Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Chapter 267

Chapter 267

Clara's head was pounding, and the last thing she wanted was to deal with the

messy business of relationships, especially when it cto Z. Things with Z were complicated enough on their

own.

Simon, on the other hand, was busy plotting how to get into Clara's good graces and maybe move up a notch in

her life. After all, he did take a slap for her earlier, so suggesting dinner seemed like a reasonable next step,

right? But before he could bring it up, Clara sank back into the hospital bed, looking like exhaustion personified.

"Simon, I'm really tired. Can | just get speace and quiet for a bit?" she murmured.

Simon pressed his lips together in thought. "How about dinner later? Or | could bring you something here. You

know your stomach's acting up again."

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Clara had already shut her eyes, her voice barely above a whisper. "Alright."

Simon stood up and quietly left, closing the door with care.

Clara thought she could finally snatch a peaceful nap, but it wasn't long before the door creaked open again.

Assuming it was Simon, she snapped, "What now?"

But the man who entered didn't say a word. Simon wasn't one to keep quiet like that. Slowly, Clara opened her

eyes and scanned the room until she saw it was Dylan.

Seeing Dylan was the last thing she wanted. Her demeanor turned frosty, and her voice matched. “Mr. Dylan, do

you need something? If not, could you please leave? | need to rest."

Dylan's fingers trembled on the armrest before curling inwards, almost as if he was holding something back.

Clara turned away from him, showing him her back. But she soon heard the soft sound of a wheelchair

approaching and felt a gentle yet firm grip turning her shoulder.

"Don't turn your back on me."

"What?" she snapped, already on edge from the whole Eden situation. "Mr. Dylan, it's Saturday. We're not at

work, so | don't have to listen to you."

Dylan's face briefly went pale, and Clara caught a flicker of hurt in his eyes.

Even more irritated, she lay back down and shut her eyes tightly. She wasn't sure how much thad passed,

but she was genuinely tired and drifted off to sleep.

Ever since the Lincoln incident, she'd been wary around Dylan. Even in sleep, she stayed somewhat aware of her

surroundings. She knew Dylan hadn't left, which was odd. Why was he still there?

As she mulled over it, a warm sensation brushed her lips, jolting her awake as if she'd seen a ghost. She knew

the feeling of a kiss all too well, and that warmth could only be someone's lips.

With no one else in the room, it had to be Dylan, right?

Her skin crawled with unease, and she nearly rolled off the bed in a panic. But when she sat up, the room was

empty-Dylan was nowhere to be found.

Was it just her imagination? A dream?

Her heart raced uncontrollably, and the idea that Dylan might have sneaked a kiss made her want to pack up

and run.

Could it really have been Dylan?