Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Simon slouched deeper into his seat, his patience running thinner by the second. "You've talked a lot, but do you actually have a plan?"

Aaron let out a soft laugh, his eyes clouded with something dark. "Oh, I have a plan. Remember all those rumors in the city about Clara having a thing with a male model? I had someone keep tabs on her for a while. Turns out, she barely ever saw that guy-and when she did, it was always late at night. I have a theory, but I need your help to prove it."

So that's what this was-he wanted Simon in on whatever scheme he was cooking up.

Simon couldn't care less. As the car passed a bus stop, he cut in, "Let me out here. I'm not interested in teaming up with you. You can't even handle Dylan- what could you possibly come up with?"

Aaron's face darkened, but only for a moment. Then he managed a smug, self- assured look. "Simon, I can fix this because I know the biggest secret of all. Haven't you always been pissed that Clara picked some random model over you? Here's the truth: Clara never liked you. It was all an act. The guy she really cared about was someone she called her 'senior.' I never met him, but I do know this- he's dead. Because of Dylan."

Simon had already cracked open the car door, but froze at that. Slowly, he sat back down.

Of course he'd always known Clara's feelings for him were fake. That was exactly what stung the most-why should he be just a prop in her story with someone else?

He'd tried to find out who she really loved, but he'd always come up empty.

It couldn't have been Dylan. Before she lost her memory, she'd hated Dylan- everyone knew that. And that kind of disgust wasn't something you could fake.

Simon lowered his eyes, lashes casting shadows over his face. He'd wondered a thousand times-why him? Was it because he looked like the real guy she loved, or was there something else?

Aaron's words had hooked him, whether he liked it or not.noveldrama

Aaron squinted, a sly smile tugging at his lips. "You know, I ran into Clara once when I was overseas."

The memory pulled him back.

Everyone in the city knew Clara was head over heels for Simon, trailing after him everywhere.

But no one could deny she was the most beautiful woman around.

If she hadn't been so obsessed with Simon, she could've had an army of men chasing after her.

But because she chased Simon so openly-and because Simon was infuriatingly arrogant-he'd always badmouthed her in public. Eventually, people started seeing her as nothing more than a desperate, clueless pretty face. No one ever bothered to find out who she really was.

Aaron remembered that night abroad perfectly. Later, when he heard the gossip about her, it didn't add up. The woman he'd seen that night was nothing like the rumors.

Nights overseas were dangerous, especially in a place where guns were legal. Most people didn't dare go out after seven.

But that night, Aaron had to stay out late for a

Work dinner, not heading

home until after ten. Even with two

ards, they ran into trouble-a

gang with guns came after them.

Shots rang out. Both bodyguards were hit. Aaron found himself cornered, certain he was done for.

He'd had close calls before, but that night he really thought it was the end.

Then, out of nowhere, the gangsters dropped. He turned and saw a woman perched on a nearby wall.

She was so beautiful, she almost

didn't

real. He didn't know bet

well back then-just that Simon had

a fiancée.

But the woman looked just like her.

She gave him a lazy glance, her voice cool and just a little cocky. "Is this what the

Morgans are like? Pretty useless."

Aaron, still in his suit, slowly got to his feet.

He hadn't seen her face clearly, but that voice-calm, sharp, with a hint of swagger-was unmistakably Clara's.

For days, he thought he must've been mistaken. Until he bumped into Clara again, this time in a chaotic bar.

Even from across the crowd, he spotted her on the second floor, talking to someone beside her.

The guy had a little braid, his face hard to see, but he treated Clara with real respect.

A knife spun between his fingers—fast and careless, but somehow never cutting

him.

Clara suddenly kicked his wrist. The

knife dropped into her hand. She raised an eyebrow, said something Aaron couldn't hear, and then just grinned—a bright, fearless smile.

That was when Aaron knew-it really had been Clara who saved him.

A side of Clara he'd never imagined: a stranger, but still shining with her own fierce light.

That was six years ago. Clara had only been eighteen.