After Aiden slid behind the wheel, he checked the rearview mirror and did a double take. For once, Mr. Ferguson hadn’t done his shirt all the way up—two buttons were left open at the top, leaving a hint of collarbone exposed.
Normally, Mr. Ferguson was all about being buttoned up, literally. Every single button, all the way to his throat, as if daring anyone to look at him for too long. Like he’d claw your eyes out if you stared.
But today? Something felt off.
Aiden leaned in for a better look and finally spotted it—a faint mark on Dylan’s skin, barely there but definitely not his imagination.
So… did those two actually sleep together last night or not? The suspense was killing him.
He pulled the car up in front of the restaurant, where both the Fergusons and the Warrens were meeting for dinner. Mrs. Ferguson herself had set this up. Not showing up wasn’t an option—if Dylan bailed, Mrs. Ferguson’s reputation in their circle would take a serious hit.
After parking, Aiden helped Dylan into his wheelchair and couldn’t help but mention, “Richard will probably be here too.”
Richard was the one running the Warren family now.
Dylan just gave a quiet “Mm.”
They made their way into the private dining room; almost everyone was already there.
Tara spotted Dylan first and immediately stood up, waving him over. “Dylan, sit here with me.”
Tonight, the Warrens were just Tara, Richard, and Mrs. Warren.
Mrs. Warren smiled at Mrs. Ferguson, then looked at Dylan. “Is Dylan still in physical therapy? Maybe Tara should help take care of him?”
Tara’s gaze dropped to Dylan’s legs, full of sympathy. If it hadn’t been for Clara, how could someone as perfect as Dylan have ended up like this? But no matter what, in her eyes, he was still flawless.
Mrs. Ferguson gave Aiden a pointed look, silently telling him to wheel Dylan over to Tara.
Aiden didn’t dare disobey.
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