Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Clara didn't stop walking. She didn't turn around, not even once, as she passed Dylan's car. She just kept going.

The windows were up. She had no idea if he was inside, and honestly, she didn't care. She got into her own car and drove off.

Dylan's car followed her in silence. The pain in her head had faded a little, but her vision was still blurry, the world doubling in front of her eyes.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to hold it together. By the time she pulled into Palm Bay, Dylan's car rolled to a stop right behind hers.

She didn't even glance his way, just headed straight inside.

The housekeeper waiting in the foyer let out a shaky breath of relief when Clara came through the door. "Ma'am, you left so suddenly, and you're still hurt. We've all been worried sick about you."

Clara didn't say a word. She just walked upstairs.

The housekeeper watched her go, anxious, noticing how empty Clara's eyes looked-like she wasn't really there.

to say something else, but the front door opened again. To her surprise, Mr.

Weren't the two of them fighting?

Dylan looked just as calm—almost too calm. "Sir, did you and Mrs. Evans make up?" the housekeeper asked, half-hopeful. Dylan just glanced up the stairs, then lowered his gaze and quietly followed. Clara

on the light and walked

side drawer and searched through it carefully. Nothing-no bracelet,

the right and started rifling through that one too. She pulled out files and random things, piling them on the desk and the floor until both drawers

a

desk, finally standing upright, her body

saw Dylan standing in the doorway. For a second, her eyes looked lost, but

how long he'd

her lips

like it was the middle of the workday

a hand to her forehead, and pain shot

spoke up, gentle but serious.