CHAPTER 26
“Now, onto the next.” Graham’s grin spread wider, a dark gleam in his eyes. He couldn’t wait for this part. Taking Isla shopping. The thought alone sent a surge of anticipation through him. He was looking forward to watching her in the changing rooms, to see how she would react to the array of dresses, how she’d slip in and out of them, her body lithe and graceful. But there was one thing that excited him the most—watching her in the dresses that would hug her curves just right, and imagining her in them later at the party.
Isla’s voice cut through his thoughts, sounding uncertain and a little anxious. “You’re coming with me?”
Graham saw her hesitation, the worry in her eyes. She thought he was going to hover, interfere, perhaps judge her choices. But he wasn’t here to be overbearing. No, he was here for the view, for the thrill of seeing her in dresses that would undoubtedly make her look even more irresistible.
“Yes,” he said, keeping his tone casual, “Well, you don’t know where the best shops are, and we need to be quick. The party’s tonight, remember?” He gave her a reassuring smile, his voice laced with confidence. “You can pick whatever you like. I don’t know much about women’s dresses anyway.”
And that was the truth. He hadn’t a clue what style would look best on her, but he was already anticipating how she would look in the right dress. The thought alone sent a thrill through him.
Isla nodded, seemingly accepting his excuse, and off they went. But as they entered the boutique, Graham quickly realized that things weren’t going as planned. Isla seemed determined to shop on her own. She disappeared into the fitting rooms, and he was left outside, helplessly waiting as she tried on dresses one after another. She never came out for him to give his opinion, to watch her twirl or model the gowns for him. Instead, she slipped in and out of each outfit behind the curtain, making her decisions without so much as a glance in his direction.
He was beyond frustrated. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Graham had imagined all sorts of scenarios in his head—where she would walk out in a dress that would take his breath away, where he’d see the sparkle in her eyes as she chose something that made her feel powerful and seductive. But no, Isla was doing everything on her own, methodical and independent, picking out dresses without giving him the chance to see or comment.
She emerged from the fitting rooms only once, her arms full of shopping bags, holding all her choices—everything decided on her own. Graham could feel the weight of his disappointment. He’d been looking forward to this moment, to taking control and seeing her in those dresses, but instead, he was left with nothing but the cold sting of being excluded.
But he said nothing. He kept his smile in place, despite the frustration gnawing at him. Let her have this independence, he thought to himself. Let her make her own choices. Even though it hurt him, he knew he couldn’t keep pulling the strings, trying to control every aspect of her life. He had to let her be an adult, let her have her own agency, even if it meant enduring moments like these.
And so, he remained silent as she paid for her purchases, his mind a whirlwind of mixed emotions. This is part of the game, he reminded himself. Let her feel in control for now. But in his heart, he knew he’d get what he wanted in the end. He always did.
Graham and Isla had settled into one of his favorite restaurants, the kind of place where the food was as impeccable as the service. He had just started suggesting a few dishes he thought Isla might enjoy when, out of nowhere, a voice broke through their quiet conversation.
"Ah, the man himself, Graham Lancaster," came the smooth, overly familiar voice. Graham’s gaze shot to the intruder, his eyes narrowing. Standing in front of them with that infuriating, slimy smile was none other than Marco Bianchi—the two-timing, scheming lawyer who Graham despised more than anyone.
Marco was the kind of man who thrived on causing trouble, and Graham knew exactly how dirty he played. The memory of their past legal battles lingered in Graham’s mind. The first one had been ridiculous, some petition from a lunatic about a “tree lady” who was convinced that Graham’s construction work was responsible for an iceberg melting. The second one had been just as vile, and yet Marco had always slithered his way out of trouble with his smooth words and slimy tactics.
But Graham was going to play it cool. His disgust didn’t show on his face as Marco extended his hand, a gesture that made Graham’s skin crawl. Still, he took it, shaking with forced politeness. He was barely able to keep the sneer from his lips.
“And who is this lovely lady with you? New lady love?” Marco asked, his smile slinking even wider as he glanced at Isla, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of curiosity and predatory interest.
Graham felt the urge to smack him, but he bit it back. Instead, he leaned in, his voice casual as ever, though a touch of venom slipped in. "My fiancée, actually."
Isla’s face, which had been animated with curiosity just moments ago, suddenly flushed a deep crimson. She looked at Graham like he'd just asked her to do something outrageous—her eyes wide with disbelief, her cheeks burning. He knew her well enough to see her discomfort, but damn, did he love pushing her boundaries like this. She was always so reserved, so painfully shy, especially around people she didn’t know well. And here he was, pushing her to confront the world in ways that would make her squirm.
