She edged away, just a little, nervous his temper would flare up again. But instead, he spoke softly, almost too calm.
“Your boyfriend—he’s just someone you could drop any time, isn’t he? Honestly, does anyone really matter to you?”
Clara almost laughed at how absurd it all felt. Was this really about Eden, or was Dylan actually mad that she'd left without saying anything?
If you looked close, you could see how tense he was—his fingers rigid, even his wrist tight with anger he was struggling to hide.
She’d never seen Dylan like this before. He wasn’t the passionate, magnetic man she was used to. This was something different. This was pure, raw fury.
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. All she could think about were the people who’d really pissed Dylan off in the past—none of them ended well. Ruined lives, broken families. He always seemed so refined, but if he set his mind on revenge, it was hell for whoever crossed him.
Clara was nothing if not practical. She dropped to her knees instantly, her attitude respectful to the point of desperation.
“Mr. Dylan, this really is all my fault.”
He let out a low, humorless laugh—one of those laughs that’s more warning than anything else.
She had the sinking feeling that, right now, anything she did would just make things worse.
So she stayed kneeling, silent.
Suddenly, Dylan started coughing. It was rough, but over quickly. He just turned his wheelchair and left her there on the floor.
Upstairs, the elevator doors opened and Aiden was waiting, worry all over his face. He hurried over as soon as he saw Dylan.
“Sir…”
Dylan waved him off. “I’m fine.”
Comments
The readers' comments on the novel: Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run