No matter how wild things got outside, Clara’s world was oddly still.
She’d been kneeling on the marble floor in the foyer of the Palm Bay mansion for four hours. Her knees had long since gone numb, but she didn’t dare move. She had no idea what Dylan would do—or if he’d drag other people into this mess because of her.
Eventually, the pain got to her. She shuffled a little closer to the sofa, desperate for a break. It was strange: ever since Dylan had disappeared upstairs, he hadn’t come back down, and the house was empty—no staff, no noise, just silence echoing off the walls.
She yawned, heavy and unrestrained. Last night, she and Eli had taken turns watching Beck, and she hadn’t slept at all. Now she was exhausted, her eyelids drooping. She leaned against the sofa for just a second—then, without meaning to, she drifted off, half sprawled on the floor, half slumped into the couch, clutching a throw pillow like it was a life raft.
She didn’t wake until the middle of the night, jolted upright by footsteps coming down the stairs. Groggy, she saw the pillow in her arms and tossed it aside, scrambling to kneel straight again.
And there was Dylan, sitting right beside her.
Her mind went blank. When had he come down? Had he seen her sleeping like that? But he didn’t even look her way—just kept flipping through some papers, his attention somewhere far away.
Clara pressed her lips together, silent. Maybe Eden’s injuries weren’t as bad as everyone thought—otherwise, with how much Dylan cared about her, Clara wouldn’t still be here.
She ducked her head as Aiden came downstairs, stopping next to Dylan with the kind of politeness that only came from years of practice.
“Mr. Ferguson, Walter wants to see you.”
Eden’s accident had convinced Walter there was something going on between Dylan and Clara—at the very least, that Dylan cared about her. By making such a spectacle out of the whole thing, Dylan was basically challenging Walter in front of everyone.
Now the entire Ferguson family was waiting, probably hoping to watch Dylan squirm.
Aiden caught Clara listening and, with a pointed glance, added, “Everyone else is there too. Walter even had Aaron brought over.”
Translation: this was a setup. A family showdown. All eyes on Dylan.
Dylan didn’t react, just gave a quiet, “Okay.”
Clara watched him, trying to figure out if she’d imagined the anger from earlier—that flash of emotion when the glass shattered at her feet. Was that side of Dylan—the side that actually felt things—something he only showed her?
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