CHAPTER 7
Graham Lancaster sat in the leather chair of his father’s study, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on his chest. The room, steeped in the scent of old books and faint traces of his father’s cologne, felt eerily quiet. Papers and receipts related to the estate lay scattered on the polished oak desk in front of him, demanding his attention. Yet his focus drifted, his gaze fixed on the sprawling gardens outside the window. Beyond the manicured hedges lay the rolling fields and endless horizon of Thornfield Manor—the place he had always considered his sanctuary.
To Graham, Thornfield Manor was synonymous with his father. It wasn’t just a house; it was the embodiment of home, a comforting retreat he could conjure in his mind during the most stressful days. When the pressures of running his multi-billion-dollar company in New York became too overwhelming, he would close his eyes and picture this place: the sweet, fresh air of Willow Creek, the rhythmic gallop of horses in the distance, the quiet expanse of fields that seemed to stretch forever. And always, at the heart of it, his father—sitting in this very chair, his face lit with a contented smile.
The memories stirred an ache in his chest. He could see his father’s steady presence, hear the warm cadence of his voice offering advice, or simply sharing an anecdote from years past. And then there was another image: a little girl with ponytails, wearing a bright pink dress, trailing behind him as he went about his day. Isla. She had been a constant presence during his childhood visits, shadowing him with the quiet adoration of a younger sibling. The thought of her, happy and innocent, always managed to bring a smile to his face—even when he was miles away, ensconced in the steel and glass of his high-rise office.
But now, everything felt different. The manor was still here, unchanged in its outward appearance. The horses still grazed in the paddock, the gardens still bloomed, and Isla was still a part of this place. Yet the soul of Thornfield Manor—his father—was gone. No matter how much Graham wished it otherwise, this wasn’t a nightmare he could wake up from. His father wasn’t going to call out from another room or walk through the door with his familiar, reassuring presence.
This was reality, and it was one Graham was struggling to accept. The void left behind by his father’s death was immense, and it wasn’t just emotional. There were responsibilities now—tasks that had been his father’s domain, and they had fallen squarely on Graham’s shoulders. His father’s illness in the last month had left many things unattended. The stables required their yearly repairs, the south wing of the manor needed fixing, and the rents from the tenant farmers hadn’t been collected. The weight of these obligations pressed down on him, reminding him that the role of caretaker now belonged to him.
And then there was Isla.
Graham leaned back in the chair, his eyes narrowing slightly as he thought of her. She had been uncharacteristically quiet since the funeral, retreating into a shell he hadn’t seen since she was a child. She hadn’t spoken a word that day, not during the service, not at the burial. She had slipped away from the church unnoticed, walking three miles back to the manor alone instead of calling him or Edwin for a ride. That image haunted him—a solitary figure trudging along the side of the road, her grief so heavy that she couldn’t reach out for help.
She had loved his father as though he were her own, and Graham knew the feeling had been mutual. His father had adored Isla, treating her with the same affection and care as if she were his biological daughter. Now, Graham felt an unspoken responsibility to honor that bond. It wasn’t just about the manor or the estate—it was about Isla’s well-being. She was part of this place, part of the family his father had built here, and Graham intended to ensure she felt secure, no matter what.
He sighed, rubbing his temples as his gaze returned to the papers on the desk. There was so much to do, so many things that demanded his attention. But in that moment, one thought remained clear: his father had trusted him with Thornfield Manor and all it entailed. That trust extended to Isla, and Graham wouldn’t let him down. He would take care of her, protect her, and make sure she was never left adrift—not while he was here.
The study felt heavy with unspoken promises, but Graham’s resolve was steady. This place, this life, had been his father’s legacy, and now it was his to uphold. And for Isla, it was his duty to ensure that Thornfield Manor remained a place she could always call home.
The knock at the study door startled Graham from his thoughts. "Master Graham?" Edwin's familiar voice carried a tone of urgency.
"Come in," Graham said, already on edge. "What is it?"
Edwin entered, his expression grim, followed by Maggie, who looked as though she might collapse under the weight of her worry. Before Graham could ask, Maggie blurted out, her voice trembling, "We can’t find Isla." Tears welled in the older woman’s eyes, her hands clutching a handkerchief as though it were her lifeline.
“Poor girl,” Maggie continued, her voice breaking. “God knows what’s going on in her little head. She’s been so quiet, so withdrawn since Master Robert’s passing. I don’t think she can take this grief, Master Graham. He was her world, her only family after her mother passed. Now, she’s all alone. I’m terrified she might do something… something rash.” Maggie’s voice cracked, her tears spilling over. “We don’t know where she’s gone, and I fear the worst.”
Graham’s heart dropped. Isla’s unusual behavior the day before—slipping away from the church, walking miles alone, barely eating—flashed through his mind. Something was deeply wrong, and now she was missing. A thread of dread curled tightly around his chest.
"Edwin," Graham said sharply, rising from his chair. His voice carried a calm authority, but inside, his thoughts were racing. "Take out the car. We’re going to look for her. She can’t have gone far."
Edwin nodded and turned to leave, but Maggie caught Graham’s arm. "Please, Master Graham," she whispered, her eyes pleading. "Find her. She’s just a child in so many ways, even if she won’t admit it."
"I will," Graham promised, the weight of her words sinking into him.
As he stepped outside, Vanessa was waiting in the garden. She turned to him with a bright smile, twirling a strand of her perfectly styled hair. “Oh, Graham, are you finished? Can we go see the horses now? You promised you’d teach me to ride today,” she said with a playful giggle.
Her lightheartedness grated against his raw nerves. “No time,” he said curtly, brushing past her. “Isla’s missing. Edwin and I are going to look for her.” He didn’t wait to see her reaction as he headed for the car.
