Chapter 116

CHAPTER 3

The cars began to leave one by one from the church parking lot, their engines humming softly as mourners departed in clusters. Isla stood off to the side, barely aware of the movement around her. She felt disconnected, as though she were floating outside of herself, her body moving only because the world around her expected it to. Groups of people passed her, exchanging quiet goodbyes and words of comfort she neither heard nor desired.

A kind woman approached her at one point, her eyes warm with concern. “Would you like a ride home, dear?” the woman asked, her tone gentle. Isla shook her head without looking up, her gaze fixed on the gravel beneath her feet. The woman hesitated, then walked away, leaving Isla to her solitude.

The sun was out, casting sharp shadows across the parking lot, but Isla felt no warmth. The air around her seemed heavy, damp with an invisible fog that clung to her skin. The brightness of the day felt like an insult, as though the world had no right to shine when her life had been plunged into darkness.

As the crowd thinned, only a few stragglers remained, lingering in clusters or exchanging quiet words near their cars. Isla deliberately avoided their eyes, retreating further into her corner. She didn’t want their pity. She didn’t want their conversations or empty platitudes. She wanted to be left alone, to grieve in the silence that had always been her companion.

But then her eyes caught sight of Graham Lancaster. He stood apart from the others, speaking to a man in a dark suit. His girlfriend stood beside him, her arm looped lightly through his, her head tilted toward the conversation. Graham’s posture was relaxed but commanding, his dark suit impeccable, his presence radiating authority even in the midst of mourning.

Isla’s gaze dropped quickly. She didn’t want to look at him, but she couldn’t help it. There he was, the man who now held the keys to her entire life.

“Miss Isla?”

The voice startled her, breaking through the haze of her thoughts. She turned to see Edwin Harlow, their family’s driver, standing a few steps away. His face was lined with grief, his eyes rimmed red. Edwin had been with the Lancasters for as long as she could remember, a quiet constant in her life.

“Would you like me to take you home now?” he asked softly.

Home. The word made her chest tighten.

She nodded but didn’t move, her feet rooted to the ground. Her eyes darted back to Graham, his broad back turned to her as he continued his conversation. A sudden, sharp thought struck her: Was Graham going to keep Edwin on? And Maggie?

Maggie Lane, their housekeeper, had been more of a mother to Isla than anyone else ever had. She was older now, closer in age to Isla’s grandmother, but her warmth and care had never wavered. Edwin and Maggie were her family in every way that mattered, and now their futures—like hers—were at Graham’s mercy.

She swallowed hard, the weight of it pressing down on her. Robert Lancaster had left everything to his son; it was a fact she had known and accepted for years. He had already given her more than she could have asked for—a loving home, a safe childhood, and a trust fund to secure her future. She had no right to expect anything more.

And yet, as she stared at Graham’s imposing figure, the realization hit her like a physical blow: She didn’t know what was going to happen to her now, either.

The house—Thornfield Manor—had undoubtedly gone to him. The place that had been her sanctuary for fifteen years, the only home she had ever truly known, was no longer hers. She was just another dependent, an unwanted obligation. Her throat tightened as the thought spiraled: Graham could ask her to leave at any time.

Tears blurred her vision, and her chest heaved as panic took hold. She wasn’t just mourning her father now—she was mourning the life she had always known. Without Robert, she had nothing. No family, no home, no anchor. She was nineteen years old, a girl with no direction, no one to turn to, and a deafness that had always set her apart.

Her breath quickened, coming in short, ragged gasps. The parking lot blurred around her, the edges of her vision closing in as the weight of it all pressed down on her chest. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, like the world was closing in on her and she was powerless to stop it.

Edwin remained by her side, his presence steady in the midst of her unraveling thoughts.

“Miss?” he prompted again, his tone soft but insistent. “Would you like to go home now?” He gestured toward the black sedan parked a few feet away on the gravel road, the familiar car that had ferried her countless times to and from Thornfield Manor.

Home. The word felt foreign now, hollow and uncertain. Isla’s mind twisted with the question she couldn’t shake: How long would Thornfield remain her home?

“Yes, Edwin,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “Thank you.”

She had barely taken a step toward the car when movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention. A blur of red swept past her—Graham’s girlfriend, her vibrant hair flowing behind her like a flame.

“Oh, there you are, Edwin,” the woman called out, her tone breezy but commanding as she closed the distance between them. “I’ve been looking for you! Graham says he wants to stay here a bit longer, but these heels are absolutely killing me.” She thrust her designer purse into Edwin’s hands with an air of entitlement. “Drive me to the manor, please. You can come back for Graham later.”

Edwin looked momentarily flustered but nodded, ever the professional. Isla, however, felt the weight of the moment crush down on her.

