Mrs. Ferguson stared at the angry red mark on his cheek, but all Dylan seemed to care about was Clara. Her eyes grew even colder.
Clara can’t stay here—not for another minute.
She pressed her lips together and said, “Since she’s here, let her come with us. Maybe a little time at the monastery will calm her down. What kind of girl hits a man like that? If people hear about it, we’ll be a laughingstock. Dylan, in this family, it’s the men who should have the final say.”
Dylan pressed an ice pack to his cheek, his voice soft and steady. “I like her the way she is. She doesn’t need to change.”
Mrs. Ferguson felt a wave of irritation crawl up her spine. She’d met with Simon recently, and he’d shared a few stories about Clara. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now she was certain—Dylan must be under some spell.
Fine. Let’s see what a few days at the monastery will reveal. If Clara’s hiding anything, it’ll come out there.
She didn’t say anything else, just turned to Tara. “Tara, let’s go.”
Tara nodded and stepped over to Dylan, reaching out as if to take the ice from him and help. He shifted away, dodging her touch.
She didn’t seem to mind. “When the ice melts, get a new one. It’s still cold out—don’t catch a chill.”
Mrs. Ferguson felt a sudden warmth in her heart. Tara was always so considerate, always thinking of others. She really was the perfect child.
They all got into the car. As Dylan was about to climb in, he glanced up at the windows on the second floor.
No sign of movement. He lowered his eyes and told the housekeeper quietly, “Wake her at seven. Don’t let her sleep the whole day.”
The housekeeper nodded from the doorstep.
After the car pulled away, Palm Bay was silent again.
Clara lay awake, her heart pounding so hard she could barely breathe. Every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was Dylan’s face.
If this was the real Dylan, she honestly believed he would do something as ruthless as getting revenge.
If he really did it...
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