NovelEnglishChapter 119
When Clara woke up, a cozy warmth wrapped around her like a comforting blanket. It took her a moment to
realize she was already snuggled up in bed. She quickly got up, dashed to the bathroom, and splashed some
cold water on her face. That was when she noticed a red mark on her neck. Leaning closer to the mirror, she
rubbed at it furiously, but it wouldn't budge. Fancy that, even rich folks had mosquito problems.
She spotted a brand-new toothbrush waiting for her, so she freshened up and headed downstairs. It was the
crack of dawn, just six o'clock, but breakfast was already laid out. Dylan was by the floor-to-ceiling windows,
deep in a phone conversation.
Clara didn't want to interrupt, so she thought she'd just nod to the housekeeper and quietly slip away. But she
didn't get far.
"Ms. Clara, please have sbreakfast before you leave. Mr. Ferguson made a point of it," the housekeeper
insisted.
Clara felt a warm flutter in her chest. Dylan had a frosty demeanor but really had a soft side.
"Has he eaten yet?" she inquired.
"No, he said he'd wait to share breakfast with you."
She took a seat at the dining table, expecting a long wait, but no sooner had she sat down than Dylan ended his
call. He maneuvered his wheelchair over and started eating silently.
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Clara thought about wishing him a good morning but hesitated when she sensed he wasn't in a chatty mood. Her
hand dropped back down.
Maybe it was her imagination, but Dylan's ears looked a bit red, like he'd caught a touch of embarrassment. It
was strange, for someone who always seemed so composed, like a noble figure in an oil painting, to have rosy
ears.
She shrugged off the thought, intent on finishing her breakfast when the housekeeper piped up beside her. "Ms.
Clara, what happened to your neck?"
Dylan paused, grip tightening on his fork, before calmly continuing with his toast. Clara touched her neck
absentmindedly. "Oh, probably just mosquitoes last night." The housekeeper handed her a small bottle of
ointment. "Try sof this." "Thanks," Clara said, applying a bit before finishing her meal. She was about to
make her exit when she noticed Dylan getting ready too.
They were both heading to the office. It seemed a bit over-the-top to avoid each other now. She lingered by the
door until he arrived, then quietly pushed his wheelchair.
When they got to the car, Clara aimed to take the driver's seat, only to find Aiden already there. So, she settled
in the back.
Once they arrived at the Ferguson Corporation's underground garage, she hopped out first to open Dylan's door,
but Aiden beat her to it.
Aiden's voice was firm. "Ms. Clara, you should head on up."
Clearly, a professional distance was being enforced.
Clara caught the hint and made her way upstairs solo. No point in letting Aiden's dislike get under her skin.
On the top floor, she ran into Simon, sporting sserious dark circles. He gave her a dismissive snort.
'What a jerk," she thought, rolling her eyes as she sat at her desk. But it wasn't long before he was tapping on
her desk.
"Ryan was racing last night, busted his leg, and now he's in the hospital. Naomi wants you to cwithto
visit."
Ryan's antics again. If he was racing in the dead of night, that served him right. Still, she couldn't help but worry
about her foolish brother. Ryan wasn't all bad, so she couldn't be too hard on him.
"I'll go by myself. No need for ," she replied.
Simon leaned in, catching a whiff of her unique scent-Clara never wore perfume, and yet she always smelled so
captivating. He took a quick sniff, a bit entranced.
Just as Clara contemplated smacking him, she heard the familiar sound of a wheelchair-Dylan had arrived. From
Dylan's viewpoint, she and Simon seemed almost cozy.
Simon noticed Dylan and, with a mischievous grin, leaned even closer, his cheek nearly brushing Clara's.
Clara frowned, ready to shove him away, but then he dropped a bombshell.
"Were you at Palm Bay last night?"
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Her back went rigid with surprise-how did he know that? Unless he'd had someone tail her!
"Did you havefollowed?" she demanded.
Simon's face darkened, and he grabbed her wrist. "Follow you?
He saw Clara were with Dylan in the scar and followed her out of shock. Then he found out that she went to
Palm Bay."
Clara used to avoid Dylan like the plague, and would never set foot in Palm Bay. But now she had, and she'd
stayed the night.
Simon had waited outside the whole time, sleepless. Now he noticed the marks on her neck.
Like a cat whose tail was stepped on, Simon suddenly yanked down her collar. "Clara?! What's this?! What did
you do?!"
Startled, Clara shielded her neckline.
Simon's face burned with anger, his whole body trembling. "Did you throw yourself
at him? How could you be so shameless? Are you that desperate?"
"Slap!"
Her hand flew, leaving a vivid red imprint on his cheek.
Dylan's wheelchair rolled to a stop behind Simon. He seemed oblivious to the , yet he paused, taking it all
in with an unreadable expression.
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