Chapter 306
It all came back to that. Over and over again, the same point. She had hurt him by rejecting him in bed, and now he was punishing her for it in every possible way. She was angry too–furious, even. Didn’t she deserve some space? Some time to recover from everything that had happened? But Graham didn’t seem to care about that.
To him, it was always about the same thing. Sex.
And deep down, a darker thought whispered its way into her mind. Maybe that had been his reason for marrying her in the first place–desire. He had made no secret of how much he wanted her, how desperate he had been to have her in his bed. And now that his wishes hadn’t been fulfilled instantly, he was lashing out.
The thought stung more than it should have.
“Excuse me. I have to oversee the repair and maintenance of the footbridge at the canal. Maggie, don’t wait for me to serve lunch.” Graham’s voice was cool and detached, his eyes never once straying toward his wife. And without another word, he was gone–out of the room, out of her presence–without so much as a glance in her direction.
He didn’t come back until evening, after a long, grueling day of work. His muscles ached, his skin burned from the relentless sun, and his clothes were streaked with dirt and dust. He smelled of sweat and iron and the earth itself after hours of standing knee–deep in grime, overseeing the repairs on a bridge that served a house and land he had never even wanted.
But all of that faded when he stepped into the hallway and saw the scene unfolding outside the window.
There she was–his wife–walking arm in arm with Marco in the rose garden, the last slant of golden sunlight catching in her hair and making her glow. She was smiling–smiling in a way she never did when she was with him. The sound of her laughter drifted through the glass, soft and warm, the kind of sound he hadn’t heard from her since their wedding day.
And the most bitter irony of it all?
This was his bloody honeymoon.
His hands, still filthy from a day spent working to keep this estate running, curled into fists at his sides. The house–the land–the endless responsibilities of Thornfield Manor–he’d never wanted any of it. He never wanted to be tied down to this place, never wanted to spend his days sweating in the dirt to keep a crumbling estate afloat.
And yet here he was. Doing exactly what he had always sworn he wouldn’t.
For what?
He glanced down at himself–at his black trousers coated in dust, his dirt–smeared hands, the ache in his back from standing under the sun. Tomorrow would! be more of the same: more digging, more grime, more exhaustion as they worked to clear the old, clogged wells that had been neglected since his father’s illness began. It was endless, thankless work. And he hated every second of it.
But when he looked back out the window, watching the woman who should have been by his side walking with another matt smiling for another man–he felt that familiar twist of rage and something far more dangerous.
Jealousy.
It burned through him, hot and fast, an ache in his chest so fierce it stole his breath. Marco had his easy charm, his ever–present smirk, and Graham hated him for it. He hated him because his wife–his wife–seemed to respond to it so easily. With Graham, she was cold and distant, always flinching away, always
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Chapter 306
guarded. But with Marco? She laughed. She glowed.
The sun dipped tower, casting an orange hue across the sky, and the last of its light turned her face radiant. The reflection in her eyes stämmered like gold as she turned to say something to Marco, her expression open and relaxed in a way it never was with him.
And suddenly–painfully–he knew the answer to his earlier question.
Why was he here?
For her.
He loved her.
It was a sharp, undeniable truth, and it hit him like a blow. It explained everything–the anger, the jealousy, the bitterness he carried every time she pulled away from him. Because the only thing he had ever truly wanted–her–felt so far out of his reach.
And yet, here he was, tied to a house he never wanted and a life he despised, willing to endure every hardship and every ounce of backbreaking labor just to keep Thomfield running. Because if it made her happy–if it kept that light in her eyes–he would do it.
He would stand in the dirt and the sun for a thousand years. He would bleed and sweat and break his back every day without complaint. Hell, if it came to
it, he would tear up every stone and every piece of gravel on this land with his bare hands just to keep her smiling.
Because now he knew–without a sliver of doubt–that there was no way out.
He was bound here. To this house. To this land. And most of all, to her.
Forever.
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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.
