Chapter 144

Chapter 31

Isla sat frozen, staring at him as if he had just pulled the ground out from beneath her. For a long moment, she said nothing, her hands clenching tightly around the edge of her napkin. Her gaze dropped to her feet, and she seemed to shrink into herself, as though willing the floor to swallow her whole.

"Are you okay?" Graham asked, his voice cool and detached, though his eyes briefly flickered with a glint of curiosity.

"Yes," she whispered after what felt like an eternity. She nodded slowly, but still didn’t lift her head. Her voice was small, shaky. "But... can I ask why?"

Her words quivered with desperation, her lower lip trembling as she struggled to keep her composure. When she finally looked up, her wide eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "Why sell Thornfield Manor? It’s been in your family for generations. It’s where your father was born, where he lived his entire life. You were born there too. How can you—how can you just...?"

Her voice cracked, and she looked away, biting her lip to stifle the sob building in her throat.

Graham leaned back in his chair, his expression cold, his jaw set. "Because it doesn’t suit me anymore," he said bluntly. His words were clipped, devoid of sentiment. "Things change, Isla. Thornfield Manor served its purpose, but it’s a relic of the past. I have no use for it now."

Her breathing hitched, and she looked back at him, a mixture of panic and disbelief painted across her face. "But it’s—"

"It’s just a house," he cut her off, his voice firm, his gaze unwavering. "A house, Isla. Nothing more. You’ll have your cottage. That’s more than enough for what you need."

The finality of his tone left no room for argument, and Isla sat back, defeated, her hands trembling in her lap. She stared down at them, her mind spinning with the weight of what he’d just said. Thornfield Manor, her sanctuary, her haven, the one place she felt safe—gone.

And Graham sat across from her, cold as stone, utterly unaffected.

“But why sell it, you don’t need the money!” She accused.

"Well, it’s true that I don’t need the money," Graham began, his voice calm, deliberate, as though he were casually weighing his words. He leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming lightly against the table, the picture of detached indifference. "But it’s also true that I have no emotional connection to that place. After my mother died, I was sent to boarding school. Most of my years were spent there. Thornfield Manor was more like a holiday home for me—two weeks at most, if that. Now, it’s just a burden."

He paused, letting the weight of his words hang in the air. Isla sat motionless across from him, her gaze fixed on her plate, but he could see the subtle stiffening of her posture. She didn’t interrupt, though her hands were tightly clasped together in her lap.

"The estate is high maintenance," he continued, his tone matter-of-fact, as though discussing an outdated asset rather than a home steeped in memories. "If it’s not monitored well at all times, it’ll start draining resources. And it yields no profit. My father dedicated his life to taking care of that place, but I can’t do that. I have my company to manage, a billion other responsibilities." He shrugged, his voice steady and void of sentiment. "I don’t want to live there—now or in the future. So, the best thing to do is sell it. Hopefully, the new owner will take better care of it than I ever could."

Isla flinched slightly, her body visibly tensing, but she didn’t look up. Her voice, when it came, was small, almost a whisper. "And what about Maggie and Edwin? And the rest of the staff?"

Graham’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly, but his response was calm, rehearsed even. "If the next owner wants to keep them on, that would be ideal." He let the words hang for a moment before delivering the next blow. "If not, I’ll have to let them go. They’ll be notified well in advance so they can make their own arrangements and find new positions if they wish. That said, I don’t think you need to worry about them. My father left a sizable lump sum for them in his will, primarily for the retirement fund of the older employees. I’ll make sure they all receive something when they’re let go."

He paused, watching her closely now. She remained hunched forward, her shoulders drawn in as though trying to shield herself from the words battering her. Her long hair cascaded down, forming a curtain that hid her face, leaving him unable to gauge her reaction fully.

"I would appreciate it if you could keep this to yourself for the time being," he added, his tone clipped, businesslike. "I’d like to notify the staff personally when the time comes."

Silence filled the room, heavy and suffocating. Isla didn’t move, didn’t speak, her head bowed as though the weight of his words had pinned her in place. Graham stared at her, his expression unreadable, though his jaw tightened briefly.

After what felt like an eternity, Isla stood. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as though she were forcing herself to move against the weight of her emotions. Her face remained obscured, her hair still a protective veil.

