Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run novel Chapter 702

Walter didn’t want to make a scene, not now. “As long as you know what’s really going on, that’s good enough.”

Dylan didn’t respond. The whole group filed back into the old manor’s main hall, where the chef had just set out steaming bowls of noodles.

Everyone had to eat longevity noodles, along with seafood soup. It was tradition—no exceptions.

But Dylan was allergic to seafood. He picked at the noodles, ate barely two strands, then slipped away upstairs.

Once the ancestral ceremony wrapped up, all that was left was to wait for the evening banquet.

The manor was decked out—plush red carpet everywhere, every corner meticulously decorated.

Kayla glanced over at Tara, who’d been helping out since dawn, and handed her a bowl of soup. “There’s no seafood in this. Can you bring it up to Dylan?”

Tara paused, looking at her with an unreadable expression.

Kayla’s heart skipped a beat—maybe Tara had caught on to her plan. She felt her face go a little pale.

But Tara only smiled, warm and sincere. “Sure, I’ll take it to him.”

Kayla let out a quiet sigh of relief, but there was a flash of coldness in her eyes.

She was going to make sure the old man’s eightieth birthday was a disaster.

Tara walked upstairs and knocked on Dylan’s bedroom door.

Dylan thought it was just another Ferguson family member. He was sitting in his study, barely glancing up. “Come in.”

He didn’t look at her, just kept reading his papers. “What’s up?”

Tara set the bowl down on his desk. “They’re worried your stomach might act up later, so they asked me to bring you some soup.”

That’s when Dylan realized it was her.

His hand paused for just a second, but his face stayed blank. “I’m fine. You can go.”

Tara didn’t look offended. She just pushed the bowl a little closer, calm and collected.

Frowning, she glanced back at Dylan. “Is your door stuck?”

Dylan started to get up to check, but as soon as he stood, a sudden wave of heat crashed over him.

He had to grip the desk, his knuckles turning white.

Tara quickly set the bowl aside and rushed over. “Dylan, are you okay?”

Dylan dropped his gaze, dodging her hand. “I’m fine.”

But he definitely wasn’t. The drug was already surging through his system.

He’d just spent days unconscious, barely recovered, and his body was still weak. After all the medication over the years, now he just felt like he was burning up from the inside.

Tara seemed to realize something was seriously wrong and backed away quickly. “I’ll call someone.”

She reached for her pockets—then remembered she didn’t have her phone.