Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Clara didn't say a word. Back in the car, she just sat there, hands still, staring at her phone before doing anything else. She meant to call Ryan-she'd been gone so long, he was probably out of his mind with worry.

But as soon as her screen lit up, a photo flashed across it: Dylan and Tara. The woman's skin was covered in marks, but Clara knew that dress-Tara had worn it before. The man was definitely Dylan.

Her finger hovered, frozen. She just stared at the photo, speechless.

Charles craned his neck to look, then slapped a hand over his eyes. "Whoa, that's way too much for my innocent eyes! Who sent you that? Wait-don't you have this number saved as 'husband'? So Dylan sent you that picture? Is he cheating on you and actually bragging about it?"

That's when Clara noticed the contact name-and frowned. It was Dylan's number. She thought this phone was brand new, but clearly, someone else had used it before her.

Who was it?

She was still trying to piece it together when Charles leaned back in his seat. "Or maybe it's Dylan's side chick trying to stir the pot. Why don't you just ask him yourself?"

Clara locked her phone. "Have I ever called you from this phone before?"

"Yeah, you have. Why? You look like you've lost your mind or something. And you're not all over Dylan anymore. Weren't you always calling him 'husband'? That day you ran into him, you said it right away. Didn't seem like you hated him back then."

Clara gripped her phone tighter, confusion flickering across her face.

"I called Dylan... husband?"

Charles, who'd been anxiously tapping his foot, leaned in, trying to read her expression. He couldn't hold back a laugh. "Sis, you called me plenty of times, always chatting about Dylan, calling him 'husband' like it was nothing. Now you can't remember any of it? Do you at least remember Emily? Or that time we went out and, well, did our thing?"

Sweat broke out on Clara's forehead. She rubbed her brow, hands trembling.

Charles suddenly looked worried and started rummaging through the glove box. He handed her a bottle of water. "What's wrong? Don't scare me. Did someone mess with you or something?"

She shook her head slowly. "No, I'm fine. You were the one who pulled me out when I was buried alive, right? They injected me with something before that— maybe that's why my memory's all scrambled."

So that's why she'd been so confused-acting like an idiot for days, calling Dylan 'husband' without thinking.

No wonder, when she woke up, he acted so close, like nothing was weird.

She suddenly felt her cheeks burning, her heart pounding. She remembered the mark on Dylan's collarbone. She'd seen it-his shirt hadn't been buttoned all the way, and the bite mark was impossible to miss.

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She tried not to let her mind go there, but now that Charles had brought it up, it

had to be from those lost days.

So she and Dylan...

God, what did they do? Why couldn't she remember a thing?

Did they really...?

Her whole body went rigid. She honestly wanted to disappear.

Charles noticed her face go from pale to flushed. "If you're not feeling well, let's just go home."

Home was the last place Clara wanted to be right now-not unti she could remember everything. She just wanted to go back to her own place, clear her head, and try to piece it all together. '

If she'd gotten close to Dylan during that blackout, and now she was acting so cold-what must he think of her? She probably looked like a total jerk.

She leaned back, trying to swallow the headache that was threatening to explode.

What she didn't know was that, right then, Ryan was facing an unexpected guest at his villa.

When he walked into his living room and saw the man calmly sitting on his couch, his face darkened. "Who said you could come into my house? Where are you hiding Clara?"

Dylan didn't even look at him. He just sat there, quiet, and asked, “Tell me everything you know about Clara."