Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Chapter 129

Eden was in her early twenties and had a surprising fierceness about her. Clara

kicked out, sending Eden stumbling to the side. Still unsatisfied, Eden reached for another vase on the cabinet.

"Why don't you just go to hell!"

Before she could bring the vase down, a voice cut through the tension.

"What are you doing?"

Eden froze, looking up to find Dylan in his wheelchair.

"Dylan!"

Wasn't he supposed to be at work?

Dylan's brow furrowed as he took in Clara clutching her injured palm. His voice turned a shade colder.

"What's going on here?"

Eden hurriedly set the vase down and rushed to his side.

"Dylan, why did you let this bitch into Palm Bay? Have you forgotten that your leg's like this because of her?

She's the reason my brother lost his child. | hate her so much. Why doesn't she just kill herself!" Her words came

out more frantic, anger flushing her face as she knelt before Dylan.

Dylan shifted slightly, clearly not keen on physical contact. "Who let you in?"

"| con my own. Dylan, you can't stop me. Clara must pay for what she did to my brother's child."

Dylan's tone was icy as he instructed Aiden, who was standing nearby, "Show her out."

Eden's eyes widened in shock, and after a moment, she stood with a pale face. "Dylan..."

But the bodyguard was already at her back.

She shot Clara a venomous glare, stomped her foot in frustration, and reluctantly left.

Clara wasn't sure if she imagined it, but Eden's demeanor towards Dylan seemed off. The way she looked at him

wasn't how you'd look at an elder.

She lowered her lashes, pressing her wounded palm to stifle the pain.

Dylan wheeled himself closer, gently taking her wrist to check it.

Clara suddenly asked, "Is Eden adopted?"

Without memories of her past, she wasn't sure. But she could read the way women looked at men, and Eden's

gaze towards Dylan was brimming with possessiveness. When Dylan appeared, the delight, anticipation, and

imagined intimacy were all too obvious.

Dylan wheeled into the living room, and Clara followed slowly, feeling a strange

unease.

Dylan fetched a first aid kit before finally answering her earlier question.

"| found her on the roadside years ago. I'm not one for raising kids, so someone else took her in."

That someone was Ada, making Eden Simon's sister.

Clara pressed her lips together, tempted to ask if Dylan realized Eden's

possessive nature towards him. But this was a Ferguson family matter, Dylan's private affair, and not her

business.

Dylan didn't revisit the topic and instead quietly tended to her wound. Once he finished, he closed the first aid

kit.

Clara curled her fingers slightly.

"Mr. Dylan, | need to leave soon. | can't hide here forever."

Though she wasn't sure if Dylan's help was out of pity or kindness, she knew she couldn't overstay her welcome.

Quinn's miscarriage was so sudden, and she hadn't figured out a solution yet. If this kept up, the Ferguson family

would surely push Clara out. She needed to expose Quinn's lies.

As she mulled over her next move, Dylan spoke up.

"Go check the hospital."

She looked up, instinctively murmuring, "What?"

Then it clicked-Dylan was giving her a hint. She had to go to the hospital. Could there be surveillance footage?

But knowing Quinn's tactics, any evidence would probably be erased.

Her mind raced, conjuring another possibility. What if Quinn was never pregnant and faked the whole thing?

Dylan's next words confirmed her suspicion.

"The Ferguson family wouldn't risk having an illegitimate child before marriage." That would be a major scandal,

especially given Simon's tangled relationship with Quinn. He was still Clara's official fiancé. Simon was foolish,

but he'd have taken precautions and Quinn's pregnancy wouldn't have happened so easily.

Clara's eyes lit up, grabbing Dylan's hand in excitement.

"I'll go check it out now. Thank you, Mr. Dylan!"

Dylan said nothing and just watched as her small hand clasped his.

Clara didn't notice and quickly let go, rushing towards the door. As she reached it,

she heard Dylan murmur, "You always do this."

His voice was soft, almost like a whisper.

She paused, turning back with a puzzled look. "What?"

"Nothing."

Clara flashed him a bright smile. "If | can sort this out, I'll keep being your sleeping aid, Mr. Dylan. | asked the

housekeeper this morning, and she said you've struggled with insomnia for ages. But these past few days,

you've slept well. Do I still have a purpose?”

Her smile was so genuine, warm, and inviting.

Dylan, however, didn't meet her gaze, responding with a faint "Hmm."

Clara sighed. Dylan was truly reserved. It was hard to believe someone so stoic could harbor a secret love,

remaining devoted even after his beloved's passing for years. He was indeed the best man in the world.

Before chatting with the housekeeper, she hadn't realized how serious Dylan's insomnia was. After all, he had

slept well these past few days and looked much healthier.

No wonder Jackson, despite his distain, tolerated her presence when he noticed Dylan could sleep near her.

But what kind of aura did she have to create such a miraculous effect? How did she help Dylan fall asleep

quickly? Thinking about it, she felt a hint of pride.