Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Clara felt a wave of annoyance bubble up inside her. But then she caught herself Aiden was the one who cared about Dylan the most. There was no way he'd just disappear on purpose. He was probably caught up with something urgent.

She pressed her lips together, deciding it wasn't worth getting upset over. "I just changed his bandages and put on some fresh medicine, but he still hasn't woken up. Should we call a doctor?"

"No need. The boss has always been healthy. I'll have to trouble you to look after him for a few days, Mrs. Dawson. Now that he's suddenly collapsed, I need to handle things at the office. I've got to head out.”noveldrama

Clara started to say something, but that same unexplainable frustration washed over her again.

Before she could get a word out, Aiden was already heading downstairs.

She stood in the doorway of the master bedroom, suddenly at a loss for what to do.

If she just left Dylan here, she'd feel guilty all day. But staying to take care of him? This marriage had been forced on her just the thought made her stomach twist.

She hovered outside for ten minutes before finally pushing the door open, telling herself she could figure everything out once he recovered.

She sat down by the bed, letting her eyes drift to his face.

It wasn't the first time she'd studied Dylan's features, but no matter how many times she looked, he was still stunning enough to take her breath away.

People are visual creatures, she thought. Who wouldn't like looking at something beautiful? The universe had clearly played favorites with him.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice when his eyes slowly opened.

Surprise flickered in her own eyes, but the memory of him passing out-because

of something she said-made her heart skip with guilt.

"Mr. Dawson, you're awake."

Dylan acted like he hadn't heard, closing his eyes again.

So, he's mad.

Flustered, Clara felt her cheeks heat up, but when she saw how pale he looked, she couldn't just leave.

His breathing slowed, and after a moment, he seemed to drift back to sleep. Suddenly, Clara remembered didn't he have insomnia?

Two hours later, someone knocked on the door.

She got up and opened it to find Richard standing outside.

He was tall, with a kind of quiet intensity. He gave her a quick look, then glanced away.

"Has Dylan woken up?"

Clara wasn't close to any of these people. She'd never fit into Dylan's world, and honestly, she'd never tried.

"He woke up for a second, then fell asleep again."

Richard nodded, making no move to come in, but he looked at Clara again.

Feeling a bit awkward, she forced a smile. "Do you want to come in and check on him?"

Richard was always polite to her-she didn't really have the right to turn him away.

He smiled a little and stepped back. "No need. With his wife here taking care of him, I'm sure he's happy."

Clara felt like she'd been struck by lightning.

It took her a few seconds to process what Richard had just said.

She opened her mouth to protest, "I'm not "

But was she really not? They'd already signed the marriage papers.

That same suffocating feeling crept in again, like she'd been shoved into a role she never wanted.

She closed the door and noticed the

doorknob had fallen on the floor

With

it on

a sigh, she picked it up

set

a side table.

Back at the bed, she found Dylan awake, watching her. She had no idea if he'd overheard what Richard said.

He tried to sit up, but every movement seemed to drain what little color he had left.

Clara rushed over and helped him, propping a pillow behind his back.

Dylan leaned into it, settling in.

She noticed his lips were dry and asked softly, "Want some water?"

He gave a quiet "Mm," eyes lowered, lost in his own thoughts.

Clara hurried downstairs and poured water. When she glanced

a glass

into the living room,

M:

everyone else was gone.

The kitchen staff were busy prepping dinner, the smells of roasting chicken and

fresh bread drifting through the air.

She couldn't help but ask, "Where did everyone go earlier?"

One of

"Other than cleaning, we

in the main house. Mr.

prefers it quiet."

Clara nodded. That sounded just like Dylan—he was never one for crowds or noise.

She carried the water back upstairs and set the glass on the nightstand.

She half expected him to take it himself, but instead, he simply leaned forward

and drank straight from the glass in her hand.

Clara instinctively moved closer, steadying the glass so he could drink comfortably.