Marco raised an eyebrow at this new tidbit of information, his gaze suddenly intensifying as it lingered on Isla, scrutinizing her with unsettling focus. "Really?" he asked, voice thick with a condescending interest. "This is going to be interesting then."
Graham’s smile remained, though it was cold, predatory. He didn’t trust this snake for a second, especially when Marco’s eyes lingered on Isla in that unsettling way. But before he could respond, Marco’s smile morphed into something almost sinister as he casually threw out the next comment.
"Have you heard from Vanessa lately?"
The mention of Vanessa sent a sudden, sharp pang through Graham’s chest, but it was Isla who reacted. Her face, which had been flushed with embarrassment just a moment ago, turned pale as a ghost. Her gaze shifted towards the window, as though she wished she could melt into the glass and escape. Graham felt an immediate rush of anger, a deep protective instinct flaring up for her. Marco’s tone had been a deliberate jab, a reminder of something painful. He could see the effect it had on Isla, the way it made her retreat further into herself.
Graham’s patience snapped. “Do you mind, Marco? We were in the middle of ordering lunch,” he said, his voice low and cold, the kind of tone that told Marco his presence was no longer welcome.
Marco didn’t even flinch at the blatant dismissal. Instead, he flashed one last smirk at them, his voice still carrying a mock-sweetness as he hummed a tune under his breath, making his way back to his table.
The air in the room felt suffocating, thick with the tension that Graham could barely breathe through. His eyes stayed locked on Isla, who sat across from him, her posture rigid, her expression distant—completely unreadable. It was as if the more he tried to reach her, the further she slipped away. Her silence felt like a physical barrier, one that made him feel every inch of the distance between them, even though they were sitting so close.
The flicker in her eyes, the one he couldn’t decipher, tore at him. Was it anger? Hurt? Jealousy? Every possible emotion seemed to pulse in the air, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t grasp hold of it. And it burned in him. The uncertainty, the frustration—it made him want to lash out, to shake her, to scream until it all made sense.
He exhaled sharply, unable to stop himself from speaking. "Isla," he muttered, his voice laced with the bitterness rising in his chest. "About Vanessa…"
His hand reached out, desperate for any form of connection, but before he could even make contact, she jerked her fingers away like he was poison. Her eyes flashed with something cold, hard, and the sting of it hit him square in the gut. That was it. That was the moment. He wasn’t just being ignored—he was being shut out. And it fucking hurt.
Her voice broke the silence like a blade slicing through the air. "Don’t ever call me your fiancée again," she said, her words cold and deliberate, each one packing a punch that hit him straight in the chest. "I am not your fiancée, and I never will be."
The weight of her words slammed into him, knocking the air from his lungs. His heart was pounding so loudly in his chest, he almost couldn’t hear her anymore. The realization hit him hard—this wasn’t just a misunderstanding, wasn’t just a simple argument. This was the truth, raw and ugly. She was jealous. She was hurt. She wasn’t just angry at Vanessa—she was angry at him. And that made everything feel like it was falling apart.
As the clock ticked down, Graham struggled to keep his thoughts from spiraling. He stood to pull on his suit jacket, the fabric suddenly feeling heavier than it should. His fingers fumbled with the tie, pulling it too tight, the knot slipping out of his control. His frustration simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. All he had done, all he had tried to give, seemed like it never quite reached her. Every step forward felt like two steps back, and the weight of it was suffocating.
He yanked at it, angry at the damn thing for not cooperating, but all that did was make his frustration spiral even more. Nothing he did ever seemed to be enough for her.
It was all too much. Every attempt to reach her, every gesture, every little thing he’d done for her—it was all met with cold indifference. Nothing seemed to break through. He had tried so fucking hard—he gave her everything he had, laid himself bare for her, and all he got in return was rejection. And the more he gave, the more she pulled away.
She really needed to be taught a lesson. He had bought her to his penthouse, as they both needed to get ready and all she had done was roll her eyes and said, “no thank you.” In reply to every single question.
He looked at the empty perfectly made king sized bed in front of him before eying the closed bathroom door where Isla was getting ready and had this sudden urge of just pushing that door open, carrying her out, throw her own this bed and surge inside her with his hardness and ride her so fast and hard that she would see stars. He would like her to say, “No thank you.” Then in that prim and proper way.