Chapter 727

Something wasn't right.

Clara lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling.

No, something was definitely off. Dylan's tenderness, the way he cared for her-it all felt alarmingly natural, like he'd been doing it forever.

She remembered what Mrs. Hawthorne had said, about Dylan picking wildflowers at the old country chapel. She remembered hurling those flowers at him; he hadn't made a sound in protest.

She had no idea how long she drifted in her thoughts before the door creaked open again. Dylan stepped in, carrying a bowl of soup.

He gently helped her sit up, slipping a pillow behind her lower back.

He stirred the soup, scooped up a spoonful, and held it to her lips.

She drank, her eyes lingering on his face.

But Dylan wouldn't meet her gaze. He just quietly repeated the motion-scoop, feed, repeat-like this was the most normal thing in the world.

Clara ate until her stomach finally stopped aching. Only then did she speak, her voice hesitant. "You..."

She got the word out, then immediately turned away, embarrassed.

Even that small movement felt exhausting-her whole body was heavy and weak. Dylan just waited, holding the bowl, patient for whatever she wanted to say.

The silence pressed in, thick and tense, like he was waiting for his sentence to be passed.

If she'd remembered her past, she wouldn't be this gentle, she thought. But fate had been strangely generous to him.

Clara a long moment before

He

Her cheeks

her words stuck in her throat,

just watched her, steady

her eyes and leaned back, letting out

I just... I thought you saw me as a

been pushed into the pit, with dirt raining down on

legs, and he never blamed

always so good to her, and she'd chalked it up

she'd told herself it

never even considered that he

a kaleidoscope-every little, dazzling piece hidden where nobody could

imagine what kind of love could drive someone like him

was hot as she

didn't like Z for the same shallow reasons everyone

that. He just loved her too

kept being cold, kept treating him like some overbearing

bear to hurt him anymore. Emotional debts-those are always the hardest to

sorry, Dylan. I was...

made her feel lighter,

suddenly, his

flew open,

her. Heat flushed up her neck,

his chest, trying to

lips trailed down,

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