Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run novel Chapter 816

Clara looked like she’d just stepped out of a rainstorm, her hair damp and her skin sticky with sweat. “Can you get me some painkillers, please?” she asked quietly, her voice thin with exhaustion.

The housekeeper hurried off and came back with a couple of pills and a glass of water.

Clara swallowed them, then let herself sink back onto the bed.

She’d been feeling off for days now. Little flashes of memory kept flickering through her mind, never staying long enough to make sense. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something important was about to surface.

Tonight, after Megan’s pointed words, her head was throbbing so badly she could barely think straight.

Dylan sat by her bedside in silence, watching her.

Clara didn’t have the energy to ask any of the million questions swirling in her head: Was Walter okay? Why had Dylan shown up so suddenly? Why hadn’t the old man’s people made a move tonight like everyone expected?

There were just too many questions. It was overwhelming.

The room was quiet. The housekeeper slipped in and spoke in a low voice, “Sir, aren’t you going to get some sleep?”

Dylan looked out the window, where night pressed against the glass. It was four in the morning, and there was still over an hour before sunrise.

“No,” he said simply.

The housekeeper seemed like she wanted to say more, but she just nodded and left, closing the door softly behind her.

Dylan stayed there until seven, not taking his eyes off Clara until she finally woke up.

But she only managed to keep her eyes open for a few seconds before they fluttered shut again, her body too tired to fight it.

He curled his hand into a fist, then let it go, repeating the motion again and again, restless and tense.

By noon, the housekeeper knocked gently. “Sir, you should eat something. Your stomach’s acting up again.”

She honestly didn’t know what was going on with Dylan. He’d stayed by her side for two days. Did that mean he remembered?

But he hadn’t said a word to her. Did he remember, or not?

She stared at her phone for a long time before finally calling him.

This time, it wasn’t his assistant who picked up. It was Dylan himself.

“What is it?”

His tone was flat, giving nothing away.

Clara suddenly remembered the other night—how she’d torn apart the study, searching for whatever Megan had hinted at. Dylan had seen the whole thing. He must’ve been hurt, thinking she didn’t trust him.