how many businesses Nightshade was involved in, but everyone in their circle understood one thing: you did not mess with Nightshade.

Clara suddenly thought of that masked man—the owner of Nightshade.

Dylan glanced up, catching the tension in her jaw, and let out a quiet laugh.

Clara shot him a look. "What's so funny?"

"You sound jealous."