The End Of a Marriage
Chapter 263
Graham had found the only way to sever the last, fraying connection
between them–one final, decisive cut that would rid him of Isla for
good. He would sell Thornfield Manor. Wipe away the last remnants
of whatever fragile ties still bound them together. And then, maybe,
just maybe, he could stop feeling like this.
This unbearable, unrelenting ache.
It was maddening, how easily she undid him. How a single look—just
one glance from those wide, dark eyes–could leave him on edge,
pulse hammering, body tight with a need that refused to dissipate. He
had tried to ignore it, to fight it. Ever since she had left New York, he
had done everything in his power to avoid her. He hadn’t spoken to
her, hadn’t looked at her, hadn’t even allowed himself to think about
her for too long. Because every time he did, his frustration only grew,
pushing him closer to the breaking point.
And tonight–tonight had shattered whatever restraint he had left.
She had cornered him in his study, her voice trembling, her words laced with desperation as she spoke about what had happened in New York–about the things he had tried so hard to forget. And God help
him, he had lost it.
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The frustration, the longing, the sheer agony of wanting her and not
having her had boiled over into something cruel. He had lashed out,
not because he wanted to, but because he needed to–because if he
didn’t, she would see too much. She would see that beneath his cold
exterior, beneath the anger and the indifference, he was still just a
man who burned for her.
So he had wounded her. Deliberately.
He had watched the way the color drained from her face when he
threw his words at her like knives, when he offered her a deal laced
with venom–one night with me, and I’ll keep Thornfield Manor. The
shock in her eyes, the humiliation that flickered across her delicate
features–it should have given him some form of satisfaction. Should
have made him feel something other than this wretched need.
But it didn’t.
Maybe this would be a lesson to her. Maybe now she would finally
understand the weight of her own words–when she had pleaded, when she had said she would do anything to save the estate. Maybe now she would realize what men truly wanted when she made such reckless promises.
Maybe now, she would finally stay away from him.
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With a frustrated sigh, he kicked off his shoes, sending them skidding
across the floor until they thudded against the cupboard. Running a
hand through his hair, he exhaled sharply, his body still thrumming
with restless energy. Sleep would be impossible like this. With a
muttered curse, he turned toward the bathroom–perhaps a cold shower would do what sheer willpower couldn’t. Maybe, just maybe, it
would cool the heat simmering beneath his skin and finally grant him
some peace.
The house was cloaked in silence, save for the whisper of wind
through the trees outside and the faint creaking of the wooden floor
beneath her hesitant steps. Isla moved carefully, deliberately, as if
even the air around her could betray her presence. From the west
wing to the east, from the sanctuary of her room to the unknown
depths of his. Never had the distance felt so vast, so impossible to
cross. Not in the dead of night, when the lights had been
extinguished and the house slumbered, oblivious to her turmoil.
Her legs trembled with every step, her breath shallow, heart
hammering against her ribs like a wild thing desperate to break free.
As she neared his door, a sudden wave of panic seized her. Her throat
felt parched, as dry as a desert, and for a fleeting moment, she nearly turned back–told herself she should go to the kitchen, have a glass of water, gather her bearings before returning here.
But she knew herself too well.
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If she left now, she wouldn’t return. The coward in her would win.
She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing air into her lungs, commanding
herself to breathe.
The reason didn’t matter.
What mattered was this: she had made her choice. Tonight, she would
surrender her innocence to a man of her choosing–a man who had
once been her first love.
No, there would be no future between them, no whispered promises
of forever. But she could at least give this to him. To herself. A last act
of defiance against the cruel reality that had been forced upon her.
She almost laughed at her own foolish sentimentality. God, she was
being dramatic. But the truth was undeniable–Graham had given her
a choice tonight, an unspoken ultimatum. Her body in exchange for
Thornfield Manor.
But in doing so, he had revealed something else.
He had already let go. Whether or not she saved the house, Graham
had cut himself off from this place, from her, from everything that
had once tethered him here. He had made his decision. He was
leaving. Forever.
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And that realization shattered her more than losing the manor ever
could.
The last person she could call family, the last thread tying her to the past, to any semblance of belonging–he was walking away. Washing
his hands of her.
A fresh wave of tears burned her eyes, but she swallowed them down,
brushing them away with the back of her hand.
She couldn’t stop him. She had no right to. But if this was the end,
then she wanted something of him to remain with her.
A memory.
Something she could hold onto long after he was gone.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for the door, barely able to lift
her hand. For a moment, she hesitated, heart skittering wildly in her
chest.
And then, before fear could claim her, she knocked.
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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.
