Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

She stopped short at the edge of the bed, the air thick with his presence. It hit her then-she was the outsider here, the one who didn't belong.

Without saying another word, she turned and left the master bedroom.

Walking down the hall, she couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling twisting in her chest. It was like replaying an argument in her head, annoyed at herself for not saying what she really wanted to say.

Dylan watched her leave, his lashes lowering as he leaned back onto the bed, pulling the shirt she'd left behind closer to his chest. Oddly enough, after her little intrusion, he actually felt more relaxed. For the first time in ages, he drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Clara, on the other hand, couldn't sleep at all. She just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, watching the sky outside slowly lighten as dawn approached.

She finally got up, washed her face, threw on some clothes, and headed downstairs to wait.

At six a.m., Dylan came down.

The housekeeper stood by the dining table, announcing breakfast with that stiff, formal tone. "Sir, ma'am, breakfast is ready."noveldrama

Clara sat down beside Dylan.

He paused, fork and knife in his hands, then ducked his head and started eating -slow and steady, not saying a word.

After breakfast, Dylan got ready to head out, only to notice Clara trailing after him.

Her face was calm. She'd spent the whole night thinking things through, and since she couldn't bring herself to yell at Dylan or even argue with him, she figured she only had one option left: wear him down with persistence.

Maybe Dylan had just lost it for a second when Eden was sent away and wanted to get back at her by dragging marriage into the mix. Maybe this whole thing was just a weird, impulsive act of revenge.

She followed behind him, replaying what Aiden had told her-how Dylan was the one who'd leaked Eden's secret, how he supposedly liked her and wanted to protect her.

That thought made her uneasy.

Did Dylan really see her as a stand-in for someone else? Or did he actually care about her? They'd barely spent any real time together. And she was the reason he'd lost the use of his legs...

"Thud!"

She'd been so lost in thought she didn't notice he'd stopped. She walked right into the back of his wheelchair, wincing as pain shot through her forehead.

Dylan's lips curled up ever so slightly. He didn't turn around or say anything.

That's when Clara realized he wasn't heading to work-he was just wheeling around the grounds near the main house.

"Mr. Dylan, aren't you going to work?" she asked, confused. Why wasn't he getting in the car? What were they even doing out here?

Dylan leaned back, picked a flower from a nearby bush, and twirled it between his fingers. “Who said I was going to work?"

Clara was stunned. Her cheeks went bright red.

The truth was, it had never occurred to her that most people would be furious if they were forced to marry someone they didn't love. Anyone else would be raging, but she just felt weirdly calm-except when she thought about Z.

She didn't even hate Dylan. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't work up any real anger toward him. It was strange, honestly.

She'd always been kind of clueless about her own feelings-worse than Nicholas,

even. Maybe that's why she hadn't noticed anything.

Dylan wheeled himself beneath a big tree, then slowly stood up.

Clara watched from a short

distance, not moving to help. She kind of wanted to ask Aiden what was really going on with Dylan's legs. Weren't they supposed to be getting better? It had been months since he started rehab, but he still looked so unsteady.

Dylan took a few steps, almost tripping over a rock. He wobbled, barely catching himself.

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Clara's heart leapt into her throat. She remembered that time Aiden had come to Palm Bay with a first

aid kit-had Dylan gotten hurt again?

Or been punished by his family?

Annoyance bubbled up inside her. She was the one trapped here. She was the

one who should be mad.

So why was she suddenly seeing things from his point of view?