Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Back in the guest room, Clara took a hot shower, hoping it would calm her nerves. As she undressed, her eyes landed on the bite mark on her shoulder.

She froze, heat rushing from her toes all the way up to her cheeks. For a long moment, she just stared at it. Then, with a frustrated sigh, she tried scrubbing it away, but the mark stayed stubbornly in place. No matter what she did, it was still there—proof she couldn't erase. There was no way anyone would believe nothing happened between her and Dylan. Even a ghost wouldn't buy that story.

She flopped onto the bed, but sleep wouldn't come. Her mind raced. Her chest felt tight, like something was sitting right on top of her heart.

She reached for her wrist, fingers brushing over the little charm bracelet-still there, thankfully. She let out a shaky breath. At least that hadn't vanished.

She tried to push everything else to the back of her mind. Right now, she needed to figure out who had set up Z.

But since sleep was hopeless, she got up and went looking for Charles. She wanted to get a handle on everything that had happened recently, maybe make some sense of it all.

Walking past the study, she heard voices-Aiden's, tense and pleading. "Mr. Prescott, please. The doctor says you need to put everything else aside and rest. Just one month, that's all. Your body can't take much more."

Clara almost never heard Aiden sound that anxious. She frowned, then quietly pushed the door open.

Inside, Dylan was at his desk, eyes on a stack of documents, completely ignoring Aiden. He acted like he hadn't heard a word.

Aiden's face lit up when he saw her.

Clara's gaze landed on the piece of cake on the table. Without a word, she walked over, picked up Dylan's spoon, and took a bite.

The sweetness hit her instantly-so sweet it almost made her cough. But Dylan hadn't reacted at all when he'd eaten it earlier.

A chill ran through her. She clenched the spoon, expression darkening. "What's wrong with you, Dylan?"

Dylan's fingers stilled. Was she actually worried about him? She was, wasn't she?

He hesitated, for once unsure of what to say. Before he could answer, Clara covered his hand with hers, looking him straight in the eye.

"Dylan, talk to me. What's going on?" Her voice was steady, but her worry was obvious. Had he lost his sense of taste?

"I..." he started, but Aiden cut in. "Mrs. Prescott, the truth is-"

Dylan cut him off before he could finish. "Aiden, out."

Clara's face hardened. She pulled her hand away from Dylan and turned to Aiden. "Tell me. Everything. Now."

Aiden glanced at Dylan. Clara's

presence was strong, but Dylan just

looked away, lips curled in a faint, helpless smile, his gaze fixed on the bookshelf like he was trying to distract himself.

Aiden finally spoke, letting out a long breath. "Mr Prescott's been dealing with insomnia for years, and he has other health issues, too. We've been getting prescriptions to help, but a few months ago, he switched to some really strong medication with bad side effects. He's not supposed to take it often, but he can't stop himself. The doctor said if he keeps going, he could start hallucinating, hearing things, even lose his sense of taste. He seriously needs to rest."

Clara felt her anger spike, burning hotter than ever. She was already on edge, but now her chest felt like it was on fire.

How could Dylan treat his body like this? Was he not afraid of dying? How couldnoveldrama

he just brush off losing his taste, as if it was nothing?

Her hand trembled at her side as she tried to calm herself. She opened her mouth, about to say something, when Dylan suddenly reached out and grabbed her hand-his touch warm, steady.

"I'm fine. It's just a few small problems," he said quietly.

The words had barely left his mouth when Clara's anger boiled over. Before she knew it, her palm connected with his cheek, a sharp slap echoing through the

room.

She froze, staring at her own hand, the skin already turning red. She hadn't meant to do it—it was just too much. “I...”

A red mark bloomed on Dylan's face. He lowered his lashes, swallowing whatever he'd been about to say.

Clara looked at him, frustration and worry mixing together until she felt like she might explode. Z had been just like this-never taking care. himself, hiding away in dark rooms when he was sick, waiting to get better alone. If no one checked on him, he might've died and no one would've even noticed.