CHAPTER 10
Isla barely had time to register Graham’s presence before he stepped inside, the door closing sharply behind him. The small space of the entryway seemed to shrink with his towering presence, his storm-dark eyes boring into her with such intensity that she stumbled backward.
Her heart pounded as she twisted the frayed edge of her apron between trembling fingers. The worn fabric felt like the only anchor keeping her upright. For a moment, she dared to look at him—just a fleeting glance—before her gaze darted back down to the floor, where her bare feet shifted nervously against the scuffed wooden boards.
This is absurd, she thought. She had been planning to go back to him anyway, to swallow her pride and beg for a second chance. And yet, now that he was here—so close and so angry—her legs felt like lead, and her throat had closed up tight.
She wasn’t guilty of anything, she reminded herself. She hadn’t stolen from him, hadn’t done anything wrong. If anything, she’d left his home so she wouldn’t be a burden. After all, they weren’t related by blood. She owed him nothing.
And yet...
She dared another glance upward, her eyes betraying her by lingering far too long. They drifted from his polished leather boots, shining even in the dim light, up the perfect line of his tailored black trousers, and paused on his chest—broad and unmistakably muscular beneath his dark shirt. It was maddening, the way her gaze stuck there as if her brain had short-circuited.
“Are you done glaring at my chest?” His voice sliced through the silence like a blade, deep and laced with barely controlled anger. Isla flinched, heat rushing to her cheeks. “Or would you mind explaining why the hell you’re here—working as a maid, if that apron and your bare feet are any indication—while I’ve been losing my mind looking for you?”
His words hit her like a physical blow.
“I’ve spent two weeks wondering if today would be the day the police would find your body dumped in some ditch,” he continued, his voice tight. “Dead.”
He stepped closer, his towering form crowding her personal space, and Isla took another instinctive step back. He bent slightly, leveling his face with hers, his furious eyes pinning her in place. “Do you even realize what you’ve done?”
The fire in his gaze made her want to shrink, to curl in on herself like a leaf touched too harshly. She had never seen anyone this angry—not him, not anyone.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. How could she explain? How could she put into words the grief, the desperation, and the pride that had led her to leave that night?
Graham must have seen the turmoil in her face because his tone softened just a fraction. “Why, Isla? Why would you run away like this? I know you were grieving. I was too. But why leave home? Why vanish without a word, in the middle of the night, like some criminal?”
Her eyes filled with tears, her vision blurring as his words cut deeper than she expected. Before she could look away, he gripped her chin—not roughly, but firmly—and tilted her face up to meet his gaze.
“Look at me when I’m speaking to you,” he said, though his tone had gentled, his fingers light against her skin. This time, his touch burned in a different way, sending an unsettling heat through her.
Her tears began to spill, the first drops streaking down her cheeks before she could stop them. Graham’s brows drew together, his expression shifting into something far softer, something she wasn’t prepared to see.
“What happened?” he asked again, his voice quieter now, tinged with sadness.
Before she could form a reply, he closed the gap between them and pulled her into his arms. The suddenness of it took her breath away, and for a moment, she froze, stunned. His arms wrapped tightly around her, anchoring her in place as the steady thud of his heart filled her ears.
“Come here,” he murmured against the top of her head.
And that was it. The dam inside her broke, and the tears came in full force—loud, ugly sobs that shook her shoulders as she clung to him. She wept into his chest, soaking the expensive fabric of his shirt, but Graham didn’t let her go. He held her firmly, protectively, his hand gently smoothing over her hair as if to reassure her that he wasn’t going anywhere.
“It’s okay,” he said softly. “Let it all out. I’m here now.”
When had she last been held like this? Comforted like this? She couldn’t remember. The realization only made her cry harder.
She didn’t know how long they stood like that, but eventually, a sharp voice sliced through the moment like a whip.
“What in the name of the seven hells is going on in my living room?”
Isla flinched, reluctantly pulling back from Graham’s embrace. Ms. Anne stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, her expression twisted in displeasure. Isla couldn’t hear her, but the way her lips moved and her glare intensified said everything.
Graham turned to face the woman, his expression darkening as if he’d been interrupted mid-battle. “Sorry to bother you,” he said curtly, his tone clipped and commanding. “I’m here to collect Isla. We’ll be leaving now. If you would kindly have my driver retrieve her luggage, we’ll be on our way.”
Ms. Anne’s face turned an unpleasant shade of red. “She can’t leave,” she barked. “Not like this! She owes me notice before quitting. Where am I supposed to find a replacement now?”
Graham didn’t miss a beat. Reaching into the pocket of his coat, he pulled out a thick wad of bills and tossed it onto the nearest table with a carelessness that made Isla’s jaw drop.
