Chapter 128

CHAPTER 15

Graham groaned inwardly, dragging a hand down his face as the weight of his mistake settled on him. A thousand reminders, a million opportunities to plan this better, and he’d still blundered through it like a bull in a china shop. What was he even thinking? Of course, Isla—a nineteen-year-old, fresh out of her teenage years—would have completely different expectations.

She wasn’t one of the polished, worldly women he was used to dealing with, the kind who knew the rules of his game and played along without complaint. No, Isla was young, idealistic, and no doubt still clinging to the dreams every girl her age harbored: a prince charming riding in on a white horse, sweeping her off her feet with grand gestures, sunsets, and proposals on the top of the Eiffel Tower.

And he’d given her...this.

A frown tugged at his lips as he glanced at her from across the table. She was sitting stiffly in that ridiculous fluffy hotel bathrobe, her hair still a mess from sleep, her cheeks flushed—not with the softness of shyness, but with the heat of anger. Isla’s energy was practically vibrating with indignation, her blue eyes sparking like lightning. She wasn’t just upset; she was furious, and rightfully so.

Graham shook his head, the weight of disappointment settling heavily in his chest—not in her, but in himself. How had he managed to botch this so spectacularly? He was supposed to be suave, composed, a man who could command any room he entered. But here, with Isla, all of that had unraveled.

He had forgotten who she was, forgotten that she wasn’t the kind of woman he could steamroll over with his usual no-nonsense approach. She wasn’t sophisticated or worldly; she was young, untouched by the cynicism of his world, and still clutching at the fragile strings of her own dreams. Dreams he hadn’t even paused to consider.

Graham’s jaw tightened as he glanced at her again, slouched in her chair and pulsating with furious energy, still half-asleep and caught off guard by the bombshell he’d dropped on her. He’d handled this all wrong. If he had been thinking, he would have taken her out somewhere special, treated her the way she deserved—with candlelit dinners and slow dances, with compliments that made her cheeks bloom and gestures that made her heart race.

Instead, he’d bulldozed through her dreams with his arrogance, acting as though she should simply fall in line because he was Graham Lancaster.

Taking a deep breath, Graham tried to soften the sharp edges of his pride. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and fixed her with an expression that was equal parts apologetic and determined.

“I’m sorry, Isla,” he said, his voice quieter now, lacking its earlier steel. “I didn’t think this through, and I see that now. I handled it poorly, and you deserve better than this.”

Her eyes narrowed at him suspiciously, as if she couldn’t decide whether he was truly apologizing or just trying to placate her.

“Will you give me another chance to make this right?” he asked, his voice tinged with an unfamiliar humility. “Let me take you out somewhere—anywhere you’d like. We’ll talk about this properly. I want to do this the right way.”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering over her robe and messy hair before returning to her eyes. “Why don’t you go change into something else? Something that makes you feel beautiful. And then we can go out and talk about this—like it should have been done in the first place.”

Isla stared at him, her expression unreadable, and Graham felt the strange sensation of being entirely at her mercy. It was foreign and deeply uncomfortable, but he forced himself to hold her gaze, to wait for her answer. He was Graham Lancaster, and he wasn’t accustomed to waiting or groveling. But for her, he would. Because he needed her to see that despite all his flaws, he was willing to try.

Isla’s heart pounded like a trapped bird, erratic and desperate. She stared at Graham, her mind a swirling storm of confusion, suspicion, and fear. Why on earth would he want to marry her? The question burned in her chest, unspoken but insistent, refusing to let her find peace.

Just three weeks ago, she had seen him with Vanessa—the stunning redhead who was everything Isla was not. Sophisticated, worldly, and perfectly at ease in Graham’s universe of power and wealth. Vanessa had been on his arm, his equal in every way. And now, here he was, sitting across from her, talking about marriage as if it were a business transaction.

Her thoughts stumbled over his words, his promises echoing in her ears. “You would belong somewhere. You would belong to me.” For one foolish, fleeting moment, her heart had roared with joy at the idea. It had surged so violently in her chest that she feared it might burst. She had dared to imagine a life with him—Graham Lancaster, the man she had quietly adored since she was a lost little girl in need of kindness and direction.

