Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

She didn't sleep a wink all night.

The next day, Clara didn't touch a single meal. No breakfast, no lunch, no dinner. The housekeeper kept popping in and out of Dylan's study, clearly anxious but totally in the dark about what happened this time. "Sir, neither you nor Mrs. Bennett has eaten anything today..."

Dylan finally stood up, went to the master bedroom, and opened the door. There she was just a lump under the covers.

He walked over, sat by the window, and looked at her. "Come on. Eat something."

Clara kept her eyes shut, only half her face peeking out from the blankets.

He left without another word.

She thought maybe, finally, she'd get some peace. But it didn't last. Before long, his voice was back, and the smell of soup drifted into the room.

Dylan stood by her bed. "If you won't eat, I'll feed you myself."

Her lashes fluttered. Slowly, she sat up.

For a moment, the tension in Dylan's face eased. But then he saw her pull a knife and press it to her throat.

The bowl crashed to the floor, shattering. His eyes went wide in shock.

Everything-her, the blood, the fear-reflected in his gaze.

Clara noticed the panic in him. She held on to that, as if it was her last hope, and pressed the blade closer. A thin red line appeared across her pale skin.

The last bit of color drained from his face.

For the first time, she saw him truly break.

"Let me go."

Her voice was steady, but she pressed the knife even harder. Blood started to trickle down her neck.

"Clara!" His voice trembled, eyes rimmed red. "Don't do this. Please."

Clara slid off the bed, never looking away from him, backing up slowly. Her voice was the same-firm, cold.

"Let me go."

Suddenly Dylan started coughing-really coughing, not faking it. He doubled over, face flushed, one hand gripping the window ledge so tight the veins bulged under his skin.

Clara didn't care. Her patience was gone. "Dylan, just let me go."

She wouldn't look at him. All she wanted was to leave.

He kept coughing, then suddenly fell silent.

A cold sweat ran down her back. Something wasn't right, but she had to take this chance.

His face was white as a sheet, hisnoveldrama

hand

like being into the window frame

might break it. "Call Aiden," he managed to say.

"Dylan, what are you doing now?"

He barely heard her. He clutched his head, face twisted in pain. "If you leave me,

I'll die."

The knife slipped from her hand and hit the

s with a sharp clatter, She

speak but couldn't, like

something had taken over

She flung open the bedroom door and hurried off to find Aiden.

But Aiden wasn't upstairs. She grabbed a housekeeper, but when she tried to call out, nothing came.

The housekeeper, startled, quickly dialed Aiden.

He rushed into the bedroom and stopped short-blood, a knife on the floor, chaos everywhere.

"Mrs. Bennett, what happened?”

Blood streaked Clara's neck. Her eyes were unfocused, voice dazed. "Check on

him."

Aiden hurried over to Dylan, who was tense and shaking.

"Sir, please take your medicine."

He tried to hand Dylan the bottle, but Dylan knocked it away.

"Get out," Dylan barked.

Aiden went cold. He called for help, and within minutes, several people arrived.

Clara stood by the door, wanting to step closer, but Aiden blocked her.

"Ma'am, you should wait outside."

She felt numb, mind buzzing. "I..."

"The boss isn't well. It's not a good time for you to see him. Let me get someone

to take care of your neck."

Clara slid down against the wall, her voice rough. "Is he going to be okay?"

Aiden took a deep breath. "I don't

know. I'll be taking him out for treatment soon. Mrs. Bennett,- please just stay here for now. If you don't want anything to happen to him, don't leave until we're back."

His voice was stiff, almost accusing.

Clara stared blankly, lost and helpless. But deep down, she knew he was blaming her.