Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run novel Chapter 425

Under Dylan's watchful eyes, a slender figure approached from the distance. In a world blanketed with white, the red in her hand stood out vividly.

Clara climbed into the car, brushing the snowflakes from her hair. She closed the door and casually handed him the sprig of holly she had broken off.

Dylan didn't immediately accept it. Instead, he examined the lingering snowflakes on its leaves.

Clara, thinking he might be bothered by the cold, started to shake off the snow when he asked, "What if this tree belongs to someone?"

Without a second thought, she replied, "Well, if I picked it for you, then you're its owner now."

Dylan was about to reach for it, but as her words sank in, his hand clenched involuntarily, the veins on his hand becoming prominent.

Noticing his sudden change in demeanor, Clara quickly asked, "What's wrong?"

He nodded slightly, took the holly, and with a soft "Thank you," his mood seemed to lighten visibly.

Relieved, Clara moved to the front seat and started the engine, fearing that this unpredictable man might next ask for a snowman. As the car purred to life, she caught a whiff of holly from the back seat.

"Mr. Dylan, do you like holly? It's quite unique. Most people only notice the white in winter, but who would expect such vivid red underneath, like..." She trailed off, sensing that she was verging on saying something inappropriate. Dylan himself was a bit like winter—aloof on the surface, yet surprisingly soft beneath it all.

"I do like it. No one's ever given me any before," he said, his tone mellow, yet he seemed a bit more alive.

Clara was relieved she hadn't brushed him off. He seemed better now, more himself.

She grinned, pressing the gas pedal. "Aiden's disappeared somewhere. Once we get a signal, we should call the New York office to send a helicopter. The roads are blocked, and we can't stay here. You're still running a fever, and I can't just leave you like this."

"Are you worried about me?" he asked, his voice carrying an odd note.

Clara's smile faltered. Something about Dylan felt off. Wasn't it natural to worry about him? They were in this together, after all—she couldn't let anything happen to him.

"Of course, Mr. Dylan, you were kind enough to bring me here. I can't let anything happen to you."

She suddenly realized that this trip had been for nothing. Hands tightening on the steering wheel, she said, "That place was just a ruin. If you'd told us earlier, we wouldn't have let you drag yourself here while sick."

Dylan brought the holly to his nose, smiling slightly. "I didn't know."

Caught off guard, Clara was momentarily speechless. Sometimes, ignorance isn't a crime. Perhaps Dylan had stumbled upon it once and never returned.

Startled, Clara grabbed his hand. "You're burning up with fever. If the flower falls, let it go. Why risk it?"

But as she spoke, she watched the holly fall, its vivid red stark against the white snow below.

Dylan remained silent, showing no emotion, but Clara felt inexplicably guilty, as if his heart had fallen with it.

She longed to see the happy Dylan from the car. Taking a deep breath, she asked the pilot, "I'm sorry, but I left something important in the car. Can we land for a moment?"

The pilot complied, descending slowly.

Clara jumped out, retrieved the holly from the soft, fresh snow, still intact from its fall.

Climbing back in, she placed it before Dylan and smiled. "Mr. Dylan, don't be upset. I know you like it, so I got it back for you."

Dylan pressed his lips together, his eyes lingering on her smiling face before turning away. He accepted the holly mechanically, staring out the window in silence.

Clara wasn't sure which nerve her words had touched, so she chose to stay quiet as well.