“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.
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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
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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
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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.
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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.
7
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
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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.
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Bo
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
