Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run novel Chapter 763

It hit her out of nowhere, leaving her completely defenseless.

Her thoughts were scattered the whole drive back, but as soon as she dropped into her chair, she snapped right into work mode, steady and focused.

She powered through her tasks until noon, when the office door opened and someone called, “Richard’s here.”

She glanced up and saw him walk in, dressed sharp as always in a tailored suit.

Of all Dylan’s friends, Richard was the only one who’d never been openly cold to her. From the very first time they met, there was this odd sense of familiarity between them—something she couldn’t quite explain.

Richard’s eyes lingered on her for a beat before he set a stack of documents beside her desk. “I thought you’d look worse today, honestly.”

“Why’s that?” she asked.

He sat down next to her, but didn’t answer. Instead, he asked, “Is Dylan okay?”

So, he’d heard about the fire at the temple.

“He’s fine. I made him stay home and rest,” she replied.

Richard reached for a cigarette, paused, then set it aside. “Stick with him these days. He’ll need you.”

Clara studied his face for a moment, then nodded and started flipping through the papers.

Someone brought over a glass of water for Richard, but he didn’t touch it.

The office was quiet—just the two of them.

After she finished reviewing the documents, Clara smiled lightly. “Everything’s in order. I’ll sign now.”

Richard narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t bother reading any of the comments online right now.”

Clara’s fingers tightened around the paperwork. She already knew what people must be saying about her after the fire—tearing her apart, as usual.

She forced a smile. “I’m not going to waste energy on that.”

“Clara,” Richard said after a pause, “I’ve always wanted to ask: Do you actually like Dylan?”

He looked like he’d lost a lot of weight—almost all skin and bones.

Aaron saw her, coughed a few times, and gave her a faint smile. “Can we talk for a minute?”

She didn’t really want to. After everything the old man had pulled, she didn’t have much patience left for anyone from the Ferguson family.

“If you’ve got something to say, say it here.”

“Clara, I told you before, you don’t have to be on guard with me. We used to be friends, remember?”

He coughed again, forcing a weak smile. “I finally found a chance to see you. I wanted to tell you who was really behind that explosion outside the city.”

Clara glanced down at the flowers in her hands, her face unreadable. “If you’re about to say it was Dylan, don’t bother.”

“It wasn’t him.”

Aaron answered quickly, a small, bittersweet smile flickering across his face.