Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Before Clara could even finish her sentence, a group of men who looked like bodyguards suddenly swooped in, silencing her with their presence. They had this cold, no-nonsense vibe as one of them spoke up from outside the car. "Ms. Clara, sorry for the trouble. This woman is a distant relative of the CEO and isn't in the best mental state. We didn't expect her to wander out tonight."

The woman, who seemed so disturbed before, instantly quieted down, almost like she was scared.

Clara wanted to talk to her a bit more, but the security team had already driven the car away. They stopped in front of the main villa, where the lights were still on.

Clara got out, holding her bouquet of flowers, and instinctively turned around, hoping to catch a glimpse of where the woman was taken. But there was nothing —she'd disappeared like a ghost. Rubbing her temples, she felt a headache starting to creep in.

Suddenly, the door in front of her swung open. Standing at the entrance, she noticed the living room was empty. She placed the flowers on the coffee table, ready to leave, but then she spotted Dylan on the second floor.

He was leaning against the railing, his voice calm and collected. "Why are you so late?"

Clara looked up, a hint of surprise in her voice. "Mr. Dylan, are your legs feeling better?"

"Yes."

He lowered his eyelashes, his throat moving as if he had more to say. Whenever Clara was around Dylan, she couldn't shake off this feeling of unease, though she couldn't quite figure out why.

She scratched her cheek, "I'm sorry for dropping by so late. The florists in the Capital didn't have these flowers, so I went to the countryside to pick them. Took a bit more time than expected. You weren't waiting for the flowers, were you?"

It was past three in the morning, and for someone as disciplined as Dylan, it was strange for him to be up.

He didn't reply, just kept watching her. Clara was at a loss. Dylan's silences often left her unsure of what to say, not knowing whether to stay or go.

After a few awkward minutes, she finally said, "Well, the flowers are here, so I'll get going. You should get some rest too."

As she took a step away, he suddenly asked, "Is the snow heavy outside?"

Clara instinctively patted her head, thinking maybe she had some snowflakes there he'd noticed. "A bit. This year's snow in the Capital seems heavier than usual."

"Yeah."

Clara felt uncomfortable. What was Dylan getting at with these random questions? It made leaving feel complicated.

She stood there for a few more minutes, unable to handle the silence any longer. "So..."

But before she could finish, he asked, "Do the flowers smell nice?"

Caught off guard, Clara looked up and met his gaze. His eyes were calm, one hand hanging by his side, his whole figure softly illuminated by the warm, golden light.

It was the first time she'd seen Dylan like this, almost as if he was lost in a heavy memory.

"They smell wonderful, even better than winter jasmine. I picked several stems; I hope you like them."

Ever since she'd seen that disturbed woman, Clara had felt uneasy, and now she just wanted to leave. After answering him, she lowered her head and headed for the door. This time, Dylan didn't say anything more.noveldrama

When she reached the entryway, she couldn't help but glance back. He was still there, his shadow blurring in the dim light.

Clara's headache suddenly intensified, and she quickly made her way out. Back in her car, she pressed her temples hard, but the pain wouldn't let up, making her feel nauseous.

Barely holding it together, she managed to get home, hurriedly washed up, and collapsed into bed, feeling like her head was about to explode. She took a painkiller and a couple of sleeping pills, lying still in bed.

She hadn't dreamed in a while, but soon after falling asleep, a dream took hold. She was back in a desolate, war-torn landscape, wandering aimlessly. Every few steps, she stumbled, with two people closely following her, their eyes full of worry. "Ms. Clara, let's go back."

She didn't listen, just kept moving forward numbly. All three of them were injured, the two men more so, but they followed her every step, like loyal guardians.

One of them had a small braid proudly resting on his shoulder, his fox-like eyes red with fatigue.

When Clara fell, they rushed to support her, "Should we go back?"

She lifted her eyes blankly, emptiness staring back, "Back where? There's nowhere to go back to..."

Clara jolted awake, the sharp pain from the dream lingering into reality, making her feel like every bone in her body hurt.