She froze, every nerve in her body firing at once. It wasn’t just the woman’s dismissive tone or the casual way she commandeered what was once her sanctuary—it was everything. The realization that nothing in her life was truly hers anymore struck her with brutal finality. Her father was gone, her home was slipping through her fingers.

The thought of sharing the drive with Graham’s girlfriend—her bright, confident presence so starkly contrasting Isla’s shattered one—was unbearable. Before she could fully process it, her legs were moving on their own. She turned abruptly, her footsteps quickening as she fled the scene, her heart pounding like a rabbit escaping a predator.

She didn’t stop, didn’t glance back to see if anyone had noticed her sudden departure. She ran, her breathing shallow and ragged, until she found herself back inside the church. Her eyes scanned the dim interior, her vision blurry from the sting of unshed tears, until she saw the old confession booth tucked into a shadowed corner. It hadn’t been used in years, but in that moment, it was exactly what she needed.

She slipped inside, closing the door behind her. The cramped space was dark and musty, but it felt safe—safe enough to let her walls crumble.

The tears came silently at first, rolling down her cheeks in hot, uncontrollable streams. And then the sobs broke free, wracking her chest with a force that left her gasping for air. Until it left her gasping and exhausted.

The darkness inside the booth felt oppressive now, and she pushed the door open with trembling hands. Her legs felt unsteady as she stepped into the empty church, the dim light of the fading afternoon casting long shadows across the pews. She glanced toward the high windows and saw the sky beginning to darken.

Hours must have passed.

The church was silent, the once-crowded grounds outside now deserted. She stepped out into the evening air, her breath visible in the growing chill. No cars remained, no voices lingered. It was just her now, alone with her thoughts and the long road ahead.

Thornfield Manor was two miles away. With no other options, she began to walk. The gravel crunched beneath her worn shoes, the cool air biting at her skin as her pace slowed to a weary trudge.

By the time she reached the familiar gates of Thornfield’s sprawling grounds, her body ached with exhaustion. Her muscles burned, her head throbbed, and a feverish chill settled deep in her bones. She paused for a moment, leaning against the gate to catch her breath.

The sight of the grand manor—its tall windows glowing faintly in the early evening light—brought a fleeting sense of relief, but it was quickly overshadowed by dread.

Her room was waiting for her, warm and inviting, but she knew it was only a temporary refuge. Graham Lancaster was inside, and with him came the inevitability she couldn’t face.

The future loomed before her, uncertain and terrifying. For now, all she could do was put one foot in front of the other, step through the doors, and find a place to breathe. But deep down, she knew: she was delaying the inevitable.

As Isla approached the grand front steps of Thornfield Manor, she paused to steady herself. The familiar sight of the towering doors, framed by ivy and lit softly by the evening glow, should have brought comfort. Instead, it only made her chest tighten with dread.

But comfort wasn’t waiting for her.

Standing tall and imposing on the front steps was Graham Lancaster himself. His dark suit still impeccable despite the long day, his broad shoulders squared, and his piercing gaze locked onto her like a predator spotting its prey. His expression was a storm of restrained fury, and for a moment, Isla froze under the weight of his glare.

Beside him stood Edwin, their ever-faithful driver, though his usual calm demeanor had been replaced by an unmistakable air of worry. His eyes darted between Graham and Isla, his face pale and tight with concern.

“What… what’s wrong?” Isla asked hesitantly, her voice trembling. She felt small, fragile, and utterly unprepared for whatever storm she had walked into.

Graham’s lips pressed into a thin line before he spoke, his voice sharp and cutting, like a blade slicing through the cold air.

“You,” he said, his words laced with a simmering anger. “You are what’s wrong.”

Isla blinked, taken aback. Before she could respond, his words came crashing down like thunder.

“Do you have any idea how long we’ve been looking for you?” he demanded, his tone rising as his frustration spilled over. “For the last hour, we’ve been combing the church grounds, calling every contact we could think of, terrified something had happened to you!”

The sheer force of his anger reverberated through the quiet evening, the sound echoing across the grounds. Isla’s chest tightened as his words struck her like a physical blow. She opened her mouth to explain, to say something, anything, but the lump in her throat silenced her.

Graham’s dark eyes burned with intensity as he took a step forward, his tall frame towering over her. “Maggie is inside, inconsolable,” he continued, his voice biting with an edge of accusation. “She thought you had thrown yourself into Silverveil Creek in a fit of grief!”

The mention of Maggie—their kind-hearted housekeeper who had been like a mother to her—pierced through Isla’s daze. Her stomach churned with guilt, and she took a shaky step back, her hands instinctively clutching her arms.

“I… I didn’t…” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You didn’t what?” Graham snapped, his gaze narrowing. “Think? Care? Consider what it would do to the people who actually give a damn about you?”