Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Dylan handed her a clean towel. Clara, still shaking a bit, reached out for it but couldn't help noticing the bite marks on his neck. Her eyes lingered there for a second before she splashed cold water on her face, trying to snap out of it.

Dylan just stood there, holding out the towel, watching her without a word. Clara's nose turned red from the cold water. She stood up, took the towel, and started drying her face and body. When she spotted the lipstick mark on the back of Dylan's hand, she quickly moved to wipe it off, but he pulled back, rolling his wheelchair away from her.

Clara had been in awkward situations before. Once, after a few too many drinks in a private room, she seemed to overstep with Dylan. But tonight was worse-she had really embarrassed him in front of everyone.

Clara was mortified. Dylan was known for being impeccable, with a stellar

reputation in their circle. She rubbed her arms, trying to shake off the tension, but words failed her.noveldrama

Tonight wasn't about having too much to drink; she'd been drugged. But that didn't change what mattered now-figuring out how to make things right with Dylan. After tonight, gossip would spread like wildfire about her and Dylan.

After ten minutes of futile wiping, Clara sighed, feeling defeated. "Mr. Dylan, I'll offer Ferguson Corporation better terms on our recent deals."

“I'm not interested in money,” he replied, his voice calm as his eyes briefly met hers before looking away.

"Then what do you want?" Clara asked, stepping out of the tub with her mermaid dress dripping water everywhere. Her makeup was gone, but her hair was still perfectly styled, with a few loose strands framing her face, giving her an almost ethereal look.

He stayed silent. The room was warm, thanks to the heating, but she still looked like a drowned kitten. She crouched by his wheelchair, looking up at him. "Mr. Dylan, what do you need? If I can give it, I will."

Dylan's eyes slowly met hers. "You can't give it."

Clara's face flushed. What did Dylan want? He had everything-money, power- but maybe there was something else he longed for.

She bit her lip, feeling guilty for having blamed Dylan before. She had no right anymore.

Dylan wheeled himself out of the room, undoing his shirt. Lipstick marks were all over the collar and even at the corner of his lips. Clara felt as if she had stained not just his clothes but his whole demeanor.

Fresh clothes were laid out on the bed. He changed quickly, putting the stained shirt into the closet. Clara followed him, blurting out, "Let me wash that for you."

She reached to grab the shirt, but he stopped her. "Don't touch my things."

Her hand froze, guilt washing over her. Dylan was always so composed and dignified, yet she constantly threw him into awkward situations. It was impressive how he held it together.

His gaze landed on her bare feet, and he frowned slightly. "Change out of those wet clothes and put on some shoes."

Clara glanced at the bed and saw a nightgown waiting for her. She hurried back to the bathroom to change, realizing there were no undergarments, but she didn't dare ask for more.

As she changed, Dylan reopened the closet, slowly hanging up the shirt. The lipstick stain on the edge looked like a vibrant poinsettia in winter. He stared at it, lost in thought until the sound of the bathroom door brought him back, and he shut the closet with a thud.