Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run novel Chapter 246

Clara strolled into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and picked out a few ingredients without much thought before diving into meal prep. Her mind drifted to Z's predicament, and in her distraction, she nicked her finger. It was just a tiny cut, but it bled more than you'd expect.

She quickly pulled herself together, determined to finish cooking. Afterward, she reached for a bottle and shook out two pills. What Clara didn't realize was that the kitchen door was cleverly designed—opaque from the inside but almost see-through from the outside, making her every move a spectacle for anyone outside.

Carrying a few dishes to the table, she flashed a smile at him. "Dinner's ready, Mr. Dylan."

Dylan slowly closed the file he was reading and maneuvered his wheelchair to the table. Clara served him some food and poured a bowl of soup.

But Dylan didn’t reach for it. His gaze lingered on the soup for a few seconds before his lashes fluttered down. "You’ve hurt your hand; you should feed me."

Clara glanced at his hand. Wasn't he just holding a pen a moment ago? But she kept her questions to herself and carefully brought a spoonful of soup to his lips.

Dylan looked up, giving her a sidelong glance. Clara forced an awkward smile, "Go on, my cooking's not bad, you know."

He gazed at her intently before lowering his head and finishing the soup in one go. "Not bad at all."

Clara exhaled, relieved. "Glad you like it."

After feeding him a small bowl of soup, she was about to end the phone call she had kept active, aware that Lincoln was listening in. Now, he should be content.

She planned to come clean to Dylan once the call was over, but suddenly, Dylan collapsed.

Clara's heart skipped a beat, and she leapt from her chair. "Mr. Dylan?!"

Lincoln's voice crackled through the phone, laughing, "Clara, you really thought I'd use a slow-acting poison? Just one sip of that poison, and he's done for. You're finished!"

Clara quickly hung up. She had swapped the pills on her way over; she wouldn't ever actually poison Dylan. She was just putting on a show for Lincoln, knowing he was eavesdropping.

Kneeling beside Dylan, she threw caution to the wind and started CPR. They were just vitamins—why did Dylan faint?! Her forehead gleamed with sweat, and after what felt like an eternity, he finally came to.

Clara let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, her eyes misty. "Mr. Dylan, don’t scare me like that."

Dylan rubbed his forehead, his voice weak. "I haven’t eaten all day. Probably low blood sugar."