Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Chapter 297

Clara woke up to the relentless drumming of rain on the window. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and her vision wavered. Just her luck - now she was running a fever too.

She glanced over to see Dylan stepping out of the bathroom. She froze, caught off guard, and quickly looked away once she realized. Last night, she hadn't noticed much, but now she could make out faint scratch marks on Dylan's chest, likely from a woman's nails. Maybe a cat had clawed at him too, but there were similar marks on his back, which seemed pretty suggestive.

Too tired to overthink it, Clara decided to freshen up. The toiletries were bare- bones, like the kind you'd find at a budget motel-a flimsy toothbrush and a tiny tube of toothpaste.

As she sluggishly brushed her teeth, she thought about how Dylan was really getting the short end of the stick here. Just as she was lost in thought, Dylan appeared in the cramped bathroom, standing behind her, presumably to wash his hands.

Clara instinctively shifted to the side, but the space was so tiny that their shoulders still brushed against each other. He was shirtless, washing his hands at

a leisurely pace as if he were in some luxury suite.

She could feel the warmth from his body seeping through her thin clothes, invading her personal bubble. She quickly splashed her face with water, rinsed her mouth, and turned to head back to bed.

But then, his hand reached out in front of her. Even his arms looked like they belonged in a sculpture. Clara forced a smile. "What's up?"

Dylan leaned in, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her feel exposed, before slowly pulling back his hand. She let out a relieved breath and hurriedly grabbed her jacket from the day before, slipping it on. After a night under the air conditioning, her clothes were dry but felt uncomfortable.

cookies in the room, and she nibbled on a few. When Dylan came out of the

wanting to get up but not daring to move. He lowered his lashes and casually opened a pack of cookies, taking a bite. Clara turned her

sofa, as if he were contagious. Neither of them spoke, and the silence

in the trash and wiped the crumbs from his fingers with a napkin. Clara

chuckled softly, "So, last night, you were

atmosphere. Clara felt like she'd been

looking at her, his tone lighter. "When

face flushed, and she said nothing, her fingers nervously scrolling through her phone,

happened, but Dylan had shattered that illusion. With the storm outside, who knew how

Dylan, we're both adults. In that situation, it's normal to get

easily with everyone?" He looked down at the plate of cookies, his tone dropping, "What

are no 'what ifs,' Mr. Dylan. I just want to marry an ordinary person, live an ordinary life. Maybe it's presumptuous, but that's

some reason, Dylan's face went pale, his fingers trembled slightly. Once, she had said the

lips together, suddenly turning to watch the

wryly, "It's okay, it's okay. I know you weren't