Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

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."

Charles blinked, processing. When it finally clicked, he grabbed the doctor and pulled him out into the hallway.

He kept his voice low and urgent. "What the hell? Is she brain-damaged now? You better explain—she's really important to me."

The doctor frowned, thinking it over. "Right now, she thinks you're her brother, which isn't actually a bad thing. You haven't gotten through to Dylanget, have you? Give her a

month, at most-she'll recover. She's not like other people."

Charles had never been one to worry about much. He cared about his dogs, listened to his two older brothers, and couldn't be bothered with anything else.

He smirked. "Fair enough. I told Richard I'd hand her over in three days. For now, I'll just let Clara get used to having me as her brother She'll get attached, and then Dylan won't stand a chance. Besides, when we were abroad, he and my brothers never got along anyway."

The doctor nodded but warned, "Just don't go overboard."

He was a family doctor Charles had brought over from the Chesters, originally to look after the two eldest. If anything ever happened to Charles's dogs, he'd be more upset than if it happened to himself.

Charles went back inside. Clara had gotten up, bandages wrapped around her neck and wrists. She looked thin, but her eyes were bright.

"Brother!" she called out, her voice cheerful.

For some reason, Charles scratched his head. He'd never dealt with women-his life had always been about fighting and messing around. After he got two dogs, they became his best friends. Other than listening to his brothers, he mostly just hung out with them. He'd never even played with girls his own age.

"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.noveldrama

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.”