Chapter 157

Chapter 44

A firm yet deliberate touch stirred Isla from the depths of sleep, pulling her from the warm, blissful cocoon of slumber. She felt weightless, floating somewhere between the remnants of dreams and the raw, lingering traces of the night before. Every inch of her body ached in the sweetest way, a deep lethargy settling into her limbs, refusing to let her move.

The bed was impossibly soft, her body molded into its warmth, and she wanted nothing more than to drift back into sleep. But the touch came again, more insistent now. Hands, large and strong, shaking her shoulder gently, nudging her awake.

Her lashes fluttered open, and for a moment, she was lost—suspended in a haze of pleasure-laden exhaustion, the memories of the night still tangled in her subconscious. She was slow to process, but she knew it was him. Graham. His warmth was still near, his presence unmistakable even before her vision fully focused.

Blinking against the dim morning light, she turned her head toward him. His lips were moving, and instinctively, her gaze dropped to them, her heartbeat sluggish but steady as she tried to make out the words.

Wake up, Isla.

She frowned, still caught in the haze of sleep. The deep rasp of his voice was lost to her, but she could see the urgency in the way he formed each word.

Still, she made a soft, sleepy hum of protest, turning her face into the pillow, burying herself deeper beneath the covers. She didn’t want to wake up. Didn’t want to move. It felt too good—too perfect—to be here, tangled in warmth, surrounded by the scent of him.

But he wouldn’t relent.

A more forceful shake at her shoulder, fingers pressing into her bare skin, pulled her further from the embrace of sleep.

Come on, sweetheart. Get up. We need to go somewhere.

She blinked up at him, confusion flickering in her drowsy gaze. Graham loomed above her, the angles of his face sharper in the muted morning light, his tousled dark hair falling over his forehead in a way that made him look impossibly rugged. He was watching her closely, his expression unreadable—but there was tension in his jaw, in the way his fingers flexed at his sides.

Still lost in the fog of sleep, Isla began to rise, pushing herself up on her elbows—only to freeze when the cool air rushed over her bare skin.

She sucked in a sharp breath, realization crashing down on her all at once.

She was completely exposed.

A jolt of panic shot through her, her arms instinctively moving to shield herself, but before she could gather the sheets, strong fingers wrapped around her wrist, stopping her.

Her gaze snapped to his, heart thundering against her ribs.

Graham’s grip was firm, unyielding, but not cruel. His touch alone sent heat curling low in her belly, a reminder of just how intimately he had touched her mere hours ago.

His lips moved, slow and deliberate, as if he wanted to make sure she understood.

Not like that.

His voice—if she could have heard it—would have been rougher now, huskier, tinged with something deep and unreadable. His eyes flickered downward, sweeping over the expanse of her bare shoulders, then lower—before he tore his gaze away sharply, as if looking at her any longer would break whatever fragile control he had left.

Jaw tight, he bent down and grabbed the crumpled nightgown from the floor, the delicate white fabric wrinkled and stretched, the lace slightly torn.

Isla swallowed, noting the way his expression darkened at the sight of it.

Something flickered across his features—an emotion she couldn’t quite place. Possession. Frustration. Maybe even regret.

She reached for the nightgown, fingers brushing against his as she took it from him, but still, she hesitated.

Her eyes lifted back to his, searching, questioning. Where are we going?

Graham exhaled, raking a hand through his hair, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he did. She caught the way his throat bobbed, the slight tension in his stance—as if he, too, was fighting something within himself.

He looked at her then, holding her gaze with an intensity that made the air between them feel thick, charged.

Just get dressed first.

The words were curt but not unkind. There was something restrained in the way he said them, something that made her pulse trip.

Then, for the first time, he turned away.

She blinked, startled. Graham Lancaster—who never looked away, never backed down from anything—was giving her privacy.

A lump formed in her throat as she clutched the nightgown to her chest, fingers tightening around the soft fabric.

Even with his back to her, she felt the weight of him, the heat of his presence still lingering against her skin.

She swallowed hard, pulling the nightgown over her head, feeling the way the fabric clung to her sensitized skin, still bearing the imprint of his touch.

Graham exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his already-disheveled hair as he looked down at her. Even now, with the first golden rays of morning filtering through the curtains, casting their soft glow over her still-flushed skin, he felt his control hanging by a thread.

She was watching him, her dark eyes uncertain, searching for something in his face—maybe an answer, maybe reassurance. But he couldn’t give her either, not right now.

Instead, he reached out, brushing his knuckles lightly against the curve of her jaw. The touch was brief, barely there, but it was enough to make her breath hitch. He felt it too, that undeniable pull between them, like gravity, like something inevitable.

And yet—this wasn’t the time.

His fingers curled into a fist as he pulled away, his expression hardening.

“Now, go to your room.”

His voice was low, commanding, edged with urgency.

She blinked at him, startled.

“Before Maggie or any of the other staff finds out you were here all night.”

The words cut through the haze between them like a blade. He didn’t want to humiliate her—hell, after last night, he wasn’t even sure what he wanted anymore. But he did know one thing: If anyone saw her now, with her hair still tousled from his hands, her lips still swollen from his kisses, there would be no hiding what had happened between them.

And Isla—his Isla—deserved better than whispers in the hallways.

Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but no words came. The memory of last night’s rejection still clung to the air between them, thick and heavy.

He could see it in the way her hands clenched at her sides, in the way her gaze flickered to the floor as if shielding herself from any further embarrassment.

Graham clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to reach for her again.

