Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Clara stayed in bed until seven, barely noticing when someone knocked softly on her door. One of the housekeepers called out, "Would you like something to eat, Ms. Clara?"

She just felt irritated, rolling over and pulling the blanket tighter around herself.

This time, the housekeeper sounded more anxious. “Ma'am, please, you should have a little something. Sir asked us to take care of you before he left. We made some soup-you don't look well, and a bowl of soup might help."

With a sigh, Clara finally dragged herself out of bed and into the bathroom. She stared at her reflection; she looked awful-her skin was pale, dark circles shadowed her eyes. No wonder Dylan had told her to rest.

She splashed her face with cold water, but it did nothing to ease the restless frustration buzzing inside her.

Steeling herself, she opened her bedroom door.

The housekeeper's eyes immediately brightened with relief.

Clara realized she couldn't keep running herself into the ground. She needed to

take care of herself first-everything else could wait.

She went downstairs and managed a few bites. Heading back upstairs, she

paused outside the guest room, but a man in a black suit stepped out and silently blocked her way, gesturing that she was expected to sleep in the master

bedroom.

Clara's face darkened. Without a word, she turned and went into the master bedroom, closing the door behind her with a loud slam.

She lay down, but sleep wouldn't come. All she could hear was Z's voice, echoing in her mind.

Didn't I tell you—if you ever leave me, I'll die?

Her chest ached, the pain so sharp she could hardly breathe. She curled into herself, hoping the feeling would pass, but the heaviness just lingered, pressing down on her until well past midnight.

Finally, she got up for a glass of cold water and opened the window, staring out into the darkness.

She'd given up on the idea of escape a long time ago, not after her last failed attempt. Now, all she could do was wonder how long he'd keep her here this time.

*

At the temple, Mrs. Ferguson was up at dawn. Guided by the monks, she washed and prepared for morning prayers.

Everything was scheduled down to the minute-each step performed with ritual precision.noveldrama

But after waiting more than ten minutes, there was still no sign of Dylan. She leaned over to the person beside her and whispered, "Did Dylan oversleep? Has anyone checked on him?"

A monk replied quietly, "Sir left the temple early this morning."

Mrs. Ferguson's face tightened. She'd brought him all this way for these very prayers. He'd gone to bed early last night, and she'd hoped he might spend more time talking with Tara, but now he'd left before dawn without a word.

Leaving like that-so rude.

She took a slow, steady breath, unwilling to let her irritation spoil the sacred moment. She took Tara's hand and led her toward the prayer hall.

As they passed a grove of peach trees, Mrs. Ferguson noticed the top branches of several trees had been snapped.

She frowned, a bit disappointed. "Who did that?"

One of the monks explained, "People pick the blossoms for good luck. If you want

to see more, there's a section ahead where picking isn't allowed-the flowers there are still gorgeous."

Tara couldn't help asking, "Is it for good fortune? Like, happily ever after or something?"

The monk grinned and nodded.

Before anyone could stop her, Tara darted down the path. "Mrs. Ferguson, you go ahead. I'll catch up in ten minutes, promise!"

Mrs. Ferguson knew exactly who Tara wanted those flowers for. She sighed but smiled despite herself. "You're such a handful... Fine, just be careful, don't hurt yourself."

Tara was already lost among the trees.

When Mrs. Ferguson finished her prayers, Tara came running in, arms full of peach blossoms.

Tara never hid how she felt about Dylan-she was always open and sincere, which was something Mrs. Ferguson admired.

Mrs. Ferguson chatted with the abbot for a while, her thoughts drifting to the boy from years ago. She couldn't help but sigh. "Some people are just born unlucky. He hasn't visited the Ferguson family in all these years-it's like he never belonged with us at all."

The abbot pressed his palms together. "Don't trouble yourself over fate, Mrs. Ferguson. This was

choices made back then

always his path, no matter the

Look at

how well the Ferguson family is doing now-you clearly made the right decision."

That was exactly what Mrs. Ferguson wanted to hear. She'd never blamed

herself. If there was anyone to blame, it was just his bad luck.

A black sheep is unwelcome in any family.

On the way down the mountain, she turned to Tara. "In three months, we'll see if

Dylan agrees to the wedding. Tara, are you really so confident?"

Tara glanced at the flowers in her arms, smiling. "I am. You don't have to worry about me, Mrs. Ferguson."

Looking at Tara's bright, confident face, Mrs. Ferguson thought, This girl really is wonderful in every way.