Chapter 67 - 0067: I Am Protecting My Home

Chapter 67: Chapter 0067: I Am Protecting My Home

Graham’s Point Of View

The moment she slammed the bedroom door in my face, the sound reverberated like a slap across my jaw. I stood there frozen, a muscle ticking in my cheek as I stared at the cold, closed door. Her rejection echoed louder than any insult, louder than any fight we’d ever had. It settled into my chest like a stone, heavy and immovable, and I couldn’t tell anymore if I wanted to break something or simply sink to the floor.

My fists clenched, jaw tightening as I forced myself to breathe... slow and controlled, but my blood boiled beneath the surface, threatening to erupt. Every inhale felt like dragging air through broken glass.

"Elena..." I muttered under my breath, dragging a hand down my face.

She pushed me... actually pushed me out of the room. And then she slammed the door. Locked it. Like I was the intruder in my own damn home. The absurdity of it, being shut out of a life I had built brick by brick, clawed at something ancient and possessive in me.

My fists clenched at my sides. My jaw tight enough to break bone.

Inside that room, I could hear her... the sound of her body sliding to the ground, her muffled sobs breaking the silence like thunder in my skull. Each cry landed somewhere beneath my ribs, sharp and undeserved, because I hadn’t meant for it to end this way. I remembered every raw second of what had just happened inside... I wanted her to admit she was mine.

Instead, she had slapped me and screamed at me to get the fuck out.

And for a moment... I just stood there frozen, caught between the animal wanting to break the door down and the man who still, somehow, respected the lock.

Because as much as I was burning, as much as every damn nerve in my body ached for her, as much as I wanted to break the door down, drag her back onto that bed, and drive into her slick warmth until she couldn’t speak... I knew I couldn’t. Not yet and definitely not like this.

Damn it.

I took a step back. Then another. My body moving before my thoughts could catch up. I didn’t realize I was already heading down the stairs until the lights of the hallway glared into my eyes like judgment, harsh and unwelcome, exposing every ugly thing I felt.

I didn’t stop until I reached the bar tucked into the corner of the living room, the one Elena had once joked was my sanctuary. Back when she used to come in late at night and curl on the stool next to me, wearing one of my thin shirts with nothing underneath, stealing my drink and my peace and somehow making both better. That memory alone was enough to make my chest ache in a way whiskey could never touch.

The moment I got to it, I yanked the bottle of aged whiskey from the shelf... one of the expensive ones I’d been saving for a "good" day, and slammed it onto the counter. A crystal glass followed, and I poured without care, the amber liquid spilling slightly over the rim. I didn’t bother wiping it.

I downed the first shot in one swift gulp.

It burned its way down my throat, but it didn’t quiet the roar in my head.

"What the hell is wrong with her?" I muttered, slamming the glass down. It clinked against the wood with a sharp, hollow sound.

I poured another shot. Downed it.

"Why is she being so damn stubborn?" I growled.

"Isn’t this what she wanted?" I spat, my voice rough, jagged. "To manipulate me, to play her stupid little games just to get my attention? To chase? To want her again?"

I threw the second shot down my throat and slammed the glass back down, breathing heavily, my knuckles white against the counter’s edge.

"Well, congratulations, Elena, mission accomplished," I muttered, pacing now, my eyes wild. "You’ve succeeded. You’ve got my attention. Then why the hell all this coldness, all this rebellion?"

I was wrecked. Obsessed. Dying to touch her, kiss her, lay her out on the floor and sink deep inside her until she forgot whatever bullshit fantasies she had about being with some other man.

My hands still smelled like her skin, so why the hell was she pushing me away now? Why was she crying on the other side of a locked door like I was a monster? The question gnawed at something raw in me, something I refused to name.

I let out a dark chuckle and shook my head, glancing down at the raging hard-on pressing uncomfortably against my trousers, almost painful.

Even now, even with my frustration sky-high and my temper close to snapping... I was still hard for her, starved for the tight, scalding squeeze only her body could give me.

And it pissed me the hell off. I cursed under my breath.

I should’ve taken her when I had the chance. Should’ve pinned her wrists above her head, held her tight by the hip, and buried myself to the hilt over and over until she gasped out the truth. Should’ve finished what I started. Left her breathless, ruined, mine.

But I didn’t and now I was here, in the dark, alone, drinking myself into clarity like a fool in a war he can’t win. The house felt too large and too silent, every shadow a reminder of how thoroughly I had failed to hold onto the one thing I wanted most.

"Graham?"

My head snapped up at the sound of her voice.

Lillian.

