Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Charles went quiet. Whenever his big brother used that tone, it meant business.

If he kept pushing his luck, he'd probably be banned from the Chester family

estate for good.noveldrama

A strange heaviness settled in his chest. It felt foreign. He never cared if everyone

over there hated him; honestly, he'd never given them a second thought. He could

have killed them all if he'd wanted-if anything, they should be grateful he hadn't.

Snide remarks, insults, gossip-none of it ever touched him. A butcher doesn't

care what the pigs in the pen are squealing about. He couldn't remember ever

feeling truly angry or hurt because of what someone said.

But right now? He actually felt terrible. Even the flower crown sitting on his head

felt like it weighed a ton.

"Hey, bro, you-"

He didn't get to finish. Suddenly, there was a huge commotion outside.

The manor gates collapsed, flattened under the weight of a dozen cars roaring

onto the property.

The cars screeched to a stop just beyond the garden, and Charles instinctively

tried to put himself between Clara and the chaos.

Then a man stepped out of one of the black cars-Dylan.

Dylan looked pale, almost sickly. The moment he spotted Clara, he lifted his hand

and waved her over.

"Come here."

Clara peeked out, looked at Dylan for a second, then back at Charles. "Bro, who's

that?"

Being called "bro" in front of everyone gave Charles a weird mix of

embarrassment and pride.

Dylan glanced at Clara and immediately noticed something was off. He paused,

took a breath, then looked up with a gentle smile. "Clara, come here. Technically,

you should be calling me 'husband."

Clara's eyes were pure and clear. She turned to Charles and asked in a whisper,

"Is that true?"

Charles pressed his lips together, not saying a word.

Richard, leaning against a car, crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "So you

Chesters ready to give up your Atlantic shipping line? Didn't your brother warn

you?"

Everyone knew talking sense into Charles was pointless-he was a wildcard.

Only the two eldest Chesters could keep him in check.

If someone hadn't posted those night market photos online, Dylan and Richard

probably wouldn't have shown up this fast.

A flash of murderous intent flickered

in Charles's eyes, but just then,

someone clapped him on the

shoulder. "Bro, are these the people

you wanted to see?"

Charles didn't answer. His anger was simmering, but then his phone started

ringing again-another overseas call.

The doctor saw his chance and hurried over to Clara. "Ms. Clara, he really is your

husband. You should go to him."

Clara took a hesitant step forward, then turned back to look at Charles.

Charles just stared at his phone, frustrated. For the first time ever, he didn't want

to pick up Mitch's call.

Clara waited, but when he said nothing, she walked forward another ten meters,

then stopped and looked back at him again.

Charles rushed forward, trying to catch up and stop her.

But all of a sudden, dozens of guns aimed right at him. The whole place was

tense, every second stretched thin.

Dylan reached out and closed his fingers tightly around Clara's hand.

Clara didn't pull away. She watched his face for a long moment, hesitated, then

finally called out softly, "Husband."

Richard, standing off to the side, nearly lost his footing.

Dylan's eyes narrowed sharply. He turned away for a second, clearly wrestling

with something inside, then looked back at her and said calmly, "Yeah."

Watching all of this, Charles was a

wreck. He couldn't care less about

the guns pointed at him; what really

mattered was Clara. He spoke up,

careful and serious, "She was

injected with something. It'll take

about a month for her to get better.

She needs to rest, no exceptions."

"She's got wounds on her neck and

wrists-you'll need to change her

bandages often. Oh, and she's

gotten really into playing cards. Play

with her if you can."

"There's a night market in the Capital, right? Take her there, let her play the claw

machines. She loves those."

The more Charles rambled on, the darker Dylan's face got.