Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Ever since Clara came back. Palm Bay felt alive again. The whole place buzzed—

suddenly, even the smallest chores seemed easier for the staff.

As long as Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson weren't fighting, life was sweet. Honestly, Aiden

hoped this stretch of peace would never end. For once, the infamous workaholic

hadn't touched his laptop, spending every moment tending to Clara instead.

Dylan peeled a grape and held it out to her. Clara barely glanced up from her

comic, just leaned over and popped the grape—and his fingertips—into her

mouth. Dylan, distracted, crushed another grape in his other hand without

realizing.

Clara was oblivious. She read a few more pages before noticing his silence. She

glanced over and saw him, elbow propped on the couch, hand covering his

mouth, staring out the window completely lost in thought.

She set her comic aside, peeled a grape herself, and held it to his lips. "Babe,

have one."

His eyelashes fluttered as he looked back at her, eyes landing on her bright,

innocent face. She looked so sweet—almost like a little deer, wide-eyed and

clueless.

But he knew better. This wasn't the real Clara. No one compared to the real her.noveldrama

He dropped his gaze as she asked quietly, "Are you upset?"

"I'm happy." He answered right away, honest but distracted. "I was just

wondering... if you're mad at me."

He figured she probably didn't like him acting like this. Clara was always so tough.

She grinned. "No way. I'm having so much fun lately. No worries at all. You're

good to me, and so is my brother."

The softness in Dylan's eyes faded the second she mentioned someone else. He

gently took her hand, grabbed a tissue, and slowly wiped the grape juice from her

fingertips.

Sensing his mood change, Clara fell silent. Dylan cleaned her hand until it was

spotless, then pressed her fingers to his cheek, nuzzling them softly.

Her fingers curled before she could stop them. The feeling was... hard to

describe.

Her mind flashed to last night. Flustered, she pulled her hand back and shook out

her shirt collar. "It's kinda warm in here."

The truth was, she was just nervous—all hot and restless. She didn't dare meet

his eyes, burying herself in her comic again. But after a few seconds, she realized

she hadn't read a single word, sneaking glances at him from the corner of her

eye.

Dylan was about to say something, a smile tugging at his lips, when Aiden walked

in.

"Mr. Ferguson, Walter wants you to bring Clara to the main house for dinner."

The Fergusons had made a big show of searching for her, and now that she was

back, Walter wanted to see her. No one knew what to expect.

Dylan hadn't turned his phone on in days, ignoring the outside world. With the

spell broken, he just nodded. "Okay."

He took Clara's hand and led her to change clothes.

As they got in the car, Dylan reached over and ruffled her hair. "If anyone picks on

you, just snap right back, okay?"

She nodded, watching as they drove up to the Ferguson family's old estate.

Once they got out, she stuck to his side like glue.

Inside the grand hall, Clara spotted

Tara. Walter's eightieth birthday was

coming up soon and the Fergusons

were busy planning a huge party.

Dylan had been called home to help

sort out the details.

Almost the whole family was there.

When Simon saw Clara, he jumped

up, looking like he wanted to rush

over but a single look from Dylan

made him sit down fast.

The room was packed, but Walter and Mrs. Ferguson were nowhere to be seen.

The butler approached Dylan. "Sir, Mr. Ferguson is waiting for you upstairs in his

study."

Dylan nodded and turned to Clara. "Come up with me."

The butler hesitated. "Um..."

Clara rolled herself forward. "Where's the elevator?"

Dylan's lips curled into a smile as he pointed the way.

At the study door, two bodyguards opened it but tried to stop Clara from going in.

Clara just brushed past them, frowning. Why shouldn't she be allowed in?

The bodyguards glanced at Dylan for help. He looked away, barely hiding a smile.

Clara followed him inside, standing just behind him.

Dylan faced Walter and greeted him respectfully. "Father."

Clara watched, then leaned over and whispered, "Am I supposed to say that too?"

She really hoped not.

Dylan's hand curled into a fist as he coughed softly. "Just sit over there."

She nodded—finally, something she could do—and picked the fanciest-looking

chair.

Walter's face was stone-cold. He

took a long, deep breath, forcing

himself to stay calm. "The birthday

banquet is in a week. We'll have

guests from abroad. I don't care

what you and Clara have going on

but she cannot show up at the

Ferguson family's event. Dylan, let's

compromise. You know how long

we've worked for this position. We

can't risk anything now. If you want

to keep Clara, that's up to you. I'm

done arguing."

"Clara is my wife."

Walter's face darkened instantly. He hadn't been this furious in years.