Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run novel Chapter 676

Mrs. Ferguson took a few deep breaths, rubbing her forehead. “Forget it. I’m done talking about you and Clara. The folks overseas keep pressing me—it’s time for you to go abroad. When are you leaving? The elders want to meet you.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Dylan replied, his tone flat.

Mrs. Ferguson’s face darkened, her jaw clenched. “You—”

Before she could finish, footsteps sounded from upstairs.

Clara appeared, barefoot and in comfy loungewear, her hair falling softly around her face. She looked relaxed, almost glowing.

Mrs. Ferguson tried to keep it together, but in the end, she couldn’t help but snap. “This is ridiculous! Look at yourself! Is this how you should act? If a girl like you marries into the Ferguson family, people will laugh at us! And you, Dylan, you want to take her overseas? Are you trying to embarrass me?”

Clara froze in place, startled by the harsh words.

She could see it clearly now—Mrs. Ferguson did not like her.

Dylan, unfazed, waved Clara over and patted the seat beside him. “Come here.”

Clara glanced nervously at Mrs. Ferguson, then quietly went to sit next to Dylan.

Mrs. Ferguson’s anger was barely contained; her jaw was so tight she looked like she might break a tooth. If she hadn’t been dealing with this kind of stress for days, she might have actually passed out from rage.

“Mother, you’re scaring her,” Dylan said calmly.

He picked up a glass of water and held it to Clara’s lips. “Didn’t you want to sleep a little longer?”

She’d barely slept last night, crying herself to sleep, and yet she was already up.

Clara gripped his arm, sneaking another look at Mrs. Ferguson, unsure if she should say anything.

But Dylan just set the glass down and spoke gently, his tone steady and comforting. “Don’t worry about anyone else. Are you hungry?”

She nodded.

Dylan motioned for the housekeeper to bring out breakfast.

The housekeeper approached Mrs. Ferguson carefully, asking if she wanted to join them.

Mrs. Ferguson had no appetite, but she didn’t want to just leave, either. She wanted to see what Clara would do this time.

Clara ate quietly, letting Dylan put food on her plate. Every now and then, she’d look at him and smile.

Mrs. Ferguson sat off to the side, gripping her spoon so tightly her knuckles turned white.

It was almost unreal—Dylan actually looked happy.

He’d barely shown any emotion for years, but right now, there was no denying it: he was genuinely happy.

Watching him take such care of Clara, Mrs. Ferguson finally burst out, “What, she doesn’t have hands? She can’t serve herself?”

Dylan didn’t respond. He just turned to Clara. “Clara.”

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