Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run novel Chapter 664

Charles had a wild hunch—was it Clara again?

“Who are you looking for?” he asked.

“My wife, Clara.”

“Oh, your wife.” The words slipped out casually, but then he practically squeaked, “Wait, who? Your wife? Since when did you get married? Who’s the unlucky woman who’d marry a stiff like you? Oh, Clara—what?! Clara again?!”

He realized he’d let something slip and reached for his pen to knock some sense into himself, but the guy on the other end must’ve picked up on it, because the call cut off right away.

Charles swore under his breath and tried calling back, but no answer.

Man, that guy was sharp—just one slip and he already figured someone was looking for him.

Putting his phone away, Charles headed upstairs, dragging the doctor along to Clara’s room.

“Heal her. Do whatever it takes, just wake her up, now.”

The doctor winced as Charles gripped the back of his neck. “Young master, I told you—just wait. She’ll wake up on her own.”

“No way. She needs to wake up now. Don’t you have any medicine or something? Give her a boost.”

“If I push her any more, she’ll end up brain-dead. Didn’t I say? She took a high-concentration dose this time. Most people would’ve lost consciousness that night. Her willpower is scary, honestly. Back in the underground fight club, plenty of grown men went down after getting hit with this stuff. She’s a woman, and if she’s back to normal in a month, that’s already a miracle.”

He barely finished speaking when Clara on the bed slowly opened her eyes.

A flash of genuine relief crossed Charles’s face. He shoved the doctor aside and hurried over. “Clara, you’re finally awake! Do you know who I am? Wait—do you know who you are? You’re not... you didn’t lose your mind, did you?”

Clara sat up slowly, looking around the room before her eyes landed on Charles.

The doctor watched her carefully, something about her eyes making him uneasy—they were too clear, almost childlike.

Sure enough, the next second Clara looked at Charles and called out, “Brother.”

“Brother, I’m hungry.” Clara looked up at him, confused. “Is there nothing to eat?”

Charles’s eyes lit up. Of course! Taking care of a woman wasn’t much different from taking care of a dog—just keep her company and don’t let her go hungry.

He dashed downstairs and came back with a pile of snacks, dropping them by her bed. “Eat what you want.”

Clara ripped open a bag and started eating, but her wrists were so weak that after finishing one, she couldn’t open another.

Charles noticed and helpfully tore open the rest, sitting beside her, watching her face. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Ten, I think? I can’t really remember. Why? Don’t you know, brother?”

Charles leaned back, arms crossed. “Then ten it is. Calling me brother makes sense.”

He watched her for a few moments and muttered, half to himself, “You really do look a bit like that annoying woman. At least a little—maybe a third.”