Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Clara hadn't even made it to the front door when, out of nowhere, several people appeared and blocked her way with careful, almost deferential precision.noveldrama

"Ma'am, please, you need to go back inside."

The suddenness of it made her stumble back a few steps, her heart thudding in her chest. She'd checked-she was sure she'd checked. There hadn't been a soul nearby. Where had these people even come from?

A cold shiver ran down her back.

If she couldn't see anyone hiding, did that mean she'd been watched the entire time? Had someone been tailing her from the moment she left the main house?

Humiliation burned through her for thinking she could sneak around, for believing she was clever enough to get away with it. And then came the anger- sharp and hot-for Dylan, for the way he always seemed to pull the strings, for how he never lost control.

She pressed her lips together, fighting the urge to lash out. "... Did you see me out there the whole time?"

The man didn't answer. He just bowed with that same polite detachment. "Please, ma'am, head back inside."

Her anger boiled over. She turned and stalked back toward the house, not bothering to hide her frustration.

She went straight upstairs, barely pausing at Dylan's bedroom door before kicking

it open.

She expected resistance, but the door wasn't even locked-it flew open with a loud thud.

The room was bright, lights still on. Was Dylan not even asleep?

She stormed toward the bed, but stopped short when she saw he was turned away, his back to her, apparently deep in sleep.

Clara hesitated, not sure what to do next. She called his name, voice tight.

"Dylan!"

He blinked awake slowly, pulling the blanket up, his tone flat. "What is it?"

Clara almost laughed, incredulous. "Was it fun for you? Watching me wander around out there like an idiot?"

With his back to her, she couldn't see his expression, couldn't tell what he was thinking.

Dylan just closed his eyes again, lashes falling.

Clara stood there, fists clenched, struggling to find words. After a long silence, she

finally burst out, "What do you actually want from me?"

She really didn't have a clue what he was thinking.

He sat up, covers slipping to his waist, ha messy, eyes on her. The room suddenly felt smaller, every inch filled by his presence-like he was everywhere, impossible to ignore.

He said, quietly, "Come here."

She blinked, taken aback, then slowly stepped closer. "What for?"

Without warning, he grabbed her wrist, pulled her in, and tipped her chin up. Then

he kissed her-soft, but definite.

"You asked what I wanted, didn't you?"

Clara's eyes went wide. She froze, stunned.

Dylan let her go, dropping his gaze in a way that almost looked defeated. "You came in here yourself."

It hit her like a shock. Her chest tightened; she lifted her hand, ready to slap him. But when she saw his face-pale, tired-her hand stalled in the air.

She held it there for what felt like forever before letting it fall.

So weird. If it had been Ryan, she would've slapped him without hesitation.

But Dylan—she just couldn't. Something invisible kept her from doing it.

It took her a moment to find her voice, and when she did, it came out small. "You're impossible."

He just looked at her, voice calm. "Yeah. And?"

He noticed her dropped hand, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to smile.

Clara was left speechless, her anger caught somewhere between her throat and her heart. She looked at him, at that face she couldn't seem to hate, and just... gave up.

She couldn't hit him.

She couldn't yell at him, either. Their

relationship had always been

civil-she'd always thought of him as someone with impeccable manners.

Yelling at him now felt childish, pointless.

"You... you really..." she started, but the words just wouldn't come.

Fronbubbled up. Why was

she the one feeling guilty? Dylan was the one out of line here—not her.