Chapter 53 (Edited)
The evening air was thick with the scent of roses and the faint traces of champagne. The party had finally come to an end. The last of the guests had trickled out, leaving behind only flickering candlelight and the scattered remnants of a celebration that had felt like it belonged to someone else.
It was over.
The staff had been dismissed for the night, leaving the villa in a rare, undisturbed silence. The only sounds that remained were the soft rustle of Isla’s gown as she moved and the steady, purposeful steps of Graham beside her.
His hand was firm on her lower back, guiding her inside.
There was something deliberate about the way he moved—possessive, certain. He had waited all day for this moment, and now, nothing stood between them. No lingering guests, no eyes watching, no distractions.
Just them.
As the heavy wooden doors shut behind them, the world outside ceased to exist.
The grand villa was eerily quiet, bathed in the warm glow of dimmed sconces along the hallway. The air inside was cooler, carrying the faintest hint of sandalwood from Graham’s cologne. Isla shivered, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the change in temperature or the awareness coiling low in her stomach.
She knew what this night meant.
Knew that this was the moment when everything—everything—would become real.
Graham let out a slow breath behind her before turning to face her fully. His dark eyes flickered over her, taking in every detail—the gown, the veil, the way she stood so still, as if waiting for something she couldn’t quite name.
Without a word, he reached up and slid the veil from her hair.
It fell away like gossamer, floating down onto the marble floor in a soft whisper. His fingers skimmed over her cheek, trailing down the line of her jaw, and when he spoke, his voice was lower, rougher than it had been all evening.
“Finally.”
Just one word.
One word that carried the weight of everything he had been holding back.
Her lips parted, but she had no response. Her heart hammered against her ribs, each beat an echo of uncertainty and anticipation.
Graham took a step closer, erasing the space between them. His hands came to rest at her waist, his thumbs brushing slow, teasing circles against the silk of her gown.
She swallowed hard. “Graham…”
His fingers tightened slightly, pulling her just a fraction closer. “Say it again.”
She hesitated, heat creeping up her neck. “Graham.”
His jaw clenched, his breath coming just a little heavier. “That’s better.”
His hands moved then, sliding up, one reaching for the row of delicate buttons along her back. He toyed with the first one, his gaze never leaving hers.
“You’re still angry with me,” he murmured, though there was no question in his voice.
She searched his face, trying to hold onto that anger, that frustration from earlier. But in this moment, with him standing so close, with his hands on her, she wasn’t sure what she felt anymore.
He didn’t wait for an answer.
Instead, he leaned in, pressing his lips to the side of her neck—slowly, deliberately.
She shivered.
His mouth moved against her skin, trailing lower, lingering just beneath her ear before he whispered, “Let me make it up to you.”
Her breath hitched.
Because suddenly, nothing else seemed to matter.
Not the dress.
Not Layla.
Not even the anger she had carried with her all day.
All that mattered was this.
The heat of his body against hers, the way his hands moved with purpose, the quiet, unspoken promise in his touch.
And Isla, despite everything, wanted to believe him.
Graham didn’t wait.
He swept her into his arms, carrying her effortlessly up the grand staircase. His grip was firm, possessive, his body radiating heat against hers as he ascended step by step, his breathing slightly uneven.
Isla clung to him, her arms wrapping instinctively around his neck, her heart pounding.
Her wedding dress—the one she had hated—billowed around her as he moved, but none of it seemed to matter anymore. Not the dress, not the tension from earlier, not even the lingering traces of anger. Because all she could think about was him.
The way his fingers dug into her thighs as he held her. The way his voice had darkened, roughened with something raw and unrestrained.
Halfway up the stairs, his lips brushed against her ear, his voice thick with hunger.
“You have no idea,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin, “how long I’ve waited for this moment.”
A shiver ran down her spine.
“I should take my time,” he continued, his teeth grazing the shell of her ear. “I should make you beg for it.” His grip on her tightened. “But not tonight.”
Her breath hitched as he reached the landing, pushing open the door to his bedroom with his shoulder.
It was dimly lit, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight from the bedside table. The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and something inherently him—warm, masculine, intoxicating.
He set her down, but his hands didn’t leave her. They stayed firm at her waist, fingers flexing, as if barely holding himself back.
“Take it off,” he ordered, his voice rough.
She swallowed, her fingers trembling slightly as they reached for the delicate buttons at the back of her dress.
Graham didn’t move. He just watched.
His gaze was heavy, dark, hungry—so filled with need that her breath came in short, shallow gasps as she worked through each fastening.
When the last button came undone, the gown slid from her shoulders, the lace whispering against her skin as it pooled at her feet.
A muscle ticked in Graham’s jaw.
He stepped forward, his hands coming up to cup her face, his thumb tracing along her lower lip. His breathing was ragged now, his pupils blown wide with something wild.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he muttered, more to himself than to her.
And then, he lost the last thread of restraint.
There was no finesse, no slow teasing—only raw, unfiltered need.
Graham crashed his mouth against hers, his hands roaming over her body with the kind of desperation that sent fire straight to her core.
This wasn’t about patience.
This was about possession.
And tonight, he was going to make damn sure she felt it.