NovelEnglishChapter 566
Clara always thought she'd be the type to notice this sort of thing. Deep down, she hated how close Dylan got to
her. But when he slipped his fingers between hers, she hadn't even realized it was happening. It was like her
body just accepted his touch before her mind could object.
Now she lay in bed, wide awake. Third night in a row, and she still couldn't sleep.
Ever since the wedding, every day felt off, like she was living in sweird dream.
None of it seemed real.
Being married to Dylan felt especially fake.
After another night of tossing and turning, she finally got up, her head spinning, vision blurry.
If this kept up, she thought, she'd probably drop dead in Palm Bay.
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A knock cat her door. One of the housekeepers wanted her to cdown for breakfast.
Clara just rolled over, face pale. "I'm not hungry."
"Ma'am, are you on your period?" the housekeeper asked gently.
Clara froze. She dragged herself to the bathroom to check, and-yep-her period had started.
It wasn't as painful as usual, but she felt hot and cold at the stime. Totally miserable.
She stared at her tired reflection, took a slow breath, and changed into something clean before heading
downstairs.
The housekeeper took one look at her and immediately started making ginger tea, and cranked up the heat.
"Ma'am, here's sseafood soup. Have a little, it'll help."
The soup looked thick and comforting. Clara picked up her spoon, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dylan
sitting nearby. She couldn't help but say, "He's allergic to seafood."
Had Dylan gotten the ssoup?
The housekeeper smiled. "Don't worry, ma'am, we know. We always avoid anything Mr. Dylan's allergic to." She
turned to Dylan, "Sir, your wife still remembers your allergies."
Dylan, looking pretty pale behind his newspaper, just gave a small, gentle "Mm."
Clara held her spoon, speechless. It wasn't that she cared-she just couldn't forget his allergic reaction before. It
had been a whole thing.
She drank her soup, distracted, her mind somewhere else.
Once her stomach felt better, she grabbed a pillow and curled up on the couch. Dylan sat just across from her.
All she had to do was look up, and there he was. She opened her mouth, then hesitated, but finally blurted it out:
"Mr. Dylan, when can | go home? | miss my boyfriend."
She really did. For over a week now, whenever she managed to fall asleep, she dreamed about Z.
Holding hands with Dylan last night only made her guilt worse-her heart felt sore and heavy.
Ever since she lost her memory, she'd never felt such raw, aching longing for anyone. It was like ker heart was
being eaten alive. Just thinking about Z hurt.
Dylan didn't answer, eyes glued to whatever he was reading.
Clara sat up, her emotions pushing her words out sharper than she meant. "My boyfriend and I... we've done
everything together. Everything. Mr. Dylan, you should want more from your wife. I'm really not the right
person."
She paused, then added quietly, "You and I aren't from the sworld."
Something about that made Dylan's hands clench tight on his newspaper, like he was about to tear it in two. But
he kept his cool and finally looked up at her.
"What does it even mean to be from the sworld?" he asked quietly.
She'd said stuff like that before-sometimes even meaner.
But still, he couldn't understand. Why couldn't they be from the sworld?
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