Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

The Ferguson family trickled out one by one, and just like that, the house was quiet again.

Simon sat alone, barely moving, until hurried footsteps echoed at the front door- Michael was back, looking rumpled and shaken. His suit was on crooked, like he'd thrown it on after hearing about Ada's death and hadn't bothered to fix it. He still seemed dazed, like he couldn't quite believe it was real.

"Simon, I'm... sorry for your loss." Michael's voice was stiff, almost formal.

He sounded more like a stranger than a father. He reached out, awkwardly, maybe to pat Simon's shoulder. Simon jerked away, not even trying to hide his disgust.

For a second, embarrassment flashed across Michael's face. If he was being honest, his mind was already wandering-wondering who he'd marry next. But with Walter already pissed about the family drama, he knew he had to keep himself in check for now.

Simon stood up, face hard and cold. He looked at Michael like he was nothing. "You take care of Mom's funeral."

Michael frowned, confused. It wasn't like planning a funeral would take that long- what could Simon possibly need to do that was so urgent?

"Simon, wait-"

But Simon was already gone, out the door before Michael could finish.

He slid into his car, lit a cigarette, and took a slow drag. The sharp taste and burn were the only things that made him feel slightly less numb inside. He finished one, then another, then a third, before pressing his hands to his face, rubbing hard until his skin stung. He felt like he was already living in hell.

But if he was going down, he'd make sure to take Clara with him.

His cheeks burning, Simon suddenly jumped out of the car and stormed back inside. He went straight to Eden's room and started tearing the place apart.

He refused to believe Eden hadn't left something behind. There had to be a clue here he just had to find it.

He was done waiting. Maybe if he found Clara, he could prove to himself he was still Simon—the same guy who'd been clueless and naïve, but never cruel.

He hadn't killed anyone. He was still that foolish, proud Simon, just in over his head.

But he searched every inch of the room and turned up nothing.

Michael appeared in the doorway, watching as Simon tore through drawers and dumped clothes everywhere, looking like a man possessed.

"Simon, what are you doing?" Michael demanded.

At first, Simon had been calm, methodical. But after three hours, frustration took over. He was frantic, desperate.

Michael wanted to stop him, but when their eyes met, he froze. There was something wild in Simon's look-like a cornered animal ready to strike.

Cowardly as ever, Michael backed out of the room without another word.

Simon kept searching, all through the night. He even tapped on the tiles and knocked along the walls, inch by inch.

Finally, his persistence paid off. He heard a hollow sound behind one tile. Without thinking, he grabbed a chair and smashed it into the wall.

The brick gave way, revealing a hidden notebook-a pink one, decorated with hearts and doodles, the kind only a girl like Eden would have.

Eden had been in love with Dylan. It was her secret, something she couldn't risk anyone finding out.

That's why she'd hidden the notebook so well.

Now Simon flipped through the pages, searching for anything, any hint or clue.noveldrama

Finally, he found it a small note scribbled in the corner of a page, written in a different color pen. An address.

Simon's heart pounded. He stood, dizzy, and without hesitation-ripped the notebook to shreds, memorizing the address.

He left the bedroom and found the house had been transformed overnight, Everything was draped in white. The staff had worked through the night, getting ready for today, when the whole Ferguson family would gather to say their last goodbyes to Ada.

As long as Ada hadn't divorced Michael, she was still a Ferguson. If the family didn't give her a proper send-off, people would talk—especially with old rumors still swirling.

Simon didn't care about any of that. He strode downstairs, barely making it to his car before Michael called out.

"Simon, where are you going? Your grandfather's about to arrive, and Dylan too. Can you not cause a scene right now?"

The moment Simon heard Dylan's name, his eyes darkened with hate.

He bit his lip, that address echoing in his mind, and let a cold smile curl at the edge of his mouth.

A line of black cars pulled up to the estate—more Fergusons arriving for the funeral.

The service was quiet, almost secretive. The Fergusons hadn't made any public announcements, and no outsiders were allowed. This was a family affair, all about keeping up appearances.

Walter was the first to get out, leaning on his cane as he made his way to the house. He was devout, kept a private shrine deep inside the old mansion-a family tradition.

Soon, the monks the Fergusons had hired would begin their chanting, offering prayers for Ada's soul.

But Simon's attention was locked on Dylan's car. The second Dylan stepped out, Simon's gaze sharpened, fierce enough to cut glass. He looked at Dylan lik@he wanted to tear him apart.

Dylan glanced up, meeting Simon's eyes with a calm indifference.

Unlike Simon's burning anger, Dylan stayed cool, almost detached. That calm

only made Simon hate him more.