Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run novel Chapter 590

Clara woke up and headed straight to the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror, her brows knitting together in frustration.

How had she let her guard down around Dylan so easily? It wasn’t like her at all.

She leaned over the sink and splashed her face with cold water, hoping the sting would snap her out of it.

She really was like a frog in warm water—slowly getting used to things she shouldn’t, letting her boundaries slip a little more each day. If she kept this up, she’d end up making exceptions for Dylan she never would have otherwise.

She couldn’t let this go on.

Downstairs, breakfast was already waiting for her, courtesy of the housekeeper.

With no phone, no way to contact anyone outside, and no permission to leave the estate, her days had become mind-numbingly dull.

After breakfast, she wandered around the grounds, circling the main house, taking in the same views she’d seen a hundred times before.

Her steps took her—again—to the place where the madwoman was being kept. This time, it was quiet; the woman wasn’t singing.

Clara craned her neck, looking up at the balcony and the windows. Everything was locked. Whoever that woman was, she was trapped here in Palm Bay, just like Clara—both of them prisoners of Dylan.

If you could call it a prison, though, it was a beautiful one.

Who was this woman, anyway? And how did she know Clara?

Clara stood there, lost in thought, for half an hour before finally heading back to the main house.

She turned to the housekeeper. “Did Dylan have breakfast?”

“Sir left at five this morning, ma’am,” the housekeeper replied. “He wanted us to tell you he might be back very late tonight.”

As if she waited for him every night.

Okay, maybe she did. It wasn’t like she had anything else to do—mostly, she just hoped for a chance to go out, even if it was only to tag along with him.

With everything spinning out of control outside, she felt even more useless stuck at home.

She flopped onto the sofa and stayed there until noon, when the sound of a car caught her attention.

She recognized the difference right away—the engine sounded nothing like Dylan’s.

She looked toward the front hall, just in time to see an elderly woman enter, her presence sharp and commanding.

Someone like Tara would never see a woman like Clara as a threat—no matter how pretty she was.

Mrs. Ferguson walked over to the center sofa and took a seat.

“So you’re Clara?” she asked, her voice calm but cool.

She’d been away from the Capital for ten years, and barely remembered Clara from back then.

Clara stayed standing, meeting her gaze without flinching.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The staff clearly knew Mrs. Ferguson—someone rushed in with the best tea, served in the finest china.

Mrs. Ferguson didn’t touch her cup or offer Clara a seat.

“You and Dylan are married?”

Showing up while Dylan was out—yeah, it was pretty clear she wasn’t here for a friendly visit.