Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Tara pulled her hand back and took a steadying breath. "You're not wrong. You're Dylan's guy, so it's your job to follow his orders. But when you threw that smoke grenade, you almost hit Mrs. Ferguson. She matters to Dylan too, you know. Can't you try to be a little more careful?"

She couldn't help but laugh as she finished scolding him. "That slap I gave you- don't tell me it actually hurt? I barely touched you."

"It didn't hurt," he replied quietly.

Tara glanced him over, still baffled by his all-black wardrobe and the way he always kept his face hidden.

The way they met was a little strange, honestly. She'd been raised as Dylan's future wife, which meant she was always allowed anywhere in the Ferguson house. Ten years ago, she'd noticed a boy who always stuck to the shadows, wrapped up tight like he never wanted to be seen.

That was ten years ago. Now, she just pretended not to notice how much he cared about her. He was Dylan's man, after all-why not use that to her advantage?

She smirked but didn't ask about Dylan. She knew better. That would just put him on edge.

Instead, she patted him on the shoulder. "Alright, I'm not mad anymore."

"You... you're back..." His voice was soft, and he still stammered like he always did when he was nervous.

She hadn't been back in years and hadn't stayed in touch. But the first night she was in the Capital, he'd come to find her, just like he always used to-standing quietly, unsure what to say.noveldrama

"Yeah, I know you saw me that night," she said, her tone light. "I could feel you standing outside the window. Anyway, that's enough. Mrs. Ferguson's waiting for me. I have to go."

"Okay." He nodded, eyes never leaving her.

Tara felt a little spark of satisfaction. From the first time she'd seen him, she knew he was someone special-and his role by Dylan's side was anything but simple.

She slipped back into the car, a small smile playing at her lips.

Mrs. Ferguson gestured to the driver to get moving, but she still found time to give Tara some advice. "Some things just can't be rushed, dear. But you and Dylan are made for each other."

Tara was confident. "Mrs. Ferguson, I'm not worried about Clara. She's just a pretty face. Dylan and I have known each other practically all our lives."

And besides, she knew Dylan's secret. That alone put her way ahead of Clara.

Mrs. Ferguson's eyes softened as

she took Tara's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You're such a wonderful girl. I don't know what the Warren family did, but they raised you right. If you and Dylan ever have a child, I could die happy."

"Don't talk like that, Mrs. Ferguson. You're going to live a long, long time."

The car filled with easy laughter and warmth.

*

Meanwhile, over at the Ferguson family chapel, the mood was completely different-cold and heavy.

The chapel itself was huge, about five thousand square feet, with an air of solemn history. The Fergusons had been a household name for over a century. Two generations ago, they'd even helped found the country.

Since Walter stepped down, though, the family's power had shifted from politics to business. They'd done well, but everything felt different now.

Dylan sat quietly in his wheelchair, surrounded by the lingering scent of incense.

Walter moved from one altar to the next, lighting candles and paying respects to the ancestors. By the time the rituals ended, two hours had slipped by.

Finally, Walter stood at the center of the room and looked at Dylan. "Your mother's made her wishes clear. What about you?"

Dylan stayed silent. Walter pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly frustrated. "Alright, fine. I still don't get what you see in Clara, but just do what your mother asks for now. She nearly lost her life bringing you into this world. She's been away from the Capital all these years to recover, praying every day that your life would get better. Dylan, I've already called-your brother will be here soon. I'm sure you both have a lot to talk about. He might still hold a grudge against the Fergusons, so be careful what you say. You've always wanted to meet him, right? Since you found out you had a brother, it's all you've talked about. Well, now's your chance."

Dylan's fingers trembled ever so slightly on the armrest of his wheelchair.

Walter was the first to leave, the heavy doors shutting behind him and locking Dylan in.

Only a few slivers of light crept in along the windowsills, pale and cold as they stretched across the floor.

The candles flickered on, and somewhere nearby, footsteps echoed in the stillness.