Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run novel Chapter 251

After driving for what felt like forever, Clara finally pulled up to the old, ramshackle cottage. The place looked like it had been standing for at least two decades, surrounded by nothing but barren hills and scattered with leftover building materials—it felt more like a scene from a ghost story than a home.

In the middle of the overgrown garden stood a lone grave, strangely well-kept and covered in fresh flowers, standing out against the otherwise neglected setting. Living out here, with only a solitary grave for company—it was the kind of loneliness you could feel in your bones.

Clara couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness. The windows were all boarded up, not a hint of daylight getting through. It was probably as dark inside at noon as it was at midnight.

She rang the doorbell, and before she even had a chance to ring it again, a hand shot out, pulling her inside with eager anticipation.

"Hey... you don't have to rush every time. My bags are still outside," she teased, looking around. The room was dimly lit, barely enough light to see by.

He gently turned her head back, capturing her lips in a deep kiss. Clara melted into it, letting him guide her over to the couch.

He was clearly impatient, leaning back and watching her with a hungry gaze, his Adam's apple bobbing as he tightened his grip on her waist.

Clara pressed her hands against his chest, feeling his heart beating wildly beneath her fingers. Snuggling closer like a contented kitten, she murmured, "Is this really your place?"

So far from civilization—if it weren't for him, she doubted she'd ever set foot in such a remote spot.

He seemed satisfied, "Yeah, you don't like it?"

"No, it's not that. I just feel for you. Out here all by yourself, no shops, no neighbors—do you ever talk to anyone?"

He tilted his head slightly to look at her. Even in the dim light, she could sense he saw the concern in her eyes.

He felt full, like he was overflowing with emotion. Clara couldn't help but make a small sound.

He seemed in high spirits tonight, "I don't really like chatting with people."

No wonder he always replied to her texts instantly unless he was upset—he didn't have many friends.

Clara cupped his face in her hands. Well, if he wasn't keen on chatting, she wouldn't force it. No wonder he had such an unusual personality.

If she lived here alone, she'd probably go stir-crazy.