Chapter 141

CHAPTER 28
“Oh, I see it now,” Daneil drawled, leaning back against the bar with an infuriating smirk. “You’re practically salivating over that barely legal thing in white. But come on, mate. A man has needs. And that blonde secretary of yours? Tight black skirt, legs for days—she’s practically hovering over you all day at the office. You’re telling me one thing hasn’t led to another?” He grinned, his tone dripping with insinuation. “You know… late nights, a little tension, and—boom.”

Graham turned his head slowly, his glare sharp enough to draw blood. “No. And stop talking about Nella like that,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Daneil’s grin widened as though Graham’s anger only fueled his amusement. “So, you’ve never banged her? Not even a one-night-stand mistake? Not even a little slip-up in a drunken haze?”

The disgust on Graham’s face spoke louder than words, and Daneil laughed, loud and unapologetic. “By that expression, I’d say that’s a big fat no. Good to know. Very good to know,” he added, nodding to himself as if filing the information away for future use.

Daneil finished his cocktail in one long swallow and stood, adjusting his cuffs with exaggerated nonchalance. “Well, wish me luck, because ten bucks says I’m getting lucky tonight.”

Graham barked a dry laugh, his tone biting. “Ha! Not a chance. Nella has standards, Daneil. I’ve met some of her boyfriends. All respectable, straight-laced guys. But most importantly, monogamous. None of them were Casanovas like you, ready to jump into bed with anything half-pretty that so much as smiles in your direction.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,” Daneil countered, leaning in closer. His grin took on a predatory edge, his tone softening as though he was sharing a great secret. “Every person has a chink in their armor, an Achilles’ heel. It’s just a matter of finding it. Once you do, they’ll eat right out of your hand. It’s all about finesse, my friend. And Nella?” He chuckled darkly. “She’s no different. Everyone’s got a weakness.”

Graham’s jaw tightened, his fists curling on the bar. His voice was a low growl. “Daneil. Keep your dirty paws off my secretary. I mean it.”

But Daneil simply smirked, shrugging off the warning as he sauntered off, clearly undeterred. “We’ll see about that,” he called over his shoulder.

Graham barely registered his friend’s departure, his attention snapping back to the dance floor. His stomach churned as he caught sight of Isla again, her radiant smile aimed at her dance partner. The Hollywood actor had his hands on her, and they were inching higher—far too high—along her exposed thighs. Graham’s blood roared in his ears, his vision narrowing until all he could see was the man who dared to touch what was his.

Enough. He had tolerated more than enough. His drink forgotten, Graham stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. A storm of possessiveness and fury coursed through him as he stalked toward the dance floor, his every step purposeful, his every thought singular. He was done playing nice.

Graham stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor as he stormed toward the dance floor. His towering frame loomed over the Hollywood actor who had the audacity to put his hands on what was his. The actor turned, startled, as Graham’s furious glare bore into him.

“Do you mind?” Graham hissed through gritted teeth, his voice low and menacing. The actor froze, then hastily removed his hands from Isla, stepping back as though he’d been scalded. Within seconds, he dissolved into the crowd, clearly unwilling to cross a man like Graham Lancaster.

Isla, however, was less than pleased. She crossed her arms and pouted. “He was just telling me about his new movie,” she defended, her voice soft yet laced with annoyance.

Before she could say more, Graham’s strong arms snaked around her waist, pulling her against his chest. His larger, commanding presence enveloped her delicate form as he began to lead her in a slow, deliberate rhythm. The intensity in his gaze made her cheeks flush, though her irritation lingered.

“Did he also tell you about his wife and two kids waiting for him at home?” Graham’s voice was laced with disdain, his lips curling slightly as he stared down at her.

Isla blinked, caught off guard. “He’s a celebrity. Everyone knows he’s married,” she replied, frowning as she tried to pull away slightly.

“And you forgot that little detail when, exactly? Before or after he had his hands all over you?” Graham jabbed, his words sharp and biting. The image of the actor’s hands on her was burned into his mind, fueling his jealousy and anger.

“He did no such thing!” Isla shot back, her cheeks turning crimson. Her indignation faltered when she suddenly felt it—Graham’s hand, large and possessive, resting firmly on her right cheek. His fingers pressed against her skin, claiming her in a way that made her heart pound with a mix of embarrassment and outrage.

“Stop it!” she cried, her voice low but frantic. The room seemed to spin as she realized they were surrounded by hundreds of people—guests, colleagues, strangers—all of whom might be watching this humiliating display.

But Graham didn’t let go. His grip tightened slightly, his lips brushing her ear as he growled, “Isn’t this what you wanted? A juicy scandal? Why else wear this scrap of fabric that barely covers anything?” His words were dripping with anger and frustration, his jealousy cracking through his usual control.

“Let me go!” she demanded, her voice trembling with both embarrassment and fury. She pushed at his chest, her small hands no match for his strength.

But this time, he relented. Graham’s arms loosened, and Isla stumbled back, her face a vivid mix of red from mortification and anger. Without another word, she turned and stormed off the dance floor, her heels clicking against the marble as she escaped his searing gaze.

Graham stood frozen for a moment, his fists clenched at his sides. He watched her retreating figure, the soft sway of her white dress mocking him as it disappeared into the crowd. The tension in his chest felt unbearable, a potent mix of jealousy, possessiveness, and guilt swirling inside him. His gaze flicked to the onlookers—some whispering, others pretending not to notice—and his jaw tightened.

This was not how he wanted the night to go, but damn it, Isla had a way of lighting a fire in him that no one else ever had.

The party had been a dream come true for Isla—a glimpse into a world she had only ever imagined. The grandeur of the event was intoxicating, with its glittering chandeliers, elegant décor, and the hum of conversations from fascinating people. Everywhere she looked, there were women in exquisite gowns and dazzling jewelry, and men exuding confidence in tailored suits. It was the kind of adult sophistication she had never experienced before, and she found herself utterly captivated.

