Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Clara let out a sharp laugh, her eyes locked on the scene inside. The Ferguson men had downed the whiskey brewed just for today and were now lighting incense sticks. When that was done, they'd have to face everyone else who'd come to pay their respects.

But something was off with Dylan. He was moving slower than usual, a faint crease forming between his brows.

On instinct, Clara started toward the door, ready to go in, but someone stepped in front of her, blocking her way.

"What do you think you're doing? People like you aren't allowed in the Ferguson family shrine!"

The women would have their turn later. Right now, this was men's business.

Clara shoved the person aside and marched straight for Dylan.

He was clutching his chest, sweat pouring down his forehead in big drops. Sitting in his wheelchair, his hand was balled into a fist so tight his knuckles looked bloodless.

Clara looked up at the old man at the front of the room, her voice trembling with disbelief. “You poisoned the wine meant for the memorial? How could you put both her memory and Dylan's life in danger? I actually used to respect you. Turns out you're truly heartless."

The old man stood firm, his tone cold and dismissive. "If you want someone to blame, blame yourself. You never should've come."

Clara's heart pounded as she realized a dozen men in black had surrounded her, closing in on every side.

So this was the plan all along. As long as she showed up today, even if she stayed silent, she'd never be allowed to leave. The old man had made sure of that.

She looked to Dylan. He was watching her, too. He coughed twice, then forced out a hoarse question. "Father, what are you doing?"

His father's voice was still cold. "Isn't it obvious? I'm ending this. The Fergusons will never let someone like you into our family—a bad omen. What would people say? What would our ancestors think? Dylan, right now, in front of all these generations of Fergusons, you're the heir. Everything you say is under their watchful eyes, so choose your words carefully."

It was a warning-if Dylan tried to defend Clara again, things would get ugly. With such a heavy accusation hanging over him, saying anything more would be seen as betrayal.

Clara saw how pale he was and panic shot through her. She tried to move closer, but the men in black blocked her again.

Her eyes never left Dylan, worry etched across her face.

"Are you okay? Can you hold on?" she called softly.

He tried to smile, but his eyes dropped, lashes hiding his expression.

Clara's mind spun. For a wild

her

she thought about fighting

yout-taking down everet

man

in her way and getting him to safety.

But the old man was right-Dylan was

workererguson heir first.

her

his whole life for this.noveldrama

st walk away?

She took a deep breath, unable to look at anyone but him.

He finally looked up, eyes sweeping over the rows of ancestor nameplates. His lips twisted into a bitter smile.

"Father, I don't want to be the heir anymore."

His words were soft, almost casual, but they hit the room like a bomb.

The other younger Fergusons looked at each other in shock, as if they couldn't believe what they'd just heard.

Clara felt frozen, like someone had pressed pause on her entire body.

Did he really just say that?

Maybe worried no one believed him, Dylan

Steepeated himself, his voice e

"I'm giving up my right as

All I want is to be with Clara."

W?

For a moment, the old man just stared, stunned. Then his face twisted with rage,

and he slapped Dylan hard across the face.

Dylan didn't move, just took the hit, silent and steady.

Clara's eyes went wide with horror. It was like she was watching everything in

slow motion, every detail burned into her memory.

Dylan didn't seem to notice the pain. He just looked at his father and quietly asked, "Is that enough?"