The End of a Marriage (Colette and Matheo) novel Chapter 222

Chapter 222

A part of him felt like a complete jackass for doing this to her,

dragging her through another emotional ordeal when she’d already

endured so much. But this wasn’t just about him–it was about her

future. And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that leaving her

here in Thornfield Manor while he returned to his life in New York

was out of the question.

This house was no place for her. It was an empty, crumbling relic of a

bygone era, a place that would only trap her in the shadows of her

past. Out in the world, alongside him, she could have so much more.

If she wanted to go to college, he’d get her into the best schools. If

she wanted to explore her passions, he’d make it happen. Once they

were married, everything he had would be hers. The world would be

hers.

He clenched his jaw, resolute. “That’s not good enough, little dove,”

he said, his voice steady, though its finality carried an edge. “You’re

coming with me, and that’s the end of it.”

Isla stared at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. He braced himself, expecting her to break down. Instead, she stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor as her resolve flared to life.

“I’m not! I’m not coming with you!” she snapped, her voice shaking

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with fury and frustration. “You can’t make me!”

Without waiting for his response, she turned and stormed off, her

movements hurried and unsteady.

Graham sighed, exasperated but unsurprised. Typical. Walking away

from a fight the moment they started losing. His lips twitched into a

wry smirk. She thought she could escape so easily.

Not on his watch.

In one swift motion, he was on his feet, closing the distance between

them. Before she could take another step, his hand encircled her

wrist, firm but not harsh. With a calculated tug, he pulled her back

toward him, her momentum toppling her into his lap.

She let out a startled gasp, her eyes wide and disbelieving as she

found herself pinned against him. For a fleeting second, she froze, her

shock silencing her protests. Graham seized the moment, securing

her hands behind her back with one strong arm.

By the time her senses returned, he had her locked firmly in place,

her struggles futile against his unyielding grip. “Let go of me!” she

cried, her voice rising in frustration as she twisted in his hold.

“You’ve completely lost your mind if you think you can drag me to

New York by force!”

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Her movements–desperate, frantic, and utterly futile–only spurred

him on. She squirmed in his lap, her warm body pressing against his

in ways that tested the limits of his patience. His eyes darkened, his

grip tightening just enough to make her still.

Graham knew it was time. Time to use the best card he got in this

game. The only cards that could actually work.

He leaned back in his chair, his arm still firmly keeping Isla in place.

His eyes burned with an intensity that made her squirm, though she

refused to meet his gaze directly. He let the silence stretch for a

moment, the air between them heavy with unspoken challenges.

Then, in a voice as smooth as velvet and as sharp as a blade, he

murmured, “Oh, darling… you’ve only seen a fraction of how crazy I

can get.”

His words sent a jolt through her, the low timbre of his voice

wrapping around her like a physical force. She froze, her wide eyes

finally snapping up to meet his. There was no teasing in his

expression, no games or calculated baiting–only raw, unfiltered

truth.

“I haven’t used force on you yet,” he continued, his tone dropping to

a near whisper, every word deliberate and weighted. “And you should

pray it never comes to that. Because if it does…” He tilted his head

slightly, his gaze locking with hers, his lips curling into a dangerous

smirk. “You won’t like it. Not one bit. You have no idea what I’m

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capable of, little dove.”

The chill in his voice cut through her, leaving a trail of goosebumps

in its wake. Isla’s breath hitched as she stared at him, her heart

pounding in her chest. She wanted to look away, to escape the trap of

his gaze, but she couldn’t. His eyes held her captive, their depths a

swirling storm of power, warning, and something darker–something

that sent a shiver down her spine.

But Isla wasn’t ready to surrender, not yet. She swallowed hard,

gathering what little resolve she had left. “I’m not going to New

York,” she said, her voice trembling but still defiant.

Graham’s jaw tightened, his patience wearing thin. For a moment, the

air around them seemed to crackle with tension. Then, with a

measured breath, he leaned in closer, his lips so near hers that she

could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin.

“Is that your final answer?” he asked softly, his voice deceptively

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