Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

But for the next few hours, she actually got some real sleep.

At six in the morning, a maid knocked on her door, announcing another call from the old estate.

Clara rushed through her routine and hurried downstairs. Dylan was already waiting, looking perfectly put together.

She grabbed a quick breakfast, then asked, "Is today going to be complicated?"

Dylan's face was calm and warm as he nodded.

Clara took a few extra bites and stuffed some bread into her bag for later-just in

case.

On the drive over, she stared out the window at the scenery flying by. "Do you think your grandfather's going to give you a hard time today?"

Ever since the fire at the temple, the old man had been eerily quiet. Clara had no clue what he was plotting, and the uncertainty made her uneasy.

She gave Dylan a worried look and said, "If they try to make you sign something unfair, promise you'll say no."

Dylan always handled the Ferguson family's pressure with such a cool head. Sometimes Clara worried he wouldn't stand up for himself.

He glanced at her, then looked back out the window, a faint smirk on his lips. "Yeah, I know."

Her eyes dropped to his hands-he was still wearing his wedding ring. He'd never once taken it off.

When they arrived at the old manor, the place was already draped in mourning banners and white flowers.

Dylan was in his wheelchair, as usual, and Clara pushed him inside. She could feel the Ferguson family's eyes on her-blank, cold, and full of a disgust they didn't even bother to hide, like she was something rotten they couldn't wait to get rid of.

She kept her head down and pushed Dylan into the main hall, where the old ma was waiting.

But before the patriarch could say a word, Lucius jumped in.

Lucius's wife, Kayla, had just been kicked out by the Fergusons. Even if he'd always been a pushover, today he couldn't hold back.

"Dylan, you know your mother died because of her, and you still bring her here? Are you really going to let your mother go to her grave like this?"

Clara wasn't stupid. If she tried to say the fire was the old man's doing right now, she'd never make it out of the Ferguson house alive. They'd all just call her crazy, and it would only make them angrier.

So, for now, the truth about the fire stayed buried in her heart.

She looked at the old man. He was dressed in black, his face totally unreadable- like he'd lost a stranger, not his wife.

Suddenly, Clara felt a pang of sadness for the late matriarch. After all those kids, all those years, he didn't shed a single tear.

Decades together, and it meant nothing in the end.

But even at the very end, the old lady hadn't seemed regretful-just unwilling, just full of sorrow.

Maybe that's how it goes-love debts are the hardest to pay back.

Clara took a deep breath and gripped the wheelchair handles tighter.

At that moment, the old man finally spoke. "Didn't I tell the butler to tell you? I said not to bring her here."

Obviously, "her" meant Clara.

Dylan's face didn't change. He just said, “Father, I told you before. Clara is my wife."

The old man stared at him for a long moment, like he was finally making up his mind.

"Fine. Go pay your last respects to your mother."

The family shrine was set up with white wreaths everywhere and the matriarch's memorial plaque at the center.

All the Fergusons had to stand outside in the courtyard, pour wine on the ground, and bow to the memorial, to heaven and earth.

Clara wasn't allowed inside. She could only watch through the open door.

The other women gathered around, watching her with cold, mocking smiles.

"Well, congratulations. You haven't even married in properly and you've already cursed your elders."

"Ever since you showed up, the Fergusons have been plagued one disaster after another. Dylan must be out of his mind, insisting on staying with you."

"That poor boy, Dylan..."

The whispers and snide comments came from all sides, as if just standing near

Clara would bring them bad luck.

Clara almost laughed, but kept her eyes fixed inside. She shot back, "If the Fergusons' bad luck really started with me, then shouldn't you all have had a string of disasters years ago? Didn't you all have plenty of good times before? Isn't it only in the last six months that things have gone wrong? Maybe someone among you did something so awful, the whole family's paying for it now."

She barely finished speaking before someone snapped, "Clara! Arenoveldrama

out

than &

your mind? How dare

tover

you

say

at the Ferguson shrine