Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run novel Chapter 579

The Ferguson family trickled out one by one, and just like that, the house was quiet again.

Simon sat alone, barely moving, until hurried footsteps echoed at the front door—Michael was back, looking rumpled and shaken. His suit was on crooked, like he’d thrown it on after hearing about Ada’s death and hadn’t bothered to fix it. He still seemed dazed, like he couldn’t quite believe it was real.

“Simon, I’m… sorry for your loss.” Michael’s voice was stiff, almost formal.

He sounded more like a stranger than a father. He reached out, awkwardly, maybe to pat Simon’s shoulder. Simon jerked away, not even trying to hide his disgust.

For a second, embarrassment flashed across Michael’s face. If he was being honest, his mind was already wandering—wondering who he’d marry next. But with Walter already pissed about the family drama, he knew he had to keep himself in check for now.

Simon stood up, face hard and cold. He looked at Michael like he was nothing. “You take care of Mom’s funeral.”

Michael frowned, confused. It wasn’t like planning a funeral would take that long—what could Simon possibly need to do that was so urgent?

“Simon, wait—”

But Simon was already gone, out the door before Michael could finish.

He slid into his car, lit a cigarette, and took a slow drag. The sharp taste and burn were the only things that made him feel slightly less numb inside. He finished one, then another, then a third, before pressing his hands to his face, rubbing hard until his skin stung. He felt like he was already living in hell.

But if he was going down, he’d make sure to take Clara with him.

His cheeks burning, Simon suddenly jumped out of the car and stormed back inside. He went straight to Eden’s room and started tearing the place apart.

He refused to believe Eden hadn’t left something behind. There had to be a clue here—he just had to find it.

He was done waiting. Maybe if he found Clara, he could prove to himself he was still Simon—the same guy who’d been clueless and naïve, but never cruel.

He hadn’t killed anyone. He was still that foolish, proud Simon, just in over his head.

But he searched every inch of the room and turned up nothing.

Michael appeared in the doorway, watching as Simon tore through drawers and dumped clothes everywhere, looking like a man possessed.

“Simon, what are you doing?” Michael demanded.

At first, Simon had been calm, methodical. But after three hours, frustration took over. He was frantic, desperate.

Michael wanted to stop him, but when their eyes met, he froze. There was something wild in Simon’s look—like a cornered animal ready to strike.

Cowardly as ever, Michael backed out of the room without another word.