NovelOnlineChapter 297
Clara woke up to the relentless drumming of rain on the window. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and
her vision wavered. Just her luck - now she was running a fever too.
She glanced over to see Dylan stepping out of the bathroom. She froze, caught off guard, and quickly looked
away once she realized. Last night, she hadn't noticed much, but now she could make out faint scratch marks on
Dylan's chest, likely from a woman's nails. Maybe a cat had clawed at him too, but there were similar marks on
his back, which seemed pretty suggestive.
Too tired to overthink it, Clara decided to freshen up. The toiletries were bare- bones, like the kind you'd find at a
budget motel-a flimsy toothbrush and a tiny tube of toothpaste.
As she sluggishly brushed her teeth, she thought about how Dylan was really getting the short end of the stick
here. Just as she was lost in thought, Dylan appeared in the cramped bathroom, standing behind her,
presumably to wash his hands.
Clara instinctively shifted to the side, but the space was so tiny that their shoulders still brushed against each
other. He was shirtless, washing his hands at
a leisurely pace as if he were in sluxury suite.
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She could feel the warmth from his body seeping through her thin clothes, invading her personal bubble. She
quickly splashed her face with water, rinsed her mouth, and turned to head back to bed.
But then, his hand reached out in front of her. Even his arms looked like they belonged in a sculpture. Clara
forced a smile. "What's up?"
Dylan leaned in, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her feel exposed, before slowly pulling back
his hand. She let out a relieved breath and hurriedly grabbed her jacket from the day before, slipping it on. After
a night under the air conditioning, her clothes were dry but felt uncomfortable.
There were scookies in the room, and she nibbled on a few. When Dylan cout of the bathroom, she
froze mid-bite. Dylan walked over to her.
She looked like a bird ready to take flight, wanting to get up but not daring to move. He lowered his lashes and
casually opened a pack of cookies, taking a bite. Clara turned her head, lost in her own thoughts.
Dylan quietly sat beside her, and she quickly jumped to the sofa, as if he were contagious. Neither of them
spoke, and the silence was palpable.
After ten minutes, he tossed the cookie wrapper in the trash and wiped the crumbs from his fingers with a
napkin. Clara stared at her phone, though there was no signal, pretending to be busy with nothing in particular.
Dylan chuckled softly, "So, last night, you were awake, weren't you?"
The question hung in the air, freezing the atmosphere. Clara felt like she'd been caught, and tried to laugh it off.
"What?"
Dylan opened another cookie, not looking at her, his tone lighter. "When | kissed you, you were awake, right?"
Clara's face flushed, and she said nothing, her fingers nervously scrolling through her phone, wishing she could
vanish.
She had planned to act as if nothing happened, but Dylan had shattered that illusion. With the storm outside,
who knew how long they'd be stuck in this small room together? It was like a waking nightmare.
After a long pause, she finally spoke. "Mr. Dylan, we're both adults. In that situation, it's normal to get carried
away. Once we leave this room, let's pretend it never happened."
"Do you let things go so easily with everyone?" He looked down at the plate of cookies, his tone dropping, "What
if I said..."
She cut him off, "There are no 'what ifs," Mr. Dylan. | just want to marry an ordinary person, live an ordinary life.
Maybe it's presumptuous, but that's what | want. My boyfriend is a regular guy, and | don't have any other
aspirations."
For sreason, Dylan's face went pale, his fingers trembled slightly. Once, she had said the sthing-
wanting nothing more than a simple, ordinary life.
He pressed his lips together, suddenly turning to watch the storm outside. "I'm sorry."
Clara heard his apology and smiled wryly, "It's okay, it's okay. | know you weren't yourself."
"Mr. Dylan, I'll get you swater. You still seem feverish." Dylan swallowed hard, returning to the bed.
"Okay."
Clara had been sitting on the sofa. She stood to get water, but her vision blurred, and she collapsed back onto
the cushions.
Dylan reached out, pulling her onto the bed. "Did | pass my cold to you last night?"
They both knew exactly what that meant. Clara had been holding on by sheer willpower, but the moment she
touched the bed, her mind clouded over.
Dylan adjusted her pillow. "Sleep."
She hadn't slept well last night, tormented by his kiss. But now, as soon as her head hit the pillow, she drifted
off. Dylan watched her sleeping face and sighed deeply.
Impossible dreams, impossible desires-then and now, they remained out of reach. Only Dylan was unattainable.
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