Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Clara slipped into an empty seat, her heart still pounding from the argument she'd just survived. The chaos of it all kept replaying in her head, each memory making her cringe a little more at herself.

She glanced down at the bright red bead bracelet on her wrist. Its color was impossible to ignore-a constant reminder of everything that had happened with Dylan. Guilt. Evidence. Her fingers traced the beads absently, searching for comfort but finding none. She'd never felt so low.

She didn't even know how long she'd been sitting there when Dylan's voice came from behind her. "Let's go home."

She pretended not to hear.

He walked over and stood beside her, catching her staring blankly at the floor. "Clara, let's go."

She looked up at him, just for a second, then looked away again. When he reached out, aiming to touch her cheek, she instinctively pulled back. His hand hung awkwardly in the air, fingers curling in on themselves.

She stood up first, walking out with big, determined steps.

In the car, she made sure to sit as far from him as possible. The entire ride home passed in silence. Even when they got back to Palm Bay and into the master bedroom, Clara just went straight into the bathroom and locked the door.

After her shower, she didn't bother looking at him. She sank into the chair by the window, folded her arms on the desk, and decided to sleep right there.

Dylan showered next. When he came out and saw her still curled up at the desk, he walked over and sat across from her. "What's wrong?"

Clara didn't respond.

The window was open to the night, and a breeze drifted in, carrying the faint scent of flowers.

Dylan rested his hand gently on her head, fingers threading through her hair. He heard her voice, hoarse and small. "I just... suddenly feel disgusting."

The words hit him like a punch.

He pulled his hand away like he'd touched a hot stove, and coughed, trying to keep his composure.

Clara finally sat up, meeting his eyes with a cold, clear look. "Dylan, we don't even like each other. Why can't we just let go?"

Why keep hurting each other like this? Why make him betray Tara, and make herself betray Z―turn herself into the kind of woman she hated?

She'd never respected cheaters. If you couldn't even control your own emotions, what made you any different from an animal?

Under her gaze, that familiar, broken look flickered across Dylan's face-half mocking, half defeated, almost empty.

He got up, ready to leave the room.

She moved quickly and blocked his way. "I remember everything from last night. I was drunk, but you weren't. I always thought you wouldn't be the kind of man

controlled by something so pathetic. Dylan, you—"

She didn't get to finish. He shoved her onto the bed.

He caged her in, bracing himself on either side of her, his voice flat. "Pathetic?"

Clara tried to push him off and get up, but he forced her back down.

She let out a cold laugh, her face unreadable. When you kiss me, I'm thinking about someone else. Doesn't that bother you? I'll never fall for you The only time I feel anything is when I'm imagining someone else."

There weren't words strong enough for what that did to a man. It wasn't just an insult—it was a direct blow to his pride.

Clara braced herself, half expecting him to lose it, to wrap his hands around her throat.

But he didn't.

He just stared at her lips, trembling with every word, and then suddenly grabbed her face and kissed her, hard.

She tried to kick him, but he pinned her legs down. The taste of blood filled both their mouths. Her lips were already sore-now she could barely feel them at all.

She fought until she was too tired to keep going.

Dylan finally pulled back, tasting the salt of her tears. He stopped and looked at

her.

She looked startled, scrambling to

grab the blanket and cover her face,

but his hand closed around her wrist, forcing her to face him tears streaming down her cheeks.

Clara's cheeks burned with humiliation and fury. "Let go!"

He pressed her hand gently to his own face, nuzzling into her palm.

Clara's fingers curled on instinct. She looked away, biting her lip so hard it hurt.

He opened his mouth to say something, but then-a sudden flash of metal. A knife, its blade catching the light, swung toward him.

He didn't even try to dodge.

Clara heard the knife sink into flesh. She let go slowly, her body numb.noveldrama

She'd brought the knife from the manor earlier, just in case.

Dylan looked down at the blade sticking out of his shoulder, then looked back at

her. His voice was quiet. "You hate me that much? Why not the heart?"

She went pale, unable to meet his gaze.

He yanked the knife out, tossed it carelessly under the bed, and pushed her down onto the mattress. "Go to sleep."

The lights were bright, and the air was thick with the smell of blood.

Clara stared up at the ceiling, tears rolling down her cheeks. The feeling that everything she did was wrong was enough to break her.

She curled up, but Dylan's arm slid around her waist, holding her tight as a vine.

His chest pressed warm against her back, his whole body closing around her.

He never needed words to tell her-no matter how much it hurt, he was never going to let her go.