The drive through town was tense, silence filling the vehicle save for Edwin’s occasional questions to passersby. They checked the park, where Isla often sat to sketch, and the pond where she used to watch the ducks as a child. They stopped at the home of one of her few friends, but no one had seen her. Graham knocked on neighbors’ doors, asking if anyone had noticed a young woman wandering by, but each response left him more frustrated.
By the time they circled back toward the creek, the sense of unease gnawing at Graham had grown into full-fledged fear. The afternoon sun climbed higher, casting long shadows across the ground as they scanned the familiar landscape for any sign of her. Edwin, usually unshakable, suggested hesitantly, "Perhaps we should notify the authorities, sir. It’s been hours now. If something’s happened—"
Graham cut him off. "Not yet," he said firmly, though he knew Edwin was right. If they didn’t find Isla soon, they would have no choice. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. Where could she have gone? Why hadn’t she told anyone she was leaving?
Back at the manor, the household had descended into chaos. Maggie’s worry had spilled over, and the staff were all out searching, their whispered fears filling the halls. The weight of it all pressed down on Graham as he paced the driveway, debating their next steps. If Isla didn’t return by evening, he would have to call the police. The thought made his stomach twist;
Maggie stood in the dimly lit parlor, her face streaked with tears, clutching a handkerchief as though it could shield her from the storm of emotions tearing through her. “It’s my fault,” she choked out, her voice breaking. “I should have listened to my gut and spoken to her. Poor soul. God knows where she’s gone! She doesn’t know anything about the outside world—no experience at all.” Her hands trembled as she dabbed her eyes, the weight of her own guilt pressing heavily on her frail shoulders.
Graham leaned against the fireplace, his jaw clenched tightly. Maggie’s words echoed the fears already circling in his mind. Isla had lived within the protective walls of Thornfield Manor all her life, her world no larger than the rolling fields and familiar faces of Willow Creek. She didn’t understand the harshness of the outside world, its dangers, its cruelty. She had no knowledge of navigating life beyond this small, insular town where everyone knew her and, for the most part, watched out for her.
If she had truly left town—ventured into the unknown—his chest tightened at the thought. Isla, with her soft-spoken nature and unworldly innocence, wouldn’t stand a chance against people who didn’t care about her or her history. She could be lost, alone, or worse. The possibilities clawed at his mind, dark and relentless.
By evening, a shadow deeper and heavier than even the grief after Robert Lancaster’s death had fallen over the manor. The atmosphere was thick with dread and uncertainty, the kind of fear that came from not knowing, from imagining the worst. Each passing hour without word from Isla felt like a weight bearing down on Graham’s chest. Guilt gnawed at him relentlessly now. His father had entrusted Isla’s care to him, explicitly reminding him that she wasn’t just part of the estate he’d inherited, but a part of his family, his responsibility.
“Take care of her for me, son,” his father had said in those final, fragile days.
Graham remembered the little girl Isla had been when he was a teenager, chasing him around the gardens in her dungarees and pigtails, laughing as he handed her toffees. Over the years, she had grown quieter, more reserved, but she was still that same girl to him. She had been like a shadow, always present but never intruding. And now she was gone, slipping away into the unknown when he hadn’t been paying attention. “Isla,” he muttered under his breath, his voice heavy with regret. “Where did you go?”
As night fell, Graham finally gave the order for Edwin to call the police. Within ten minutes, a pair of officers arrived at the manor, their somber expressions mirroring the household’s mood.
They began with the basics, taking down Isla’s description and the timeline of events. “You say she was last seen at dinner last night?” the lead officer asked, his pen scratching across a notepad.
“Yes,” Graham said, his voice clipped. “This morning, she was gone.”
“Does she have any other family, anyone she might have gone to stay with?” the officer asked.
Graham frowned, thinking. “There’s an aunt in Missouri,” he said finally, though his tone was uncertain. “But to my knowledge, Isla has never met her. It seems unlikely she would go there.”
“Still,” the officer replied, “it’s worth confirming. Do you have a way to contact her?”
“I’ll find her number,” Graham said. He made a mental note to check his father’s papers for the information.
The officer nodded, flipping a page in his notepad. “Aside from Mr. Lancaster’s passing, has there been any other conflict or event that might have made Ms. Isla decide to leave? Any arguments or disagreements?”
Graham shook his head firmly. “Nothing happened,” he said. But even as he spoke, a shadow of doubt crept into his mind. Was there something he had missed?
“Noted,” the officer replied, his tone neutral as he jotted down Graham’s response. “What about relationships? Did she have a boyfriend or close friend she might have gone to stay with?”
Maggie interjected this time, her voice shaking. “No boyfriend. And her friends in town haven’t seen her either. Master Graham and Edwin spoke to them earlier.”
“I’ll need their names, just in case,” the officer said. “It’s possible she reached out to one of them without them realizing the significance.”
Graham nodded. “You’ll have them,” he said.
The officer straightened, closing his notepad for a moment. “Mr. Lancaster,” he began, “you’re a prominent figure. If someone has taken your stepsister, there’s a chance they might be planning to contact you for a ransom. I’d advise you to keep your phone on and with you at all times.”
Graham stiffened at the suggestion, the possibility of abduction sharpening the tension in his chest. He nodded slowly. “Understood.”
As the officers prepared to leave, promising to mobilize a search, Graham sank into one of the parlor chairs. His phone was clutched tightly in his hand, as though sheer force of will could make it ring with good news. The house was still in chaos, staff moving about, whispering prayers and expressing fears. And yet, in the midst of it all, Graham felt utterly alone. Waiting in uncertainty was its own kind of torment, one that he wasn’t sure he could bear much longer.