Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Chapter 325

The next morning at six, his car cruised past her. Clara had been on her feet all night, and though exhaustion weighed heavily on her, her eyes sparkled when she saw him.

"Mr. Dylan..." she called out, but the car didn't even slow down.

With a sigh, she resumed her vigil. She waited until afternoon, standing in the biting cold of a New York winter. Her feet felt like blocks of ice as the temperature continued to drop. Snow began to fall again, and she sniffled, knowing she couldn't leave until Dylan's anger had melted away.

Somehow, Simon caught wind of her standing outside Dylan's place in Palm Bay and showed up in no time, his voice laced with irritation when he saw her.

"Clara! What on earth are you doing here? Why are you camped outside Dylan's house?"

Ever since his last run-in with Jacob, Simon was convinced Clara had feelings for him. But her silence left him unsure, leading to countless rants to his rowdy group of friends.

In the past, they all sneered at Clara, seeing Simon's devotion as a joke. They'd often egg him on. Lately, though, Simon's attitude shifted. Whenever he got drunk, Clara's name was the only thing on his lips, muttering about love and loss.

"How could she just stop loving me? Did she ever really love me at all?"

"Is Jacob just a placeholder? Am I? Are we both?"

and loaded. Clara must be blind

go on and on, sprawled over a club table, while his friends, always quick to back him up, joined

There are plenty of better women in

fault. I was foolish to fall for

lamenting until everyone ran out of words. He could criticize Clara, but no one else was allowed

cheeks flushed red from the cold and angrily started to shrug off

with you and

puzzled, trying to drape his coat over her

almost ready to lash out, but he bit his tongue, remembering he

be honest with me. Did you use Jacob as my stand-in? If you still care for

eyes light up, imagining a future with Clara. She had always been good to him, and her cooking was amazing. A life with her

hundred

smile vanished, and he tried once more to wrap his coat

a memory

she had made him soup. It was freezing, and she waited for him to come down and get it, but he was upstairs with Quinn, who was pretending to be sick, ignoring her calls. Clara had waited until the soup went

for her past self. To put an end