Chapter 215
Her thoughts stumbled over his words, his promises echoing in her
ears. “You would belong somewhere. You would belong to me.” For
one foolish, fleeting moment, her heart had roared with joy at the
idea. It had surged so violently in her chest that she feared it might
burst. She had dared to imagine a life with him–Graham Lancaster,
the man she had quietly adored since she was a lost little girl in need
of kindness and direction.
But the fantasy had shattered as quickly as it formed. She had looked
into his face, searching for the excitement, the joy that should
accompany such a monumental proposal. There was none. His
expression was cool, composed, entirely devoid of the happiness she
had foolishly hoped to see.
And then she remembered Vanessa.
The realization struck her like a thunderclap, sharp and painful. Why
was he doing this? She replayed his words in her mind, analyzing
every syllable with newfound clarity. He had talked about family,
about security, about keeping her at Thornfield Manor. But not once
-not even once–had he mentioned love.
Not even affection.
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No hint of care, no spark of attraction beyond the way his eyes had
lingered on her body. His reasons felt calculated, as though he had
identified her deepest vulnerabilities–her desperate longing to
belong, her ache for a family–and weaponized them against her.
Was this a proposal or a trap?
Isla’s chest tightened with a mix of heartbreak and anger. She blinked
rapidly, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. She
didn’t want him to see her cry. He already had the upper hand; she
wouldn’t give him this, too.
And yet, she couldn’t help but wonder: Was she desperate enough to
accept this? Was she willing to become an unwanted bride for the sake of financial security and a roof over her head? To cling to
Thornfield Manor, the only home she had ever known, even if it
meant sacrificing her pride, her dreams, her dignity?
The answer was no.
No.
She would rather walk back to Ms. Anne’s bed–and–breakfast, grovel
for her old job, and scrub floors until her hands bled than tie herself
to a man who didn’t want her for who she was.
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Her tears began to spill despite her efforts, silent but relentless. She
wanted to weep, to sob until her chest felt hollow and her heart felt
lighter. But she couldn’t–not here, not now, not in front of him. She
needed to leave.
This time, when Isla rose to leave, Graham didn’t stop her. His hands
itched to reach out, to demand that she sit back down, but something
in her tear–streaked face held him back. He’d already made a mess of
things–bulldozing through her emotions like a man who didn’t know
better. Adding forcefulness to the equation wouldn’t help.
As the door closed softly behind her, he leaned back in his chair,
letting out a long, frustrated sigh. How had he botched this so
completely? He prided himself on his control, his ability to read
people, to handle delicate situations with finesse. But with Isla, he
was clumsy. His confidence faltered. His arrogance got the better of
him.
He ran a hand through his dark hair, feeling the weight of his thirty
years like never before. He wasn’t old–not by any stretch–but
compared to Isla? God, he felt ancient. She was nineteen, a girl who
still saw the world through the hopeful, romantic eyes of youth. She
wasn’t jaded like him, hardened by years of business deals and the
machinations of high society. She still believed in things like love and
fairy tales. And he had proposed to her as though he were negotiating
a merger.
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He groaned, shaking his head at his own idiocy. No wonder she had
looked at him like he was an alien.
Graham stood and paced the room, hands in his pockets as he
considered his next move. If he had any hope of winning her over, he
needed to change his approach. Isla wasn’t one of the polished,
sophisticated women he was used to. She didn’t care about power or
prestige, and she certainly wouldn’t be swayed by his wealth alone.
What would make her smile again? He thought back to the girl she
had been before life had dealt her so many cruel blows. Before her
father had died and the light in her eyes had dimmed. Before she had started carrying the weight of the world on her delicate shoulders.
Paris. The thought came unbidden, and for a moment, his lips curved into a smile. Maybe he should fly her to Paris. Show her the city of lights, the romance of it all. He could already imagine the way her face might light up at the sight of the Eiffel Tower glittering against the night sky, the way her laughter might echo as they strolled along
the Seine.
But no,
that felt too cliché. Isla wasn’t the type to be charmed by
something so predictable. Maybe Venice instead. He had always preferred its quiet charm–the gondola rides, the hidden corners of
the city away from the throngs of tourists. There was something
soothing about the water, the way it seemed to carry the weight of
the world away.
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Or… he frowned, stopping mid–pace
his frustration giving way to a quiet determination. He needed to get
to know her better, to figure out what made her happy now, not what
might have made her happy before. He pulled out his phone, the idea
feeling absurd even as he did it. Do people even Google how to date
someone almost a decade younger than them?
God, but he was too old for this!
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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.
