Chapter 55
The quiet town of Willow’s Creek rarely saw much commotion in the dead of night, but tonight, Thornfield Manor was alive with hushed murmurs and whispered speculations. Servants moved about anxiously, eyes wide with curiosity and concern, exchanging glances filled with unspoken questions.
Something had happened.
Something scandalous.
When the only physician in town, Dr. Bernard Holloway, was roused from his sleep and summoned to the grand estate, it only fueled the fire of gossip. It wasn’t often that Thornfield Manor—home to the infamous and enigmatic Graham Lancaster—sent for a doctor after midnight. And that too on their wedding night, no less.
By the time Dr. Holloway arrived, the tension in the air was palpable. The servants barely made way as Graham strode through the grand corridors, leading him to the master bedroom.
The heavy doors shut behind them with an ominous thud.
The room was dimly lit, the lingering scent of candle wax and something earthier—something intimate—still hanging in the air. The silk sheets on the massive bed were rumpled, the air thick with the aftermath of a night neither Graham nor Isla would ever forget.
And on the bed, covered in a fresh bedsheet, Isla lay curled up, her body tense, her face burning with shame.
The deep crimson stains on the discarded sheet near the foot of the bed told the story without a single word needing to be spoken.
Graham had refused to leave her side.
He stood at the center of the room, wearing nothing but his trousers, his broad chest bare, muscles tense, his hair disheveled from restless fingers running through it. His expression was unreadable—somewhere between impatience and something far more dangerous.
Dr. Holloway let out a slow breath as he took in the sight before him. His tired old eyes flicked from the shaken young bride on the bed to the half-dressed, restless husband pacing the floor beside her.
He had his suspicions.
Still, his duty remained the same.
He moved to Isla’s bedside, his expression kind but professional. “My dear, I know this must be… uncomfortable for you. But I need to ask a few questions to ensure your well-being.”
Isla squeezed her eyes shut. Uncomfortable was not even close to what she was feeling.
She had known Dr. Holloway since childhood. He had treated her scraped knees as a child, prescribed herbal tonics for winter colds, and now… this.
This was humiliating.
“Y-yes,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Dr. Holloway cleared his throat and folded his hands over his cane, his gaze gentle but probing. “And this was the first time you were intimate with a man, Miss Isla?”
A sharp, deafening silence filled the room.
Isla’s stomach clenched. God help me.
She felt like she was being stripped bare all over again—except this time, it was under the scrutiny of a man old enough to be her grandfather.
Her fingers curled into the sheet as she swallowed past the knot in her throat. “Y-yes.”
She wanted to die.
Right there, right then, to just curl into herself and disappear.
Her eyes flicked toward Graham for a fraction of a second, but he was already watching her, his gaze dark, unreadable. His jaw tightened at her admission, and his fingers twitched at his sides.
Dr. Holloway hummed, seemingly unbothered by the tension suffocating the room. “And there was… pain?”
Isla’s cheeks burned.
She couldn’t do this.
She couldn’t sit here, under the scrutinizing gaze of both the doctor and her husband, and answer these questions as if this were some sort of routine checkup.
“Yes,” she whispered, mortified.
Graham let out a sharp exhale and crossed his arms over his chest. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered. Dr. Holloway arched a knowing brow at him. “Forgive me, Mr. Lancaster, if this is uncomfortable but I do need to ask these questions.”
shaking his head before looking back at Isla. “My dear, I know this is difficult, but I need to be thorough. Was there excessive bleeding?”
Isla gritted her teeth, gripping the sheet tighter. “I—I don’t know.”
She hadn’t checked. She had been too humiliated to even think straight, too overwhelmed by what had transpired between them.
Graham ran a hand down his face in frustration. “This is insane,” he muttered under his breath.
The room felt smaller now, suffocating beneath the weight of unspoken words and the heavy tension pressing between them. The physician’s presence did little to ease the storm raging inside Graham—if anything, it made it worse.
He had never felt this before.
This helpless. This guilty.
And Graham Lancaster was not a man who handled helplessness well.
The moment the doctor had begun his examination, Graham had turned his back, his jaw locked tight, his muscles tense. His bare chest rose and fell with controlled breaths, his fists clenching at his sides. He had seen blood before. He had seen pain before. But never had he been the cause of it. Never had he seen her curled up in bed, shaking, eyes wide with something that looked far too close to fear.
And that—that—was what was tearing him apart.
His mind replayed the moment over and over again, torturing him with the image of her trembling beneath him, the sharp cry that had escaped her lips, the way her fingers had gripped him as if trying to endure something unbearable.
He thought he had been careful.
He thought he had prepared her enough.
But now, standing here with his hands trembling at his sides, he wondered if he had been wrong. If he had been too lost in his own need, too overwhelmed with finally having her, that he hadn’t realized he was hurting her until it was too late.
“Okay, and what happened was—when you started—” the doctor’s voice cut through the heavy silence.
Graham had had enough.
“She started bleeding and screaming her lungs out!” His voice was sharp, but not out of anger—out of self-loathing.
He turned abruptly, his dark, stormy gaze meeting Isla’s from across the room. It was only a brief moment—just the flicker of their eyes locking—but it was enough.
He saw the emotion there. The raw vulnerability she was trying so hard to mask.
But instead of holding his gaze, she looked away.
And that—that hurt.
Graham exhaled sharply, running a hand through his already tousled hair as he began pacing the room once again. The floor beneath him felt unsteady, as if the guilt inside him had made everything shift.
He barely registered the doctor continuing his examination, though the discomfort in Isla’s stiff posture made his own stomach twist with unease.
“I don’t think you should blame yourself for your wife’s pain, Mr. Lancaster.” Dr. Holloway’s voice was calm, matter-of-fact. “It was not your fault.”
Graham stilled.
His chest rose and fell heavily as he turned, his brows furrowing. “What do you mean, not my fault?” His voice was hoarse now, strained. “Of course, it’s my fault! I went in like a damn wild animal, tearing her apart—what else would make her bleed like that?”
There was something broken in his voice, something almost desperate.
The doctor sighed, standing up slowly as Isla sat up and began buttoning her skirt back up, her fingers trembling slightly.
Dr. Holloway turned to Graham, his expression even. “Like I said, it wasn’t your fault.”
Graham didn’t respond. He was barely breathing, his entire body tense as he waited.
The doctor folded his hands in front of him. “Your wife has a condition called a microperforate hymen—a rare variant where the hymen has small openings or additional bands of tissue, making penetration extremely painful or difficult.”
A beat of silence passed.
And then, something inside Graham snapped.
His breath left him in a sharp exhale, his shoulders dropping as the weight of the words settled deep into his bones.
So, it wasn’t just him being careless. It wasn’t just him losing control.
She had been in pain because of something beyond his power.
But that didn’t make it better.
If anything, it made it worse.
Because it meant she had suffered through it—not just because of him, but because she hadn’t known. Hadn’t told him. Hadn’t trusted him enough to say something when she had felt pain.
He turned to her again, his chest rising with a heavy breath. “Isla,” he murmured, his voice lower now, but no less intense.
She didn’t look at him.
Instead, she smoothed down the fabric of her skirt, her fingers still trembling slightly, her face pale.
The doctor cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence. “The bleeding should subside soon, but she will likely experience some discomfort for a while. I strongly suggest giving her time before… attempting intimacy again.”
Graham’s jaw tightened. “Of course.” His voice was clipped, final.
The doctor gave a curt nod, gathering his things before glancing at Isla one last time. “If you have any further complications, send for me.”
And with that, he left, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.