The End of a Marriage (Colette and Matheo) novel Chapter 270

nt of her–of them–still clung to the air, thick and intoxicating, but now it felt suffocating. His throat constricted, his pulse hammering with a different kind of urgency–one not born of lust but of something darker. He had been blind, so consumed by his own frustration, his own pent–up need, that he hadn’t seen it clearly

until now.

She had come here for Thornfield Manor. For Maggie. For Edwin. Not

for this.

Not for him.

And he–God, he had been ready to take advantage of that.

Graham dragged a rough hand down his face, exhaling through his

nose as his fingers curled into fists at his sides. His body was still

humming, his muscles coiled tight, but suddenly, it was unbearable.

He couldn’t stand to be here. Couldn’t stand to look at her. Couldn’t

stand himself.

He pushed himself off the bed in one swift motion, the cool air

hitting his overheated skin like a slap. The towel sat low on his hips,

barely secured, a last fragile tether to his restraint. He snatched his

discarded shirt and pants from the floor, his movements stiff, hurried,

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as if the faster he dressed, the faster he could erase the last ten

minutes of his life.

But nothing would erase this.

He could still feel her, the way her body had trembled beneath his

touch, the way her breath had caught, the way she had looked at him

-not with seduction, but with something uncertain, something

fragile.

Something he had nearly shattered.

His fingers curled tighter around the fabric in his hands as he turned

toward the door. He needed to get out. Needed space, air, distance.

Before he lost the last shred of control he had left.

And before he did something even more unforgivable.

“Graham?”

Her voice was soft, uncertain–laced with anticipation and something

even more dangerous: trust.

The sound of it nearly broke him.

He felt like the lowest kind of man. Like a predator who had lured

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something innocent into his den under false pretenses.

His spine was rigid, his fists clenched at his sides as he forced the

words from his throat. “Go to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

No explanations. No excuses. Because there were none.

“Why?”

One simple word. A plea wrapped in confusion, tinged with hurt.

Graham’s patience snapped, but not with her with himself.

“Because I don’t pay for sex!” The words came out like a lash, cutting

through the air with venom, self–directed disgust dripping from every

syllable.

The moment they left his lips, he saw it–her flinch, the way her body

recoiled as if he’d struck her.

Damn it.

She gasped, her fingers gripping the sheet tighter around herself as if

shielding her nakedness from him–not out of shyness this time, but

humiliation. The glow that had been in her eyes only moments ago

dimmed, replaced by something raw, something shattered.

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The sight of it twisted like a knife in his gut.

He turned away sharply, trying to swallow the burn in his throat. “I

changed my mind.” His voice was rough, almost guttural. “Go to

sleep.”

It should have ended there.

But it didn’t.

“Graham, please.”

The bed creaked, and he stiffened as he realized–she was moving.

She was getting up.

He didn’t turn. He didn’t dare. Because if he did–if he saw her

standing there, wrapped in nothing but the bedsheet, her body still

warm and trembling from his touch–he might just lose the last sliver

of control he had left.

“You were stupid to come here, Isla.” His voice was quieter now, but

no less sharp. “Do you even realize what could have happened

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