“Ten minutes,” he warned, his voice rough. “Come downstairs in ten minutes, Isla. We don’t have much time.”

Time for what? Isla wondered, but she didn’t ask.

She only nodded mutely, her throat too tight, her pride still stinging too much to argue.

Without another word, she turned and slipped out of his room, the soft rustle of her nightgown the only sound between them.

Isla dressed quickly, her fingers trembling slightly as she buttoned her blouse. The lingering weight of last night still clung to her skin, every breath feeling heavier than usual. Her body was sore, still attuned to every touch Graham had left on her, but her mind was caught in a storm of confusion. His urgency. His cryptic words. Where were they going? Why now?

Crossing the room, she pushed the curtain aside, her eyes searching the landscape beyond the window. The sight that greeted her sent a jolt straight to her chest.

A helicopter.

Its blades sliced through the crisp morning air, kicking up dust in furious spirals as it landed on the small stretch of land outside.

Her heart pounded.

Were they leaving again? Was he taking her somewhere?

A rush of unease prickled through her. Something about this felt… wrong. Had last night meant nothing to him? Was this his way of erasing it, of making sure they never spoke of it again?

She didn’t think. She just ran.

Bare feet padding noiselessly against the cool wooden floors, she hurried downstairs, her breath uneven, her chest tight.

But by the time she reached the veranda, the helicopter was already rising into the sky, climbing higher and higher until it vanished beyond the clouds.

She stopped short, her body frozen.

It was leaving.

Her stomach twisted painfully. Had Graham left too? Without a word? Without even saying goodbye?

A chill spread through her, colder than the morning breeze. Her fingers curled against the fabric of her blouse as she stood there, staring at the empty sky, trying to push down the hollow ache that was forming in her chest.

And then—movement inside the house.

A shadow flickered from the corner of her vision.

She turned sharply, pulse thudding wildly, and rushed back inside, hardly aware of how unsteady her footsteps had become.

And there he was.

Graham.

Sitting in the parlor like he had nowhere else in the world to be.

His broad frame was draped lazily over the couch, one arm resting over the back, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his expression unreadable. The picture of careless ease.

Isla came to a halt, her heart still racing, her breath shallow.

His sharp gaze flicked to hers, his brows drawing together slightly as he took in the look on her face.

“What happened now?”

She didn’t hear his voice, but she saw the way his lips moved, the small sigh that ghosted over his mouth. The irritation in the way his fingers tapped once against his knee.

Her throat tightened. She pressed a hand against her ribs, as if that could somehow steady her frantic pulse. "The helicopter…."

She let the words form carefully on her lips, her voice soft, uncertain.

She saw the slight rise and fall of his chest as he exhaled, his gaze never leaving her.

“It was Evie.”

The words hit her like a weight.

“She went back to New York.”

Isla blinked.

Evie was… gone?

She felt something shift inside her, something fragile and unsteady, but she didn’t dare move, didn’t dare let herself believe it.

A breath slipped past her lips, soft and shaky. But Graham wasn’t finished.

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes locked on hers. His lips moved again, slow, deliberate.

“You don’t have to look like someone just murdered your pet.”

The wry curve of his mouth—the sharp amusement—startled her.

And then, the words that made her world tilt on its axis.

“I canceled the deal.”

She stopped breathing.

The silence around her was deafening.

She stared at him, her pulse hammering so violently she thought she might shatter.

He canceled it.

Thornfield Manor wasn’t being sold.

She wanted to ask if she had read his lips correctly, if he truly meant it, but her voice failed her.

Graham watched her intently, his dark gaze filled with something unreadable. And then—

“Aren’t you going to say something?”

She barely saw the words form, too caught in the whirlwind of emotions slamming into her at once.

Her lips parted, but no words came.

Isla couldn’t believe her eyes.

Despite everything that had happened last night—despite the unbearable humiliation of realizing he had only stayed with her out of pity—she had been certain of one thing: Graham Lancaster would take the first chance to leave. She had expected to wake up alone, to find Thornfield Manor signed away, sold to some faceless buyer, just as he had always threatened.

But he was still here.

Sitting there, sprawled across the couch like he had all the time in the world, his long legs stretched out, his expression unreadable.

And the sale? Canceled.

Her mind couldn’t keep up. Why? What did this mean? What had changed?

She stared at him, searching his face for some clue, some hint of explanation.

His dark eyes flicked up, and instantly, a frown tugged at his lips.

“You’re looking at me like that again,” he grumbled.

“Like what?” she asked cautiously, her voice uncertain.

“Like I just murdered your pet.”

The words were exasperated, but there was something in his tone—something teasing, almost indulgent, like he knew exactly how much he was unsettling her and was enjoying every second of it.

Isla swallowed, her pulse uneven. He had canceled the deal—something she had begged him to do, something she would have given anything for. But he hadn’t taken her offer. He hadn’t used her body in exchange for this.

So why?

Before she could gather her thoughts, Graham stood abruptly, stretching his arms over his head before rolling his shoulders, like a man completely at ease. Then, without warning, his fingers closed around her wrist.

“Come on,” he said, his grip firm but not forceful. “We have somewhere urgent to be.”

“What?” Isla stumbled slightly as he pulled her forward, leading her toward the door, not even sparing her a glance.

“No time for questions,” he said smoothly, his tone as arrogant as ever.

“Graham—”

He turned then, flashing her a slow, wicked smirk. His grip tightened around her wrist, just enough to make her stomach flutter.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

And with that, he pulled her outside, leaving her no choice but to follow.