Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Chapter 590

Clara woke up and headed straight to the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror, her brows knitting together in frustration.

How had she let her guard down around Dylan so easily? It wasn't like her at all.

She leaned over the sink and splashed her face with cold water, hoping the sting would snap her out of it.

She really was like a frog in warm water-slowly getting used to things she shouldn't, letting her boundaries slip a little more each day. If she kept this up, she'd end up making exceptions for Dylan she never would have otherwise.

She couldn't let this go on.

Downstairs, breakfast was already waiting for her, courtesy of the housekeeper.

With no phone, no way to contact anyone outside, and no permission to leave the estate, her days had become mind-numbingly dull.

After breakfast, she wandered around the grounds, circling the main house, taking in the same views she'd seen a hundred times before.

Her steps took her-again-to the place where the madwoman was being kept. This time, it was quiet; the woman wasn't singing.

Clara craned her neck, looking up at the balcony and the windows. Everything was locked. Whoever that woman was, she was trapped here in Palm Bay, just like Clara-both of them prisoners of Dylan.

If you could call it a prison, though, it was a beautiful one.

Who was this woman, anyway? And how did she know Clara?

Clara stood there, lost in thought, for half an hour before finally heading back to the main house.

She turned to the housekeeper. "Did Dylan have breakfast?"

housekeeper replied. "He wanted us to tell you he might

she waited for

It wasn't like she had anything else to do-mostly, she just hoped for a chance to go out, even if it was only to tag along with

out of control outside, she

until noon, when the sound of a car caught her

away-the engine sounded

front hall, just in time to see

pretty sure she was looking at Mrs. Ferguson from the

Mrs. Ferguson had that

unmistakable old-money

aura-elegant but intimidating. She

signature emerald

of color in

otherwise classic outfit.

never met her before, but she was

her politely, "Mrs. Ferguson."

Beside her stood Tara.

women were dressed in beautifully crafted, artisan-made

moment Tara walked

sizing her ter a

up.

à looked away, bored.

Clara was pretty. But in their world, looks

been

to be