Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

The bathtub was big enough for both of them. He gathered her into his arms, and

they just sat there, soaking in the warm water together.

Clara's cheeks were bright red. From where he sat, he could see her lips slightly

parted, a little sheen of sweat trickling down from her forehead.

He tightened his hold on her, thinking for a few seconds before slowly lowering his

head, about to kiss her.

But she opened her eyes, staring up at him, catching him mid-move.

Realizing she was awake, he froze, suddenly hesitant.

Clara watched him for a few seconds, then her eyes fluttered closed for real this

time, her head resting against his chest, only the side of her face visible.

Dylan pressed his lips together, letting out a rough, resigned sigh as he rested his

chin on the top of her head.

"Stop torturing me," he whispered, voice hoarse.

It felt like he was living with a sword hanging over his head, never knowing when

it might fall.

After about fifteen minutes, he carefully washed her up, then carried her back to

bed.

Clara seemed to sense how relaxed her body was—she tucked herself under the

covers and fell asleep almost instantly.

Dylan dried himself off and came back to the bedside. Half her face was buried

under the blanket, her breathing soft and peaceful.

He gently lifted the edge of the blanket and slipped in beside her.

As soon as he lay down, her hand instinctively reached out, wrapping around his

waist.

He stiffened, barely daring to move.

He spent the whole night lying there, tense, while Clara shifted around—

sometimes clutching his arm, sometimes curling up against his side, always

clinging to him in her sleep.

Each time, he'd freeze up, worried she might suddenly wake.

But she slept soundly all the way until morning.

Still worried, he called the doctor to check on her. The doctor's brows knit together

with concern.

"She needs more rest," the doctor said.

Dylan sat at her bedside and just nodded. "Okay."

Aiden came in, letting him know the old house had called, inviting him to

breakfast.

"I'm not going," Dylan said flatly.

Aiden looked awkward. Rai had

flown in from overseas, and it was

obvious why—he wanted Dylan to

come back to the main house. Dylan

had put it off for two years, but that

spot had been waiting for him all

along.

"Sir..." Aiden started.

He didn't get to finish. Clara's eyes opened.

She looked a little lost at first, then rubbed her forehead. "Why am I back in your

bedroom again?"

She slipped out of bed, her face no longer pale.

This wasn't the distant, icy Clara, or the sweet Clara who called him 'husband' in a

soft voice.

Dylan's throat tightened. He flexed his fingers for a long second before finally

asking, "What is it?"

Clara's gaze moved from him to Aiden. "What's with you two?"

Why did Dylan look so pale? And Aiden, too...

Aiden dropped his eyes. "Sir, you really should go."

Dylan pressed his lips together and turned to leave.

But Clara quickly stepped in front of him, blocking his way. "Dylan."

He looked down, waiting for her to say something.

Clara hesitated, lowering her gaze,

rubbing her forehead as if trying to

piece something together. "That day,

why did you say that to me? You

said if I left you, you'd die. Do you

remember?"

She was talking about the day she'd pressed a knife to her throat, threatening to

make him let her go.

Clara's head throbbed and she leaned back against the wall. "I want to know."

Dylan didn't answer right away. He saw all the questions and doubts swirling in

her eyes.

He was just about to speak when

Clara suddenly went pale, bracing

herself against the wall, her breath

coming short.

"Clara..."noveldrama

He reached out to steady her, but she pulled away.