This was her first taste of a life she had yearned for, a life far removed from the sleepy, predictable rhythm of her small-town existence. It felt like stepping into a fairytale, one where the world was alive with possibilities. But all of it had come crashing down when Graham appeared on the dance floor.

She had been enjoying herself—truly enjoying herself—until he ruined it. His commanding presence, his sharp words, and that infuriatingly smug attitude reminded her of what this night really was: his game. She knew his motives. This was another calculated attempt to make her say yes to his marriage proposal, another way to dangle the world she longed for just out of reach.

“Just say yes, and the world could be yours.” His words from a week ago rang in her ears, a cruel echo of temptation. God, how she wanted the world. She wanted it desperately. And because of that, she hated him a little more.

He was showing her everything she could have—the glamour, the excitement, the boundless opportunities of a life far removed from the mundane. Yet he was keeping it just beyond her grasp, making her ache for it in a way that felt both exhilarating and painful.

She thought of New York, the city that had stolen her heart the moment she saw it today. The towering skyscrapers that seemed to touch the sky, the bustling streets alive with people and energy—it was a stark contrast to the quiet, sprawling countryside of Willow Creek. The fast-paced flow of cars and subways, the endless movement of people with purpose and dreams, had left her breathless. It wasn’t just a city; it was a living, breathing entity, pulsating with opportunity and ambition.

For the first time in her life, Isla felt like she could truly be something here. Not just a girl from a small town with limited options, but a person with dreams she could actually chase. New York seemed to hold the promise of a life where her deafness wouldn’t define her, where she could train for a career, find independence, and live a life of meaning.

In Willow Creek, the days had been quiet, slow, and unchanging. The same hundred faces, the same routines, and endless stretches of empty land. There was comfort in it, sure, but it wasn’t enough. She had always felt like she was meant for something more, something bigger than the fields and the familiar. She didn’t want calm and sleepy anymore—she wanted the chaos, the thrill, and the promise of a city that never stopped moving.

But that dream came with a catch: Graham Lancaster. His proposal hung over her like a shadow, tying her dream to his terms. The life she yearned for seemed inseparable from him and the deal he was offering. And Isla hated that too. Because even as she dreamed of skyscrapers and city lights, she couldn’t shake the feeling that accepting his proposal would mean trading one kind of trap for another.

Isla sighed deeply, her shoulders slumping as she decided to find Nella. Maybe Graham’s assistant could help her discreetly arrange a taxi to take her back to the penthouse. The party, which had felt like a slice of paradise just moments ago, now felt suffocating, the glitter and glamour dimmed by her growing discomfort. The weight of her emotions pressed against her chest, making her feel on the verge of tears. She couldn’t stay here, not like this.

At the bar, she spotted Nella sitting with the same man she had seen earlier, speaking with Graham. They were leaning close, engaged in conversation, but as Isla approached, Nella straightened abruptly, putting a noticeable distance between herself and the man. A flush of color crept across her cheeks, her expression one of barely concealed embarrassment.

“Ms. Isla,” Nella greeted, her tone polite but laced with a hint of surprise.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Nella,” Isla began, trying to keep her voice steady. “Could you call me a cab, please? I think I’d like to leave now.”

There it was again—the feeling that she sounded like a whiny, petulant child. She hated it. But Nella, ever composed, looked puzzled rather than annoyed.

“Of course, Ms. Isla. But why would you take a cab? Mr. Lancaster’s driver is on standby. He can be here in five minutes, at most,” Nella replied, her brow furrowed in confusion.

Isla’s stomach sank. Now she felt not only like a child but a foolish one. What could she say to this? Admit that she was trying to avoid Graham altogether and explain why? Or swallow her pride and let herself be escorted home in the very car Graham had arranged for her?

She forced a weak smile. “I just wasn’t sure when Graham would be ready to leave. It’s okay. I’ll ask him myself.”

Nella’s confusion turned to amusement, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I’m sure Mr. Lancaster would leave with you whenever you’re ready. After all, the party is in your honor,” she added cheerfully.

Isla froze. Her mind blanked for a moment as the words registered. The party… in my honor? Her fingers tightened around her clutch, the pressure building until she felt her nails digging painfully into the fabric. Her heart pounded in her ears, her mind racing to make sense of what she had just heard.

“For me?” Isla managed to ask, her voice strained, her jaw tight as she fought to maintain composure.

Nella nodded enthusiastically, missing Isla’s growing tension. “Yes! I mean, I didn’t have much time to plan, with only half a day’s notice. Mr. Lancaster only told me yesterday that he was hosting this party for you, so I tried to—”

A deliberate cough interrupted Nella’s words, and both women turned to the man she had been speaking with earlier. He wore a smug, knowing smile that instantly grated on Isla’s nerves.

“Nella,” he interjected smoothly, “I think you’ve said enough. I’m not sure Graham has made the surprise public yet.”

Nella blinked, her brows furrowing in confusion, before realization dawned on her. Her face turned crimson, her earlier cheer giving way to mortification. “Oh! Oh no, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know it was supposed to be a surprise. Ms. Isla, I… I ruined it for you! I’m so sorry.”

But Isla didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of disbelief and confusion, her emotions teetering between anger and humiliation. The idea that this entire evening had been orchestrated for her—and that Graham hadn’t even bothered to tell her—felt like a cruel joke. And the man’s smug grin only made it worse, as if he were reveling in her discomfort.

She felt trapped, her chest tightening as she struggled to process it all. The grandeur of the party, the glittering lights, and the elegant guests—all of it suddenly felt suffocating. She needed to leave, to escape before the walls of this gilded cage closed in on her completely.