Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

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.

perilously close to his fingers. "It's about to burn your fingers," she quickly

slowly dropping the cigarette into the ashtray. A red mark on

wrist and gently blew on the spot. "Is there a first aid

of their height difference. Dylan's Adam's apple bobbed as he attempted to pull his hand back, but she held on

this. And about your insomnia-I'll arrange for a specialist to sort out some remedies. Hope

she finished, he asked, "Are

seem to hate her, but he was a man of principles. As long as she didn't push boundaries, he wouldn't lord his authority over her.

"Get some sleep," he said, turning

moment, realizing she'd spent quite a while in Dylan's room. But she genuinely didn't know where else to