Chapter 118

Clara hung up the phone with a decisive click. Only someone like that could see Simon as a gem.

She headed back to Dylan's bedroom, surprised to find the lights already off. For a second, she thought about slipping out and finding a spot to crash for the night. But then a gust of wind blew in from the balcony, and she realized Dylan was out there, not in bed.

Even before she got close, she caught a whiff of smoke. "Mr. Dylan, isn't smoking bad for your leg?" she asked with genuine concern. Wasn't he still recovering?

The dim glow from the garden cast long shadows, making it tough to see his face clearly. Still, she picked up on something in his eyes—a silent yearning, an unspoken wait that tugged at her heart.

Maybe visiting Shelly's grave had him feeling down.

She stood beside him, unsure of what to say. Dylan's presence was subtle, like a breeze-hard to pin down, yet unforgettable.

the cigarette perilously close to his fingers.

distance, slowly dropping the cigarette into

grabbed his wrist and gently blew on the spot. "Is there a first aid kit? Any burn

Dylan's

treat yourself like this. And about your

as she finished, he asked, "Are you this kind

to hate her, but he was a man of principles. As long as

sleep," he said, turning back inside, flicking on the bedside lamp,

she'd spent quite a while in Dylan's room. But she genuinely didn't know

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