CHAPTER 9
Isla’s hands were raw and aching, her pale skin rubbed nearly to
blisters as she scrubbed the heavy stack of dishes in ice–cold tap
water. The chill bit at her fingers, but she didn’t dare pause. Mrs.
Anne, the woman who ran the Magnolia Ridge Bed and Breakfast, was
a strict and frugal taskmaster, and any sign of slacking off would draw
a sharp reprimand. Complaining wasn’t an option either; Isla already
knew it wouldn’t make a difference. Mrs. Anne cut corners wherever
she could, whether it was underpaying her staff or ignoring basic
decency.
Beside her, a young girl named Avery swept the wooden floors of the dining room. Avery was around Isla’s age, perhaps a little younger, with a quiet demeanor that suggested she’d learned to keep her head down and do as she was told. The two worked in silence, neither
daring to say much. Outside, the sun had just set, casting a soft orange glow through the windows. Most of the guests were still out exploring the town, but they would return soon, and dinner had to be ready. The clock ticked on, a relentless reminder of the evening rush
to come.
Despite the busyness of her hands, Isla’s mind drifted, as it always
did, back to home. Thornfield Manor. Its sprawling grounds, warm
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Chapter 201
fireplaces, and the comfort of her father’s steady presence. A month
ago, she had everything: a roof over her head, a father who loved her,
and the quiet confidence that life would continue in familiar security.
Now, it all felt like a distant dream.
Her father was gone. Her home was gone. Every ounce of stability and
safety she’d ever known had been stripped away in a matter of weeks.
Two weeks ago, grief and anger had clouded her judgment, leading
her to flee in the dead of night, packing her things and leaving
Willow Creek without telling a soul. She thought she was taking
control, but now she could see it for what it was: a rash, foolish
decision driven by ego and pain.
A lone tear slid down her cheek as she plunged her hands back into the freezing water, fishing for another bowl. The memory of that night in Willow Creek haunted her. She could see herself rushing to pack her bag, driven by a storm of emotions she barely understood. Pride and anger had told her she couldn’t stay, that she didn’t need anyone. She’d wanted to prove she could survive on her own.
But now? Now she knew better.
The realization came harshly on her fourth night in Magnolia Ridge. By then, she was already well aware that the guest house she’d chosen to stay in was far from safe. The owner, a greasy, leeting man with a predatory gaze, had made her skin crawl from the moment she
Chapter 201
arrived. Worse still, she knew someone had rifled through her
belongings the first day she’d left the room, likely the owner or one of
his staff. She’d found her carefully folded clothes in disarray and her
few possessions disturbed, though her hidden stash of money had
thankfully gone unnoticed.
Even knowing all this, she’d stayed. Perhaps out of desperation or the
naive hope that things wouldn’t get worse. But on her fourth night,
her hope shattered.
It was well past midnight when she awoke, her body stiff from the
uncomfortable bed and the unfamiliar sense of the old building
settling around her. At first, she thought it was a dream–a bunch of
shadows moving around blending into her restless sleep. But then she
froze, her eyes catching a distinct shadow, a silhouette of a man
inside the room.
Her breath hitched. Panic washed over her in a cold, suffocating wave
as she sat up in the dark, her heart pounding violently against her
ribs. The room was pitch black, but the faint outline of a shadow
moved near the doorway, where the dim moonlight barely spilled in
through the thin curtains.
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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.
