Forbidden Captivity: Too Late to Escape

Chapter 312

Chapter 312

As soon as she left, Aiden quietly stepped into the room, standing respectfully in front of Dylan, his mind racing

with thoughts. Those bodyguards were indeed Walter's, heading back to the Ferguson estate. If Dylan didn't step

in, what Clara said would definitely reach Walter.

Aiden was there to gauge Dylan's reaction. He stayed silent, patiently waiting. But even after ten minutes, Dylan

remained focused on his documents, the sound of his pen scratching against paper filling the room.

As fifteen minutes ticked by, Aiden tentatively asked, "Sir, should we intervene?"

Dylan paused, his pen still, eyes flickering briefly before he calmly replied, "No need."

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"But..."

If they didn't act, Walter would surely make a move. Sometimes, Aiden just couldn't figure out what Dylan was

thinking.

Finally, Dylan set his pen down, hearing footsteps approaching, knowing Clara was returning. His lips curled

slightly. "I want to see what choice she'll make."

Aiden didn't quite understand but chose not to press further.

When Clara entered, she noticed Aiden was there too. She placed the tray beside Dylan and meticulously wiped

the spoon, offering, "Mr. Dylan, | noticed you haven't eaten much. Please, have a bite."

Dylan looked up, meeting her gaze. Clara's intentions were obvious. Ignoring the food, he picked up his pen

again, continuing his work.

Only Aiden noticed that Dylan was reviewing a document he'd already looked over. Meanwhile, the food on the

tray grew cold. Clara reheated it again and again, repeating this cycle eight times over three hours.

Finally, at two in the afternoon, Dylan put his pen down and took a sip of the soup. It had been reheated so many

times that the taste was off, but he seemed

content, a slight lift in his eyebrows giving him away.

Aiden could clearly tell Dylan was in a good mood. He glanced at Clara with sympathy; no matter how clever she

was, she couldn't match Dylan's subtle maneuvering.

Seeing Dylan finally eat, Clara exhaled in relief, her gaze lingering on the back of his neck before drifting to his

wheelchair. A sudden memory flashed through her mind, a snippet of her speaking to someone: "He's dead; why

are you still alive?"

A sharp pain pierced her head, and she instinctively massaged her temples, feeling a heaviness in her chest.

Who was this "he"? And to whom was she speaking?

Her thoughts were a jumbled mess, and even when fragments surfaced, they didn't connect. After Dylan finished

eating, she promptly cleared the tray and returned with coffee.

Aiden stepped back slightly, observing her hustle around. During a meeting, Clara stood by Dylan's side, ready

to hand him water whenever he reached for it. Dylan's gaze occasionally landed on her, only to shift away

without much interest.

Clara took a deep breath, sometimes finding Dylan hard to please because she never knew what he truly liked.

He had everything-status, money, power- making gift-giving a challenge.

As the meeting concluded, she finally asked, "Mr. Dylan, is there any gift you particularly like?"