Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

People moved quietly into the house as more cars pulled up outside-by now, there had to be almost twenty parked along the drive.

Walter stood at the front, solemn and tall, as the younger family members stepped forward one by one to offer incense and bow their heads.

A few monks, brought in just for the ceremony, sat cross-legged on woven mats, chanting softly. The whole mansion was filled with the sweet, heavy scent of sandalwood.

It had been years since the Fergusons held a funeral like this. Not even when Lincoln passed did it feel this formal, this crowded.

Dylan kept his eyes lowered, breathing in the incense. He found himself thinking of his mother, who'd left the city a long time ago-maybe she was already on her way back.

Ada had started as the other woman, but she'd always managed to get along with Mrs. Ferguson. Coming from a family that favored boys, Ada had learned early how to win over the older generation.

That was why she could stand in front of Walter, sobbing about Michael's affairs, and not get blamed for it.

Back then, if Mrs. Ferguson felt even a little unwell, Ada was always the first to show up at the old house to check on her. Even if people gossiped, saying she acted like a servant, Ada just smiled and never argued.

She understood how these families worked-always humble with her elders, but when it came to anyone she looked down on, like Clara, she could be impossibly proud.

The house hadn't been this full since Ada and Michael got married.

Just as the younger ones finished offering incense, hushed whispers broke out near the door.

"Mrs. Ferguson is back!"

"Grandma's home."

Most of the family couldn't believe it. They'd heard Mrs. Ferguson wouldn't be back for at least another two weeks. So how could she be here now?

Everyone turned to look.

A young woman came in, carefully supporting Mrs. Ferguson as they entered.

Mrs. Ferguson, more than ten years older than Walter, still looked sharp and full of energy. She let go of the younger woman's arm, her clothes beautifully stitched by hand, a simple jade pendant at her neck, and green jade beads on her wrist.

The jade and her traditional outfit gave her an old-fashioned elegance-she looked every bit the matriarch.

Dylan's back stiffened as he dropped his gaze.

No one else dared to speak first.

After Mrs. Ferguson left ten years ago, she'd cut herself off from almost everyone.

Some of the younger kids barely even remembered her face.

She walked up to Ada's portrait, lit a few sticks of incense, then turned to the crowd, her eyes finding Simon, who stood frozen.

"Simon, have you paid your respects yet?"

It took Simon a few seconds to react before he shuffled forward and lit a stick of incense.

Mrs. Ferguson nodded, listening to the monks' chanting as it echoed through the house. She sighed. "I never thought she'd leave us so soon."

Simon had heard the rumors that Mrs. Ferguson liked Ada, but he'd never really believed them.

After all, in this city, nobody red Ada. If it weren't for t

family's influence, meet

people wouldn't have even talked to her. '

Mrs. Ferguson was powerful-how could she care about someone who fought her way into the family like Ada?

Even Simon himself sometimes felt embarrassed by Ada's background.

But the regret in Mrs. Ferguson's eyes, the way she sighed at Ada's portrait, was real.

Simon's hand tightened unconsciously. For the first time, he realized how little he actually knew about his own family.

The chanting and the soft thud of the wooden fish echoed through the room, making the atmosphere almost suffocating.

Standing beside Mrs. Ferguson was Tara from the Warren family.

Everyone knew Mrs. Ferguson

wasn't supposed to be back yet, but today, only Tara had gone to meet her clearly, they'd been in touch the whole time.

No wonder, after Tara's failed proposal years ago, she'd still acted so calm. Was

there some secret understanding between her and Mrs. Ferguson?

No one dared ask. Not until Mrs. Ferguson stopped in front of Dylan.noveldrama

His face stayed calm, but his hands gripped the armrests of his wheelchair a little tighter.

Mrs. Ferguson's expression softened as she looked at his legs.

"Dylan, your legs... they're still not better?"

Dylan met her gaze, his face unreadable. "No."

Mrs. Ferguson smiled, reaching over to pat his head gently. "You know when you were little, you were

iel

always so cheerful. Why are you so

quiet these days?"

Dylan pressed his lips into a thin line, lowering his lashes to hide whatever he was

feeling.