"Excuse me," she murmured, her voice trembling with the effort to stay composed. "I’ll go and pack. Please alert your pilot. I’d like to leave now."

It was then Graham heard it—a slight hitch in her voice, the unmistakable quiver of someone trying not to cry.

She turned and walked out of the room, her steps quick but unsteady. The moment the door clicked shut behind her, Graham clenched his fists under the table. Every instinct screamed at him to follow her, to break the icy facade he’d so carefully maintained. To stop her, to make her see his reasoning, or at the very least, to comfort her.

But he didn’t move.

This was a game of patience, of precision. If he wanted everything to fall into place, he couldn’t afford to give in now. So he stayed seated, his expression hardening as he forced himself to sit in the silence she left behind, alone with his thoughts and the faint echo of her pain.

An hour later, Isla stood by the door, her suitcase packed and ready, a heavy weight pressing down on her chest. Her head was bowed, her long hair falling like a curtain to shield her face. She didn’t want to meet his gaze, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing the hurt written plainly in her eyes. She already knew what he would look like—stoic, detached, utterly unbothered. He had said enough, done enough.

The silence in the room was suffocating, broken only by the distant hum of the city outside. Graham stood across from her, his face carved in stone, cold and unreadable. His presence filled the space with an icy tension that made her stomach churn. Isla had always known he could be ruthless, but this... this was different. This was cruelty cloaked in control.

Her hands trembled as she clutched the handle of her suitcase, the weight of everything crashing down on her. Robert had been gone for less than two months, and already Graham was dismantling his legacy piece by piece. Thornfield Manor, the heart of her world, was to be sold like some disposable trinket. Maggie and Edwin, who had dedicated their lives to the estate, were to be cast aside, their futures left dangling in uncertainty. It was unbearable, and yet, there was nothing she could do.

Fresh tears pricked at her eyes, but she forced them down, swallowing the lump in her throat. There would be time for tears later, endless nights of grieving the loss of her home, of everything that tied her to the life she once had. For now, she had to hold on, even if her heart was breaking.

Graham’s cold voice cut through the air, startling her. “The driver is waiting,” he said simply, his tone devoid of warmth or emotion.

Isla looked at him then, her gaze flickering up for just a moment. His face was as impassive as ever, his dark eyes revealing nothing. She thought back to the past three weeks, to his relentless attempts to coerce her into agreeing to marry him. At first, it had been subtle—offers of security, promises to take care of her. When that hadn’t worked, he’d turned to manipulation, wielding Thornfield Manor as his weapon.

And now, this. Blackmail. He wanted her to beg, to fall to her knees and plead with him to save the estate, to save Maggie and Edwin. He wanted her desperation to be the price of his so-called heroism.

But Isla wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

She wouldn’t trade her dignity for a loveless marriage, no matter the cost. Graham Lancaster didn’t love her—he didn’t even respect her. To him, this was just another game, another way to assert control. And while the thought of losing Thornfield Manor cut her deeply, she refused to let him win.

Her heart clenched as she imagined what was to come. She could already see it—the grand halls of Thornfield Manor emptied, the library stripped of its books, Robert’s beloved collection boxed and sold. The portrait of her mother and Robert, along with the long lineage of Lancaster ancestors, packed away like meaningless relics. And she would watch it all, helpless, from the sidelines.

Her chest ached with the weight of it, but she stood firm.

The sound of the door opening snapped her from her thoughts. The driver stepped inside, quickly gathering her luggage and carrying it out to the waiting car. Isla’s gaze lingered on Graham one last time, searching for... something. Anything. A flicker of regret, a moment of hesitation.

But there was nothing. His cold, stony expression remained unchanged, and without a word, he turned and walked away.

The finality of it hit her like a blow. She followed the driver outside, her movements mechanical, her heart heavy. As the car pulled away, she glanced back at the towering building, its top-floor penthouse barely visible against the sky.

It struck her then, the cruel symbolism of it all. He was at the top of the world, untouchable, while she was nothing more than a speck, fading into the distance.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. This was not the end of her story. She would survive this, somehow. Even if it meant losing everything, even if it meant starting over with nothing. Because she knew, deep down, that a life bound to Graham Lancaster—a man who saw love as a transaction and control as a prize—would never truly be hers.

And Isla wanted more than that. She deserved more than that.