Chapter 31
Isla sat frozen, staring at him as if he had just pulled the ground out from beneath her. For a long moment, she said nothing, her hands clenching tightly around the edge of her napkin. Her gaze dropped to her feet, and she seemed to shrink into herself, as though willing the floor to swallow her whole.
“Are you okay?” Graham asked, his voice cool and detached, though his eyes briefly flickered with a glint of curiosity.
“Yes,” she whispered after what felt like an eternity. She nodded slowly, but still didn’t lift her head. Her voice was small, shaky. “But…
can I ask why?”
Her words quivered with desperation, her lower lip trembling as she struggled to keep her composure. When she finally looked up, her wide eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Why sell Thornfield Manor? It’s been in your family for generations. It’s where your father was born, where he lived his entire life. You were born there too. How can you–how can you just…?”
Her voice cracked, and she looked away, biting her lip to stifle the sob building in her throat.
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Graham leaned back in his chair, his expression cold, his jaw set. “Because it doesn’t suit me anymore,” he said bluntly. His words were clipped, devoid of sentiment. “Things change, Isla. Thornfield Manor served its purpose, but it’s a relic of the past. I have no use for it
now.”
Her breathing hitched, and she looked back at him, a mixture of panie and disbelief painted across her face. “But it’s—”
“It’s just a house,” he cut her off, his voice firm, his gaze unwavering. “A house, Isla. Nothing more. You’ll have your cottage. That’s more than enough for what you need.”
The finality of his tone left no room for argument, and Isla sat back, defeated, her hands trembling in her lap. She stared down at them, her mind spinning with the weight of what he’d just said. Thornfield Manor, her sanctuary, her haven, the one place she felt safe–gone.
And Graham sat across from her, cold as stone, utterly unaffected,
“But why sell it, you don’t need the money!” She accused.
“Well, it’s true that I don’t need the money,” Graham began, his voice calm, deliberate, as though he were casually weighing his words. He leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming lightly against the table, the picture of detached indifference. “But it’s also true that I have no
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emotional connection to that place. After my mother died, I was sent to boarding school. Most of my years were spent there. Thornfield Manor was more like a holiday home for me–two weeks at most, if
that. Now, it’s just a burden.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words hang in the air. Isla sat motionless across from him, her gaze fixed on her plate, but he could- see the subtle stiffening of her posture. She didn’t interrupt, though her hands were tightly clasped together in her lap.
“The estate is high maintenance,” he continued, his tone matter–of- fact, as though discussing an outdated asset rather than a home steeped in memories. “If it’s not monitored well at all times, it’ll start draining resources. And it yields no profit. My father dedicated his life to taking care of that place, but I can’t do that. I have my company to manage, a billion other responsibilities.” He shrugged, his voice steady and void of sentiment. “I don’t want to live there–now or in the future. So, the best thing to do is sell it. Hopefully, the new owner will take better care of it than I ever could.”
Isla flinched slightly, her body visibly tensing, but she didn’t look up. Her voice, when it came, was small, almost a whisper. “And what about Maggie and Edwin? And the rest of the staff?”
Graham’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly, but his response was calm, rehearsed even. “If the next owner wants to keep them on, that would be ideal.” He let the words hang for a moment before delivering the
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next blow. “If not, I’ll have to let them go. They’ll be notified well in advance so they can make their own arrangements and find new positions if they wish. That said, I don’t think you need to worry about them. My father left a sizable lump sum for them in his will, primarily for the retirement fund of the older employees. I’ll make sure they all receive something when they’re let go.”
He paused, watching her closely now. She remained hunched forward, her shoulders drawn in as though trying to shield herself from the words battering her. Her long hair cascaded down, forming a curtain that hid her face, leaving him unable to gauge her reaction fully.
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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.
