Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

She sat there, arms wrapped tight around her knees, staring blankly at the huge, empty room. She felt small, lost, like she barely belonged in all that space.

Inside the villa, Dylan was crouched on the floor, slowly picking up the shattered pieces of a vase. It was smashed beyond repair-some bits had crumbled to dust, impossible to piece back together.

Just like their relationship, he thought. One ugly truth, and everything would crumble. No matter how hard you tried, you could never make it whole again.

Aiden walked in and froze, taking in the sight of Dylan picking up the sharp, glittering fragments off the floor. He rushed over. "Sir, let me do that."

He knelt beside him, but when he looked up, he saw a fresh line of blood trickling down Dylan's forehead. His eyes widened. "You're hurt!"

Dylan just shook his head. He didn't feel a thing. It was like there was a hole in his chest, cold wind blowing straight through it.

Aiden reached for the first aid kit, then remembered—he'd taken it away a few days ago. "I'll call a doctor."

Dylan clenched a shard in his palm, let out a low, bitter laugh. "Tell me, Aiden, where did I lose?" He couldn't help comparing himself to that shadowy man in her past. What made him come up short? Before, he could accept it—maybe he deserved to lose. But now? Why now?

He couldn't make sense of it.

Aiden caught sight of the blood dripping from Dylan's hand and got anxious. "Sir, your health isn't good. Please, you need to take care of yourself."

Dylan's eyes dropped, lashes low as he finally let the broken pieces fall from his hand.

He looked down at the wilted petals on the floor, regret flickering in his eyes. She'd given them to him-and then torn them apart herself.

In her world, no one mattered but that man from the past. Or maybe, what she wanted one moment meant nothing the next. It was like she could walk away any time, and nothing could hold her back.

Dylan went pale, then started coughing.

Aiden hurried to help him up. "Sir, please rest. I'll clean this up.”

Dylan brushed him off and went to look for his medicine. On the surface, he seemed calm-but his eyes were edged with something wild, almost feverish. He'd always been collected, but deep down, the beast inside him was waking up.

Aiden found the pills in the nightstand and handed them over.noveldrama

Dylan's hand was trembling, veins standing out as he poured a few pills into his palm and swallowed them dry.

He flopped onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, voice flat and cold. "I want him gone. Out of our lives. For good."

"Sir..."

Dylan closed his eyes, lips pressed tight with exhaustion. "Did you find her records?"

"We did."

"Good." He didn't say anything else.

Aiden couldn't tell if Dylan had fallen asleep or was just lost in thought

He didn't dare ask. Instead, he quietly cleared the broken vase and swept the wilted petals into the trash.

The flowers had been so beautiful once. Now they were crushed and pathetic.

He slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

*

Clara sat outside all night, waiting

Vol

for sunrise. She'd made up her

mind she'd wait until Dylan's

left. As soon as the gates opened for

him, she'd slip out too.

But noon came and went, and Dylan's car never showed up. It was like he'd seen right through her plan.

Hunger twisted in her stomach, making her dizzy. She dragged herself back to the main house.

The front door was open, almost like someone was expecting her. She leaned against the doorframe,

looked into the living room-and net

there was Dylan, sitting on the Couch in a dark suit, one hand on his chin, reading the newspaper like he had all the time in the world.

He looked different today-not as cold, almost gentle.

Clara pressed her lips together, slipped off her dirty shoes and put on a clean pair, then shuffled toward the kitchen.

Before, there had always been food in the fridge. Now, it was empty. She checked the cupboards too, but the kitchen was spotless. Nothing left.

Her stomach ached with hunger.

She steadied herself, then went back out to the living room. That's when she

noticed the pile of food on the coffee table, right in front of Dylan.

He hadn't said a single word, but Clara could feel it he knew exactly what she'd

do, how she'd feel. Like he'd mapped out her every move.

Dylan really was a terrifying man.