But the fantasy had shattered as quickly as it formed. She had looked into his face, searching for the excitement, the joy that should accompany such a monumental proposal. There was none. His expression was cool, composed, entirely devoid of the happiness she had foolishly hoped to see.

And then she remembered Vanessa.

The realization struck her like a thunderclap, sharp and painful. Why was he doing this? She replayed his words in her mind, analyzing every syllable with newfound clarity. He had talked about family, about security, about keeping her at Thornfield Manor. But not once—not even once—had he mentioned love.

Not even affection.

No hint of care, no spark of attraction beyond the way his eyes had lingered on her body. His reasons felt calculated, as though he had identified her deepest vulnerabilities—her desperate longing to belong, her ache for a family—and weaponized them against her.

Was this a proposal or a trap?

Isla’s chest tightened with a mix of heartbreak and anger. She blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. She didn’t want him to see her cry. He already had the upper hand; she wouldn’t give him this, too.

And yet, she couldn’t help but wonder: Was she desperate enough to accept this? Was she willing to become an unwanted bride for the sake of financial security and a roof over her head? To cling to Thornfield Manor, the only home she had ever known, even if it meant sacrificing her pride, her dreams, her dignity?

The answer was no.

No.

She would rather walk back to Ms. Anne’s bed-and-breakfast, grovel for her old job, and scrub floors until her hands bled than tie herself to a man who didn’t want her for who she was.

Her tears began to spill despite her efforts, silent but relentless. She wanted to weep, to sob until her chest felt hollow and her heart felt lighter. But she couldn’t—not here, not now, not in front of him. She needed to leave.

This time, when Isla rose to leave, Graham didn’t stop her. His hands itched to reach out, to demand that she sit back down, but something in her tear-streaked face held him back. He’d already made a mess of things—bulldozing through her emotions like a man who didn’t know better. Adding forcefulness to the equation wouldn’t help.

As the door closed softly behind her, he leaned back in his chair, letting out a long, frustrated sigh. How had he botched this so completely? He prided himself on his control, his ability to read people, to handle delicate situations with finesse. But with Isla, he was clumsy. His confidence faltered. His arrogance got the better of him.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, feeling the weight of his thirty years like never before. He wasn’t old—not by any stretch—but compared to Isla? God, he felt ancient. She was nineteen, a girl who still saw the world through the hopeful, romantic eyes of youth. She wasn’t jaded like him, hardened by years of business deals and the machinations of high society. She still believed in things like love and fairy tales. And he had proposed to her as though he were negotiating a merger.

He groaned, shaking his head at his own idiocy. No wonder she had looked at him like he was an alien.

Graham stood and paced the room, hands in his pockets as he considered his next move. If he had any hope of winning her over, he needed to change his approach. Isla wasn’t one of the polished, sophisticated women he was used to. She didn’t care about power or prestige, and she certainly wouldn’t be swayed by his wealth alone.

What would make her smile again? He thought back to the girl she had been before life had dealt her so many cruel blows. Before her father had died and the light in her eyes had dimmed. Before she had started carrying the weight of the world on her delicate shoulders.

Paris. The thought came unbidden, and for a moment, his lips curved into a smile. Maybe he should fly her to Paris. Show her the city of lights, the romance of it all. He could already imagine the way her face might light up at the sight of the Eiffel Tower glittering against the night sky, the way her laughter might echo as they strolled along the Seine.

But no, that felt too cliché. Isla wasn’t the type to be charmed by something so predictable. Maybe Venice instead. He had always preferred its quiet charm—the gondola rides, the hidden corners of the city away from the throngs of tourists. There was something soothing about the water, the way it seemed to carry the weight of the world away.

Or... he frowned, stopping mid-pace

his frustration giving way to a quiet determination. He needed to get to know her better, to figure out what made her happy now, not what might have made her happy before. He pulled out his phone, the idea feeling absurd even as he did it. Do people even Google how to date someone almost a decade younger than them?   

God, but he was too old for this!