Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Chapter 700

Clara had this uncanny ability. One second, she'd sweep you up to cloud nine; the next, you'd crash straight to rock bottom. It all depended on her mood.

He lowered his gaze, lashes casting shadows on his cheek. His hand, resting beside him, was stiff-fingers curling in, then relaxing, like he was fighting off something only he could feel.

The car turned around, retracing the route they'd just driven. Outside, the rain hammered down harder, thunder rumbling somewhere in the distance. He hated rain. Always had.

Aiden was driving, stealing nervous glances at the rearview mirror. He was worried his boss might sneak another pill. He couldn't help but speak up, “Sir, maybe if you just told your wife about the Westhill plot..."

Maybe she'd finally let her guard down.

Dylan's fingers shook as he reached for the pill bottle, but Aiden's voice cut through from the front.

"You can't keep taking those. After last time, when you passed out for days—the side effects were serious. The doctor told me to keep a close eye on you. If you keep pushing yourself like this... what are we supposed to do?"

Dylan's hand froze. He gritted his teeth and tried to ride out the pain.

just tell her everything. Let her come after me if she wants—at least I won't be around

trying, find the right words, but nothing he could say would matter half as much as a single word from Clara. So

the car stopped at Palm Bay, Aiden was about to hop out first, ready to grab an umbrella for Dylan, but before he

out there, walking

was just a few steps to the house, but tonight's storm felt relentless, like it was out to make things as

rushed after him. "Sir,

the injury was supposedly healed, there were still things that needed looking after. It wasn't that long ago that he'd almost lost that

of it had been easy. Dylan just never talked about it. Maybe he thought he

did his wife have to lose her memory? Why give him hope only to snatch it away

a market—almost dead, until someone

The boss

Still, he

to the

knocked softly at the door. “Tomorrow morning we have to go to the Ferguson estate. The party starts at six sharp. The Chester family