CHAPTER 34
The words hit Isla like a punch to the gut. She wanted to collapse, to scream, “He’s never coming back!”
But the storm of emotions threatening to drown her was too overwhelming, too raw to let anyone else see. She bit her lip hard, forcing herself to stay composed.
“He… he has a lot to do in New York,” she managed, her voice cracking despite her efforts to sound casual. She avoided Maggie’s gaze, knowing full well the older woman could read her like an open book.
Maggie’s eyes narrowed slightly, her concern deepening, but she didn’t push. “Alright then,” she said, though her tone carried a note of doubt. “You look exhausted, love. Why don’t you go rest for a while?”
“Thank you, Maggie. I think I will,” Isla murmured, already moving toward the staircase. She could feel Maggie’s eyes on her back, heavy with unspoken questions and worry. But Isla didn’t stop. She climbed the stairs quickly, her legs trembling with every step, and finally reached the sanctuary of her room.
The door clicked shut behind her, and she leaned against it, her breathing shallow as she tried to collect herself. The walls of her bedroom seemed to close in, the weight of everything—Graham, the house, her own fears—pressing down on her.
She sank onto the edge of the bed, her hands gripping the soft fabric of the quilt. It’s not over, she told herself firmly. I just need to talk to him. That’s all. No need to panic.
When Isla descended the stairs that evening, the comforting aroma of freshly brewed tea and something savory greeted her. Maggie was waiting in the living room, a tray in hand with tea and a plate of snacks carefully arranged. She placed it on the coffee table with an encouraging smile.
“Here,” Maggie said gently. “Thought you could use this after your rest. Feeling better now?”
Isla managed a halfhearted smile, settling onto the couch as Maggie took a seat across from her. “Thanks,” Isla murmured, reaching for the cup. The warmth seeped into her cold fingers, but it did little to ease the storm inside her.
“I’m making your favorite for dinner tonight,” Maggie said, her tone conversational, as if trying to lift the weight in the room. “Oh, and Master Graham called about an hour ago. I told him you were back safe and sound. Such a pity he won’t be here for the festivals…”
“What?” Isla’s voice came out sharp, cutting through Maggie’s words. She sat upright, her teacup trembling slightly in her hands. “Graham called?”
Maggie blinked, startled by the sudden shift in Isla’s demeanor. “Yes, just an hour ago,” she said, her brows lifting in surprise.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Isla demanded, her voice rising with urgency. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
Maggie tilted her head, her expression a mix of confusion and concern. “I didn’t know you’d want to talk to him,” she said slowly, as if Isla had sprouted horns. “You were resting, and you seemed like you needed it.”
Isla shot up from her seat, her mind racing. “I need to talk to him, Maggie!” she cried, pacing the room now, her nerves fraying with every step.
Maggie frowned, her tone turning practical. “Then why don’t you call him?” she suggested.
Her feet moved before her brain caught up, carrying her out of the room and toward the side table where her phone sat. Her hands fumbled as she grabbed it, her fingers trembling as she swiped through her contacts to find his number.
Her heart pounded in her chest, a wild drumbeat of fear and anticipation. She had no plan, no rehearsed words. She didn’t even know how to start the conversation. All she knew was that she couldn’t live like this anymore—adrift in a sea of uncertainty, unsure of where her life was heading or whether she was about to make the biggest mistake of it.
She tapped his name, the phone ringing in her ear as her throat went dry. Her breaths came shallow and fast as she waited, every second stretching into eternity.
But then, the call didn’t connect. Instead of Graham’s voice, she was met with a flat tone and a robotic message. The number you have dialed is currently busy. Please leave a message after the beep.
For two agonizing weeks, Isla dialed Graham's number relentlessly—morning, afternoon, and night—holding on to a fragile hope that one of those times, he would answer. But every attempt ended the same way: a busy signal or a voicemail. Each ring that went unanswered chipped away at her resolve, until one quiet afternoon, the truth settled over her like a suffocating weight.
He wasn’t just missing her calls. He was avoiding her.
The realization was devastating. Graham had shut her out, deliberately and completely. Her heart broke beneath the weight of it, a raw ache spreading through her chest. He had given up on her, on them—whatever “them” might have been. He was now severing all ties.
Then, on a rainy Friday evening, a courier arrived at the manor with a parcel addressed to her. The package bore a New York postmark, and Isla’s heart leaped with a flicker of hope. It was from Graham.
Maggie and Edwin hovered nearby, their curiosity palpable, but Isla clutched the parcel to her chest and fled to the privacy of her room. Locking the door behind her, she pressed her back against it, her breaths shallow and her hands trembling. The package was neatly wrapped, and for a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what might be inside—a letter, an explanation, maybe even a gesture to bridge the growing chasm between them.
Her fingers worked quickly to peel away the layers of packaging, anticipation building with every second. But when she finally opened the box, her heart plummeted.
Inside, laid with cold precision, was the white dress she had worn to the party in New York.
There was no note, no message—nothing to soften the blow. The absence of any explanation was, in itself, the loudest message he could have sent. The sight of the dress, returned to her without fanfare or sentiment, was devastating. It felt like a final goodbye, a rejection more painful than words could have ever conveyed.
He was telling her it was over.
Her hands clutched the dress, the fabric slipping through her fingers as hot tears streamed down her face. She sat on the edge of her bed, cradling the garment as if it could offer her the comfort she so desperately needed. But it couldn’t.
The next morning, Maggie tried to lift Isla’s spirits, her voice gentle as she brought up a memory that had almost slipped from Isla’s mind. “It’s your birthday tomorrow, love. Remember? He always came for your birthday party every year at Thornfield Manor. Maybe he’ll come tomorrow?”
Hope and pain ignited simultaneously in Isla’s chest, the conflicting emotions warring for dominance. Yes, he had always come. Every year without fail, Graham had arrived bearing gifts, flowers, chocolates, and that reserved smile that was uniquely his. He would stand in the center of the room, his presence a steadying force, and wish her a heartfelt happy birthday. It was a ritual, a constant in her life that she had come to cherish.
But this year, Isla knew. Deep in her heart, she understood that he wouldn’t come—not this time, not this year, and perhaps not ever again. The thought pierced her like a knife, and before she could stop herself, fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.
Maggie sighed, her weathered hands reaching out to cup Isla’s face. “I don’t know what happened in New York, darling. But I do know this—you can’t keep crying like this and making yourself ill. It’s not good for you.” Her voice turned resolute, the tone of someone who wouldn’t take no for an answer. “I’m sure he’ll come tomorrow. And if he doesn’t, I’ll call him myself. I’ll call his office, his home, and anyone else I need to until I get hold of him.”
Isla couldn’t help but smile, a small, fragile smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Maggie, burying her face in the older woman’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered hoarsely. “Thank you for everything, Maggie. I love you so much.”
Maggie patted her back, her embrace warm and comforting, like a shield against the storm raging in Isla’s heart. “Don’t you worry, love. I’ll always be here.” She kissed Isla’s forehead, her lips soft and reassuring, but her words sent a pang of fear slicing through Isla’s chest.
Will she? The thought came unbidden, icy and cruel. Will Maggie always be here? Or will she be forced to leave when Graham finally sells this place?
The fear clutched her stomach in an iron grip, tightening until she felt like she couldn’t breathe. No, she couldn’t let this happen. She needed to stop Graham, no matter what it took.