“She’s leaving,” he said sharply. “Right this instant.”
Ms. Anne gaped at the pile of cash, but Graham was already turning back to Isla. Without another word, he took her by the wrist and guided her outside. Isla stumbled slightly as he pulled her through the doorway, tears still streaking her face.
Waiting by the car was Edwin, his round face lighting up with relief as soon as he saw her. “Ms. Isla!” he exclaimed. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“No time, Edwin,” Graham interjected briskly. “Go inside and collect her luggage. We leave now.”
“Yes, sir.” Edwin hurried past them, disappearing into the house.
Graham opened the car door and ushered Isla inside before she could protest. The soft leather of the seat felt impossibly luxurious beneath her as she sat, her body still trembling slightly.
The door shut behind him as Graham slid into the seat beside her. The silence in the car was heavy, broken only by the occasional sniffle as she wiped at her tear-streaked cheeks.
For a moment, he didn’t speak, simply watching her with an expression she couldn’t read. Then, his voice came, low and steady.
“Now, are you going to tell me why you ran away from home?” Graham’s voice was sharp, yet there was a faint tremor beneath it—an unspoken plea. His piercing gaze burned into her, leaving Isla with nowhere to hide. He leaned forward, his tall frame looming over her as he tried to meet her downcast eyes. “Isla…” His tone softened unexpectedly, slipping into something raw—something almost broken. “Tell me, darling. Was it… me? Did I say something? Do something that made you bolt like that? Did I scare you off?”
There it was again—that rare vulnerability that made him seem human, not just the aloof, overbearing man she’d always known. Isla dared a glance at his face and felt her heart twist. His normally self-assured demeanor looked frayed at the edges, his brows drawn together in a way that spoke of sleepless nights and an unrelenting weight of guilt. It hit her then—he had truly believed he’d done something to drive her away.
Her voice cracked as she shook her head. “N-no. It wasn’t you.”
“Then what?” His confusion flared like a match, frustration snapping in his voice.
Isla swallowed hard, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her old apron. “Because…” She struggled to find the words. “Because I didn’t want to be a burden on you.”
For a moment, Graham stared at her as though she’d sprouted a second head. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Isla took a deep breath, her voice barely above a whisper. “The house… Dad’s house… He left it to you. It’s your inheritance, your home now. I had no right to be there. I didn’t want to intrude.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Graham’s lips parted slightly, as though he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. And then, as if the words finally sank in, his expression contorted—his jaw tightened, his shoulders tensed, and his eyes flashed with a stormy mixture of anger and disbelief.
“Intrude?” he repeated darkly, his voice low and dangerously calm. “You think you were intruding?” He let out a humorless laugh that sounded like a growl. “Where in the name of Christ did you get this absurd idea?”
Isla flinched at his tone, but he wasn’t done. He pushed himself off the chair and began pacing in front of her, his polished boots thudding rhythmically against the wooden floor. “A burden, you say? My God, Isla, I’ve heard you say stupid things before, but this—this takes the bloody cake.” He spun to face her, his dark eyes blazing. “That house—Thornfield Manor—has been more your home than it’s ever been mine. I barely spent a handful of years there, being shipped off to boarding schools, internships—God knows what else. You, on the other hand, grew up there. It was yours before it was ever mine.”
His voice trembled slightly, though his arrogance still coated every word, like armor against how deeply this cut him. He raked a hand through his disheveled hair, exhaling sharply. “And you thought I’d what? Kick you out like some heartless bastard the moment Dad’s coffin was in the ground? Jesus, Isla!”
Isla opened her mouth to reply, but her voice caught in her throat. Finally, she muttered, “Vanessa… your girlfriend… she said—”
Everything about him froze.
Graham’s face went stone-cold, his expression shuttering like a door slammed shut. The silence was suffocating.
“What,” he said slowly, each word razor-sharp, “did Vanessa say?”
Isla flinched but forced herself to answer. “She said I had no business being there. That it was your house now, and I didn’t belong.”
Graham’s jaw clenched so tightly she thought it might snap. His fists curled at his sides, his knuckles white. He didn’t speak at first, and when he finally did, his voice was low and deadly calm, trembling with restrained fury. “So Vanessa is the reason you ran away like that. Because of her.” He let out a breath that sounded more like a growl, raking a hand through his hair. “Goddammit, Isla, you really think I would ask you to leave? You think I’d throw you out of the only home you’ve ever known, just because some woman said you didn’t belong?”
She met his eyes then, unable to hold the truth in any longer. “It wasn’t just what Vanessa said.” The words tumbled out, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s because she was right. She and you—when you get married, that will be your house. Your and your wife’s. Your family’s. I had no business being there.”