The End of a Marriage (Colette and Matheo) novel Chapter 205

“Come here,” he murmured against the top of her head.

And that was it. The dam inside her broke, and the tears came in full

force–loud, ugly sobs that shook her shoulders as she clung to him.

She wept into his chest, soaking the expensive fabric of his shirt, but

Graham didn’t let her go. He held her firmly, protectively, his hand

gently smoothing over her hair as if to reassure her that he wasn’t

going anywhere.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “Let it all out. I’m here now.”

When had she last been held like this? Comforted like this? She

couldn’t remember. The realization only made her cry harder.

She didn’t know how long they stood like that, but eventually, a sharp

voice sliced through the moment like a whip.

“What in the name of the seven hells is going on in my living room?”

Isla flinched, reluctantly pulling back from Graham’s embrace. Ms.

Anne stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, her expression twisted

in displeasure. Isla couldn’t hear her, but the way her lips moved and

her glare intensified said everything.

Chapter 205

Graham turned to face the woman, his expression darkening as if he’d

been interrupted mid–battle. “Sorry to bother you,” he said curtly, his

tone clipped and commanding. “I’m here to collect Isla. We’ll be

leaving now. If you would kindly have my driver retrieve her luggage,

we’ll be on our way.”

Ms. Anne’s face turned an unpleasant shade of red. “She can’t leave,”

she barked. “Not like this! She owes me notice before quitting. Where

am I supposed to find a replacement now?”

Graham didn’t miss a beat. Reaching into the pocket of his coat, he

pulled out a thick wad of bills and tossed it onto the nearest table

with a carelessness that made Isla’s jaw drop.

“She’s leaving,” he said sharply. “Right this instant.”

Ms. Anne gaped at the pile of cash, but Graham was already turning

back to Isla. Without another word, he took her by the wrist and.

guided her outside. Isla stumbled slightly as he pulled her through

the doorway, tears still streaking her face.

Waiting by the car was Edwin, his round face lighting up with relief as

soon as he saw her. “Ms. Isla!” he exclaimed. “I’m so glad you’re

okay.”

“No time, Edwin,” Graham interjected briskly. “Go inside and collect

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her luggage. We leave now.”

“Yes, sir.” Edwin hurried past them, disappearing into the house.

Graham opened the car door and ushered Isla inside before she could

protest. The soft leather of the seat felt impossibly luxurious beneath

her as she sat, her body still trembling slightly.

The door shut behind him as Graham slid into the seat beside her.

The silence in the car was heavy, broken only by the occasional

sniffle as she wiped at her tear–streaked cheeks.

For a moment, he didn’t speak, simply watching her with an expression she couldn’t read. Then, his voice came, low and steady.

“Now, are you going to tell me why you ran away from home?” Graham’s voice was sharp, yet there was a faint tremor beneath it–an unspoken plea. His piercing gaze burned into her, leaving Isla with nowhere to hide. He leaned forward, his tall frame looming over her

as he tried to meet her downcast eyes. “Isla…” His tone softened unexpectedly, slipping into something raw–something almost broken. “Tell me, darling. Was it… me? Did I say something? Do something that made you bolt like that? Did I scare you off?”

There it was again–that rare vulnerability that made him seem human, not just the aloof, overbearing man she’d always known. Isla

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dared a glance at his face and felt her heart twist. His normally self-

assured demeanor looked frayed at the edges, his brows drawn

together in a way that spoke of sleepless nights and an unrelenting

weight of guilt. It hit her then–he had truly believed he’d done

something to drive her away.

Her voice cracked as she shook her head. “N–no. It wasn’t you.”

“Then what?” His confusion flared like a match, frustration snapping

in his voice.

Isla swallowed hard, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her old

apron. “Because…” She struggled to find the words. “Because I didn’t

want to be a burden on you.”

For a moment, Graham stared at her as though she’d sprouted a

second head. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Isla took a deep breath, her voice barely above a whisper. “The

house… Dad’s house… He left it to you. It’s your inheritance, your

home now. I had no right to be there. I didn’t want to intrude.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Graham’s lips parted slightly, as though he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. And then, as if the words finally sank in, his expression contorted–his jaw

tightened, his shoulders tensed, and his eyes flashed with a stormy

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mixture of anger and disbelief.

“Intrude?” he repeated darkly, his voice low and dangerously calm.

“You think you were intruding?” He let out a humorless laugh that

sounded like a growl. “Where in the name of Christ did you get this

absurd idea?”

Isla flinched at his tone, but he wasn’t done. He pushed himself off

the chair and began pacing in front of her, his polished boots

thudding rhythmically against the wooden floor. “A burden, you say?

My God, Isla, I’ve heard you say stupid things before, but this–this

takes the bloody cake.” He spun to face her, his dark eyes blazing.

“That house–Thornfield Manor–has been more your home than it’s

ever been mine. I barely spent a handful of years there, being shipped

off to boarding schools, internships–God knows what else. You, on

the other hand, grew up there. It was yours before it was ever mine.”

His voice trembled slightly, though his arrogance still coated every

word, like armor against how deeply this cut him. He raked a hand

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