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?"

I'm Simon! I'm decent-looking and loaded. Clara

table, while his friends, always quick

on her? There are plenty of better women in New

have anyone badmouth Clara. It's my fault. I was foolish to fall for someone as toxic as Quinn, and sleeping with

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

cheeks flushed red from the cold and angrily started to

happened with

coat over her shoulders, but she stepped

frustration boiling up, almost ready to lash out, but he bit his tongue,

on, Clara. Just be honest with me. Did you use Jacob as my stand-in? If you still care for me, let's

good to him, and her cooking was amazing. A life with her would be blissful. His lips curved into a hopeful smile

said it a hundred times-I don't like

and he tried once more to wrap

a memory flashing in her

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 cold, then took it back home to

rubbed her temples, feeling a pang of sympathy for her past self. To put an end to Simon's persistence, she spoke