Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run novel Chapter 727

Something wasn’t right.

Clara lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling.

No, something was definitely off. Dylan’s tenderness, the way he cared for her—it all felt alarmingly natural, like he’d been doing it forever.

She remembered what Mrs. Hawthorne had said, about Dylan picking wildflowers at the old country chapel. She remembered hurling those flowers at him; he hadn’t made a sound in protest.

She had no idea how long she drifted in her thoughts before the door creaked open again. Dylan stepped in, carrying a bowl of soup.

He gently helped her sit up, slipping a pillow behind her lower back.

He stirred the soup, scooped up a spoonful, and held it to her lips.

She drank, her eyes lingering on his face.

But Dylan wouldn’t meet her gaze. He just quietly repeated the motion—scoop, feed, repeat—like this was the most normal thing in the world.

Clara ate until her stomach finally stopped aching. Only then did she speak, her voice hesitant. “You…”

She got the word out, then immediately turned away, embarrassed.

Even that small movement felt exhausting—her whole body was heavy and weak.

Dylan just waited, holding the bowl, patient for whatever she wanted to say.

The silence pressed in, thick and tense, like he was waiting for his sentence to be passed.

If she’d remembered her past, she wouldn’t be this gentle, she thought. But fate had been strangely generous to him.

It took Clara a long moment before she dropped her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He blinked, lashes trembling. He finally looked at her.

She couldn’t hold his gaze. Her cheeks went pink. “I didn’t know you… you…”

The rest of her words stuck in her throat, her face burning. She’d never felt so awkward.

Dylan said nothing. He just watched her, steady and silent.

She closed her eyes and leaned back, letting out a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry. I always sort of knew, deep down. I just… I thought you saw me as a stand-in. I never thought you actually cared.”

Mrs. Hawthorne’s words echoed in her mind. That night she’d been pushed into the pit, with dirt raining down on her, she’d finally realized just how stupid she’d been.

She’d ruined his legs, and he never blamed her for it.

He was always so good to her, and she’d chalked it up to his manners.

He’d forced her into marriage, and she’d told herself it was just him using his power.

She’d never even considered that he might actually love her.

Dylan’s feelings were buried so deep, like a kaleidoscope—every little, dazzling piece hidden where nobody could see. Who knew when it might all burst out?

She tried not to imagine what kind of love could drive someone like him to such desperate things.

Her face was hot as she bit her lip.

In her mind, her boyfriend—the one she loved—had only just died. How could she be this close to another man already? The thought made her sick with guilt.

She wouldn’t ask Dylan to investigate Z anymore. It wasn’t fair.

She’d deal with it herself.

Dylan…

Why did he have to love her?

A strange ache bloomed in her chest, confusing and raw. It just didn’t feel right.

But thinking back, she realized the signs had always been there. She just never wanted to see them.

She’d trampled his feelings for so long, and he just took it, silent and patient.

Dylan…

She felt a pang of regret, remembering those flowers she’d thrown at him.

She’d loved Z so fiercely because his brokenness called out to her. She hadn’t even cared what he looked like—holding him in the darkness, she’d felt their souls colliding, closer than ever.

She hadn’t cared about his flaws, or anything else—just that feeling of rescue, that spark when two bruised souls crash together. No other man had ever come close to that.

His vulnerability drew her in, and she’d drowned in his obsession.

He’d fit every piece of her longing so perfectly that she’d ignored every quiet thing Dylan had done for her.

Now, with Dylan’s own vulnerability laid bare, she found herself… uneasy.