Chapter 119

CHAPTER 6

Isla fled the dining room, her footsteps quick and uneven as if she were being chased by the weight of everything she had just witnessed. She didn’t stop until she reached the safety of her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her and leaning heavily against it. Her chest heaved, her breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. Her hands trembled uncontrollably, clutching the doorknob as though it might anchor her to the ground.

She slid down slowly until she was sitting on the floor, her back pressed against the solid wood of the door. Disbelief coursed through her veins, cold and unrelenting, but it was soon overtaken by something darker: fear.

For nineteen years, this house had been her sanctuary. Every inch of it, from the grand halls to the quiet corners, held pieces of her soul. This was the only life she had ever known. She had been homeschooled here, with tutors guiding her through lessons in the same rooms where her stepfather had taught her to embrace the world despite her silence.

The house had been her refuge, its walls shielding her from a world she had never truly learned to navigate. She had no friends beyond the horses she rode each morning, their strong, steady presence a source of comfort. Her days had been spent nestled in the study, curled up with books that transported her far beyond the manor’s grounds. In the evenings, she had walked the gardens and vast estate, finding peace in the rustling trees and the endless skies above.

But now, the sanctuary she had known was slipping away. It wasn’t hers anymore—not the house, not the grounds, not even the memories that clung to the air like shadows of a life she could no longer hold on to.

She buried her face in her hands, her body shaking as the reality crashed over her. I have to leave.

The words echoed in her mind like a judge’s sentence, cold and final. The thought of packing her belongings, of stepping out into a world she wasn’t prepared for, made her stomach churn. She had no idea how to survive outside these walls. She had no training, no job, no experience. Where would she go? What would she do?

Tears stung her eyes as she stumbled to her bed, collapsing onto it as though her legs could no longer bear her weight. She pressed her face into the familiar softness of her pillow, inhaling the faint scent of lavender that her mother had always loved. But even that small comfort couldn’t quiet the storm raging within her.

Her thoughts spun wildly, her mind racing through possibilities that felt like lifelines fraying before she could grasp them. She had a trust fund left to her by Robert—enough to keep her afloat for a while, perhaps long enough to figure out how to stand on her own.

I’ll leave before Graham asks me to, she resolved, the decision as sharp and painful as a knife to her chest.

The idea of staying, of waiting for the moment Graham would sit her down and tell her she no longer belonged, was unbearable. She couldn’t endure the humiliation of being treated like a burden, of being offered money to go quietly. It wasn’t just the prospect of leaving that hurt—it was the realization that she had lost everything.

Her sanctuary. Her family. Her place in this world.

But even in her heartbreak, one thing remained intact: her pride.

If she left now, she could preserve what little dignity she had left. Isla would not wait to be cast aside. She would leave on her terms, even if it meant stepping into a world that terrified her.

As the hours of the night stretched on, Isla sat curled on the wide windowsill of her bedroom, staring into the darkness of the sky. The stars were faint tonight, scattered like distant memories, and the moon hung low, veiled by clouds. She hugged her knees to her chest, her mind spiraling between the comfort of the past and the gnawing uncertainty of the future. Every creak of the house, every whisper of the wind through the trees outside, felt like a piece of her life bidding her goodbye.

The clock struck one, its soft chime carrying through the stillness of the manor. Isla took a deep, trembling breath and pushed herself off the windowsill. Her legs felt weak, as though they might betray her resolve, but she forced herself to move. Crossing the room, she knelt in front of her cupboard and pulled out a small, worn suitcase. The faded corners and scratched surface bore witness to years of neglect, a relic of journeys never taken. Tonight, however, it would carry her away from everything she had ever known.

Her hands trembled as she began packing. She worked quickly but methodically, filling the suitcase with as many essentials as it could hold. Clothes for daily wear were folded tightly against each other, a few personal keepsakes tucked in between them. Her fingers lingered on her mother’s ring, the delicate band from her biological father that had always been a quiet reminder of who she was before Robert Lancaster entered her life. She slipped it into a small pouch and secured it in the suitcase, as though the weight of it might anchor her amidst the storm ahead.

By two in the morning, Isla was ready. She tied the laces of her canvas shoes with a deliberate slowness, as if prolonging the moment might grant her strength. Her phone buzzed with a message—her ride was here. A surge of apprehension swept through her, and she felt her chest tighten as though she couldn’t breathe. But she had to. She had to get up. She had to leave.

Dragging the suitcase behind her, she slipped silently into the hallway, careful not to make a sound. The manor was dark and still, the walls that had once cradled her childhood now seemed like silent witnesses to her departure. She didn’t dare turn around for one last look; she couldn’t bear to. Her resolve was fragile, and a single glance at the place she had called home could shatter it completely.

I need to do this, she reminded herself, clutching the suitcase handle as if it might keep her steady. She wasn’t a child anymore, nor a burden for others to carry. If this was the world’s way of pushing her toward independence, then she would meet it with what strength she could muster. She had no choice.

The air outside was crisp, the kind that made her cheeks sting and her breath fog in the faint glow of the taxi’s headlights. She stepped into the car, her suitcase thudding softly in the trunk. As the vehicle pulled away, she forced herself to face forward, staring at the winding road ahead. She couldn’t look back, not even once.

The manor’s silhouette disappeared into the night, swallowed by the trees lining the driveway. Her heart felt heavy, like an anchor trying to pull her back, but her mind pushed her forward. This is my chance, she thought. I have to start over. I have to make it on my own.

The drive was quiet, save for the low hum of the engine. The familiar sights of Willow Creek slipped away, replaced by the vast unknown. With every mile, the ache in Isla’s chest grew sharper. Leaving behind the only life she had ever known felt like losing a part of herself. But she also knew staying wasn’t an option—not when she’d overheard Graham’s plans, not when she couldn’t stand to be a burden.

After two hours, the taxi stopped outside a modest guesthouse in Magnolia Ridge, a small, charming town she had researched earlier. It wasn’t far from the Georgia-South Carolina border, nestled in anonymity like a secret waiting to be discovered. The guesthouse was nothing like the grandeur of Thornfield Manor; its faded paint and crooked shutters spoke of simpler, humbler beginnings. It would have to do.

She paid the driver with shaky hands, watching the dwindling stack of cash in her wallet with a pang of anxiety. Every dollar counted now. As she stepped inside, the receptionist greeted her with sleepy eyes and a polite smile. Isla booked a room and climbed the narrow stairs, clutching the key tightly. The room was small and plain, with a single bed, a rickety table, and curtains that barely shielded the light from the lamppost outside. It wasn’t much, but it was hers for the moment.

Isla sat on the edge of the bed, her suitcase resting at her feet. She didn’t cry, though the tears threatened to spill over. Her chest ached with a heaviness she didn’t know how to shake, but there was no time to fall apart. Tomorrow, she would have to find a job, a place to rent—some way to start over.

She stared at the ceiling, the faint cracks forming patterns that seemed as chaotic as her thoughts. Let this work, she prayed silently. Please, let something go right for once.