Chapter 155

Chapter 42

Graham’s hands moved with urgency, his fingers fumbling as he reached for his wallet, the weight of his desire pressing heavily on him. The silver foil packet slipped out, landing softly in his lap as he tossed the wallet aside, his focus entirely on the woman lying beside him. His breath was ragged, his heart pounding as he tore open the condom wrapper, his eyes never leaving her. Isla lay languidly on the bed, her body still trembling from the intensity of their shared passion. Her eyes were half-closed, her long lashes casting delicate shadows on her flushed cheeks as she watched him with a mixture of desire and uncertainty. She had pulled the duvet up to cover herself, her shyness still evident despite the intimacy they had just shared. Graham’s lips curved into a half-smile, a gesture meant to reassure her, to let her know that he would take care of her, that she was safe with him. But then something caught his eye—a glimmer of light peeking out from beneath the edge of the duvet.

Graham’s fingers stilled. His breath hitched as his gaze snagged on something small but unmistakable—the delicate diamond pendant resting against Isla’s bare collarbone. A single, glinting reminder of a moment long past.

His chest tightened as recognition settled in. He knew that piece of jewelry well. He had picked it out himself three years ago, on his father’s behalf, for Isla’s 16th birthday. Back then, she had been a quiet, wide-eyed girl, still holding onto the innocence of youth, clutching that little box with pure delight as she unwrapped it. It had suited her—simple, elegant, untouched by the weight of the world.

And now, here she was, in his bed, looking at him with something uncertain in her eyes. In bed with a man, who wasn’t in a committed relationship with her. Who had promised her nothing. The realization of what he was about to do crashed over him like a tidal wave, drowning out the heat of his desire. He was moments away from taking her, defiling her in his bed, with no finesse, no romance, no tenderness—just a hurried, shameful act born out of desperation and lust.

A foreign sensation twisted in his stomach, his grip loosening until the condom packet slipped from his fingers, forgotten. His wallet hit the bedside table with a dull thud, but he barely heard it. What the hell was he doing?

The realization hit him with such force that it almost made him nauseous.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to be like this—hurried, desperate, driven by frustration and need rather than anything real. He had cornered her into this, hadn’t he? He had given her no choice but to be here, to offer herself in exchange for a house, as if she were some kind of bargaining chip. And for what? His own gratification? His own need to feel in control?

He let out a slow breath, his jaw tightening.

Isla was only 19. Young. Inexperienced. Still figuring out the world. And here he was, seconds away from taking something from her that she could never get back.

His stomach twisted harder. He hadn’t even thought about what this meant for her—what it would mean tomorrow, next week, or years from now. Had she even wanted this for herself? Or had she just convinced herself it was the only way?

For the first time in a long time, Graham felt something unfamiliar creep in—shame.

His eyes traced her face. She was waiting, hesitating, watching him like she didn’t quite know what to expect. Did she even realize that he had just woken up from the fog of his own reckless desire? That he was suddenly standing at the edge of something irreversible?

He swallowed hard.

Without a word, he shifted back, breaking the contact between them, forcing space where there had been none. He ran a hand down his face, exhaling deeply. The weight of what almost happened sat like a stone in his chest.

What the hell had he almost done?

Graham pressed his fingers to his temples, inhaling sharply as shame curled through his veins like fire. His body was still taut with unspent desire, his skin heated from where he had touched her, where she had yielded beneath him. But the realization of it—of what he had been about to do—made his stomach turn.

He had nearly taken her. Nearly crossed a line he could never uncross. And for what?

A transaction. A deal.

His jaw clenched so tightly it ached. What kind of man did that make him? Had he truly fallen so far?

The scent of her—of them—still clung to the air, thick and intoxicating, but now it felt suffocating. His throat constricted, his pulse hammering with a different kind of urgency—one not born of lust but of something darker. He had been blind, so consumed by his own frustration, his own pent-up need, that he hadn’t seen it clearly until now.

She had come here for Thornfield Manor. For Maggie. For Edwin. Not for this.

Not for him.

And he—God, he had been ready to take advantage of that.

Graham dragged a rough hand down his face, exhaling through his nose as his fingers curled into fists at his sides. His body was still humming, his muscles coiled tight, but suddenly, it was unbearable. He couldn’t stand to be here. Couldn’t stand to look at her. Couldn’t stand himself.

He pushed himself off the bed in one swift motion, the cool air hitting his overheated skin like a slap. The towel sat low on his hips, barely secured, a last fragile tether to his restraint. He snatched his discarded shirt and pants from the floor, his movements stiff, hurried, as if the faster he dressed, the faster he could erase the last ten minutes of his life.

But nothing would erase this.

He could still feel her, the way her body had trembled beneath his touch, the way her breath had caught, the way she had looked at him—not with seduction, but with something uncertain, something fragile.

Something he had nearly shattered.

His fingers curled tighter around the fabric in his hands as he turned toward the door. He needed to get out. Needed space, air, distance. Before he lost the last shred of control he had left.

And before he did something even more unforgivable.

“Graham?”

Her voice was soft, uncertain—laced with anticipation and something even more dangerous: trust.

The sound of it nearly broke him.

He felt like the lowest kind of man. Like a predator who had lured something innocent into his den under false pretenses.

His spine was rigid, his fists clenched at his sides as he forced the words from his throat. “Go to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

No explanations. No excuses. Because there were none.

“Why?”

One simple word. A plea wrapped in confusion, tinged with hurt.

Graham’s patience snapped, but not with her—with himself.

“Because I don’t pay for sex!” The words came out like a lash, cutting through the air with venom, self-directed disgust dripping from every syllable.

The moment they left his lips, he saw it—her flinch, the way her body recoiled as if he’d struck her.

Damn it.

She gasped, her fingers gripping the sheet tighter around herself as if shielding her nakedness from him—not out of shyness this time, but humiliation. The glow that had been in her eyes only moments ago dimmed, replaced by something raw, something shattered.

The sight of it twisted like a knife in his gut.

He turned away sharply, trying to swallow the burn in his throat. “I changed my mind.” His voice was rough, almost guttural. “Go to sleep.”

It should have ended there.

But it didn’t.

“Graham, please.”

The bed creaked, and he stiffened as he realized—she was moving. She was getting up.

He didn’t turn. He didn’t dare. Because if he did—if he saw her standing there, wrapped in nothing but the bedsheet, her body still warm and trembling from his touch—he might just lose the last sliver of control he had left.

“You were stupid to come here, Isla.” His voice was quieter now, but no less sharp. “Do you even realize what could have happened tonight?”

‘I could have ruined you.’

The words screamed in his mind, but he bit them back, swallowing them like acid.

She didn’t respond, but he felt her hesitation in the silence that stretched between them, in the way her breath hitched ever so slightly.

His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to reach for her, to undo the damage of his words. But no—he couldn’t. He had to end this. Had to walk away before it was too late.

His chest rose and fell with the force of his restraint. “Go back to bed, Isla.”

She didn’t move.

His jaw clenched, his body wound so tight it felt like he might snap. Without another word, without a single glance back, he yanked open the door and strode out, shutting it firmly behind him.

Only when he was alone in the darkened hallway did he finally allow himself to breathe.