Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Walter didn't want to make a scene, not now. "As long as you know what's really going on, that's good enough."

Dylan didn't respond. The whole group filed back into the old manor's main hall, where the chef had just set out steaming bowls of noodles.

Everyone had to eat longevity noodles, along with seafood soup. It was tradition—no exceptions.

But Dylan was allergic to seafood. He picked at the noodles, ate barely two strands, then slipped away upstairs.

Once the ancestral ceremony wrapped up, all that was left was to wait for the evening banquet.

The manor was decked out-plush red carpet everywhere, every corner meticulously decorated.

Kayla glanced over at Tara, who'd been helping out since dawn, and handed her a bowl of soup. “There's no seafood in this. Can you bring it up to Dylan?"

Tara paused, looking at her with an unreadable expression.

Kayla's heart skipped a beat—maybe Tara had caught on to her plan. She felt her face go a little pale.

But Tara only smiled, warm and sincere. "Sure, I'll take it to him.”

Kayla let out a quiet sigh of relief, but there was a flash of coldness in her eyes.

She was going to make sure the old man's eightieth birthday was a disaster.

Tara walked upstairs and knocked on Dylan's bedroom door.

Dylan thought it was just another Ferguson family member. He was sitting in his study, barely glancing up. "Come in."

He didn't look at her, just kept reading his papers. "What's up?”

Tara set the bowl down on his desk. "They're worried your stomach might act up later, so they asked me to bring you some soup."

That's when Dylan realized it was her.

His hand paused for just a second, but his face stayed blank. "I'm fine. You can go."

Tara didn't look offended. She just pushed the bowl a little closer, calm and collected.

"Dylan, I honestly wish you and Clara the best. Your grandma treats me like her own granddaughter, and I've just gone along with it. From now on, we're basically family, even f we're not the same generation. Can't we at least be friends? If you'd told me sooner that you never planned to marry me, I wouldn't have bothered learning all the Warren family rules. When your grandma called me back, you didn't say anything. Everyone assumed I came back to get engaged to you. The rest of the Fergusons think so, too. All I'm asking is for a little honesty. Don't put me in a position where I have to be embarrassed in front of

everyone."

Anyone with half a brain could see why they'd sent her up with the soup-just to see where she stood with Dylan.

She'd said exactly what needed to be said.

Whatever Dylan was thinking, he set down his paperwork, picked up the bowl, and took a sip or two.

Tara finally relaxed, a real smile

breaking through. "You don't have to finish it. I just need something to tell them downstairs."

Once he set the spoon down, she picked up the bowl and turned to leave.

Dylan watched her walk away, then called out quietly, "Sorry."noveldrama

Tara paused at the door, her expression shifting for a split second. She knew exactly what he meant.

But it didn't matter. Soon, none of this would matter.

She reached for the doorknob, tried to turn it, but it wouldn't budge. She tried again, still nothing.

Frowning, she glanced back at Dylan. "Is your door stuck?"

Dylan started to get up to check, but as soon as he stood, a sudden wave of heat crashed over him.

He had to grip the desk, his knuckles turning white.

Tara quickly set the bowl aside and rushed over. “Dylan, are you okay?”

Dylan dropped his gaze, dodging her hand. “I'm fine."

But he definitely wasn't. The drug was already surging through his system.

He'd just spent days unconscious, barely recovered, and his body was still weak. After all the medication over the years, now he just felt like he was burning up from the inside.

Tara seemed to realize something was seriously wrong and backed away quickly. “I'll call someone.”

She reached for her pockets—then remembered she didn't have her phone.