Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run novel Chapter 880

The doctor looked worn out. After putting away the equipment, he slipped out of the room without another word.

Clara sat by the bed, her eyes lingering on the man lying there. Something in her chest twisted painfully.

She reached out, took his hand, and was about to say something when his eyes snapped open.

His gaze was distant and empty, like something inside him had just collapsed, leaving nothing but silence behind.

Clara’s heart clenched. She squeezed his hand harder. “Dylan?”

He didn’t seem to hear her. Instead, he tried to sit up.

Clara pressed him back down. “You’re hurt. You need to rest, okay?”

He ignored her, brushing her hand away like she wasn’t even there.

Frustration surged through her. Without thinking, she gave him a quick, sharp chop to the side of his neck.

His eyes fluttered, then rolled back. He passed out cold.

Clara sank back into the chair beside him. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, lost in a fog of exhaustion, before her phone finally rang.

It was Richard, calling for Dylan.

“How’s it going? Are you inside?” he asked.

“I am,” Clara replied quietly. “But he’s really hurt. Do you know who did this?”

Richard didn’t answer that. He just said, “He’s supposed to head to North America in two weeks, just like we planned. It’s risky over there. With these injuries, he should really take some time to recover.”

Clara didn’t respond. She glanced at the thick bandages around Dylan’s waist and legs, imagining what kind of wounds they were hiding.

“Got it,” she said after a moment.

After hanging up, she was left with this restless, empty feeling—like she was reaching out for something she just couldn’t grasp.

“Clara.”

The voice startled her. It was Dylan, still sprawled on the bed, his eyes closed but his lips moving.

She leaned in, bending over him. “I’m here. What is it?”

He mumbled again, lost in a dream.

She wanted to say something else, but then he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Her heart twisted sharply. She had no idea what he was apologizing for, but it hurt all the same.

Dylan slipped into a coma and didn’t wake up for three days.

While he was out, someone from the house took Clara upstairs and found her a room to stay in.

He lowered his eyes, silent for a long, heavy moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat. “Who? There’s no one I’m hiding.”

Clara almost laughed out loud. Instead, she just let out a bitter little chuckle.

All her anger drained away, leaving her feeling empty and foolish. Coming here had felt so important, but now it just seemed pointless.

She’d wanted to be honest with him, but what was the point if he just shut her out?

Didn’t he care about her at all?

She got out of bed, threw on her jacket, and headed for the door.

Dylan didn’t say anything to anyone. He just followed her out.

They left the castle, passed through another set of gates, and finally walked out of the West Hill Cemetery.

Someone was already waiting for them by the car—but it wasn’t Aiden. He was still in the hospital, recovering.

But even as that thought crossed her mind, she pushed it away.