Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run novel Chapter 118

Clara hung up the phone with a decisive click. Only someone like that could see Simon as a gem.

She headed back to Dylan's bedroom, surprised to find the lights already off. For a second, she thought about slipping out and finding a spot to crash for the night. But then a gust of wind blew in from the balcony, and she realized Dylan was out there, not in bed.

Even before she got close, she caught a whiff of smoke. "Mr. Dylan, isn’t smoking bad for your leg?" she asked with genuine concern. Wasn't he still recovering?

The dim glow from the garden cast long shadows, making it tough to see his face clearly. Still, she picked up on something in his eyes—a silent yearning, an unspoken wait—that tugged at her heart.

Maybe visiting Shelly’s grave had him feeling down.

She stood beside him, unsure of what to say. Dylan's presence was subtle, like a breeze—hard to pin down, yet unforgettable.

Out of the corner of her eye, Clara noticed the cigarette perilously close to his fingers. "It's about to burn your fingers," she quickly warned.

Dylan continued to stare into the distance, slowly dropping the cigarette into the ashtray. A red mark on his fingers showed he'd been burned.

Clara instinctively grabbed his wrist and gently blew on the spot. "Is there a first aid kit? Any burn cream? I'll find some."

Clara lingered a moment, realizing she’d spent quite a while in Dylan’s room. But she genuinely didn’t know where else to go, so she flopped onto the nearby couch.

Jackson had once joked she was like a sleeping pill for Dylan. If her presence could really help with his insomnia, she was more than willing.

After about ten minutes, she tiptoed over to find him already asleep. She wondered if he ever really had trouble sleeping.

Back on the couch, she found it wide enough for one. Once she dozed off, Dylan shifted slightly in bed, his gaze lingering on her. He watched for a long while before finally closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep too.