She was descending the stairs in a silk robe that clung to her body like she’d picked it to be looked at. Her steps were slow, calculated. Her eyes soft, mouth curved into a concerned smile that barely reached her cheeks. There was something performative in the way she moved, as though she’d rehearsed this entrance long before she needed it.

She walked over to me, stopping just a breath away. "I’ve been looking for you all over," she said softly, reaching out to brush my arm. "Where did you go?"

I smiled at her. A hollow, lifeless twist of my lips.

"I just needed to clear my mind," I muttered, turning away from her touch and pouring another drink. I didn’t down it this time. I just stared at it, watched the amber liquid swirl like the mess in my head.

She cocked her head, curiosity lacing her voice. "Is it about Elena? About her having a boyfriend?"

My jaw clenched hard.

There it was again, that word that made my insides twist in knots. Boyfriend. As if Elena belonged to someone else.The image alone made something violent flare behind my eyes.

As if she wasn’t mine. But I said nothing. I couldn’t. I didn’t trust myself to speak.

Lillian sighed and moved to stand beside me at the bar, her voice low and laced with quiet disappointment. "Shouldn’t you be happy that she’s finally off our necks?" she asked. "Let her have the fun she wants, Graham. Don’t even think about running after her. Let her run off with whoever he is."

Let her have her fun? Off our necks? My fingers tightened around the glass until the crystal groaned. I turned slowly, facing her. My heart was racing like a war drum, each beat pounding a warning I refused to heed.

I dropped the glass in my hand with a sharp clink. My voice came out like a low growl. "Don’t you get it, Lillian?"

I turned to face her fully, eyes locked with hers. "She’s my wife. She doesn’t need anyone else."

She’s mine.

And no matter how many walls she built, or games she played, or names she threw around just to wound me, that wouldn’t change.

She’s Mine.

Her brows furrowed at my outburst, her chest rising and falling beneath the oversized sweater that clung to the soft swell of her belly. For a moment, guilt flickered somewhere beneath my anger, quickly smothered by the fire still raging in my chest.

"You have me, Graham," she said, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Isn’t this what we always wanted? To get rid of her so we could be free. So what’s wrong with you?"

I inhaled sharply, the tension in my jaw burning as I clenched my teeth. Heat surged through my veins, hot and violent.

"I’m not going to let her ruin this marriage with her delusion of a boyfriend," I snapped, stepping forward, each word sharper than the last. "She’s my wife. Do you think I’m just going to stand aside and let her hang out with some riffraff?"

My voice rising with each step.

"What if he’s only with her for her money? Or because she’s married to me? You think I’m going to sit back and watch that? Watch some guy touch what’s mine, like he has any right?"

Lillian’s expression faltered, her lips parting slightly as if she were about to speak but thought better of it. The air crackled between us... too thick, too hot, too full of unsaid things, as if the whole house were holding its breath.

Then, in a voice much softer, much more dangerous, she said, "So... my opinion doesn’t count, right?"

I blinked, thrown off. "What?" But she didn’t repeat herself. She turned, abruptly, and began marching toward the stairs.

"Lily..." I called out, voice cracking. "Where are you going?"

She turned at the foot of the staircase like a storm shifting direction... sudden, furious, impossible to look away from.

"I’m leaving!" she hissed. "I’m going upstairs, packing my things, and leaving your house with your precious wife! You’ll never see me or the baby again!"

I stared at her, the dark amber lighting catching the sharp tilt of her chin. "You’re acting crazy, Lillian."

"Crazy?!" Lillian laughed, a shrill, venomous sound that sliced through the dim expanse of the foyer. "You spend half the night up in that guest room trying to force yourself into a woman who slaps you across the face, you come down here reeking of her perfume, bahaving like an animal for a barren wife who despises your guts, and I’m the crazy one?!"

"Watch your fucking tongue," I warned, taking a heavy, towering step toward the banister, my shadow stretching long and dark across the floor.

"Or what, Graham?!" she screamed back, tears of pure spite welling in her eyes as she pointed a manicured nail right at my chest. "You are pathetic! You are so sickeningly obsessed with her that you can’t even see she’s already moved on! She’s spread her legs for another man, Graham!"

"I said shut up!" I bellowed, slamming both hands onto the wooden railing, the oak cracking under the violent pressure. "She isn’t spreading her legs for anyone! She is my wife! She belongs to me! I will kill any man who dares lay a finger on her, do you hear me?! I will burn everything I built to the fucking ground before I let anyone else take what is mine!"

Lillian gasped, taking a voluntary step back up the stairs, genuinely terrified by the raw, unhinged madness flashing in my eyes. She gripped her robe over her small stomach, her voice shaking with lethal promise.

"You really are lost," she whispered, her lip curling in bitter disgust. "You chose a dead, barren marriage over your own child."

"I am protecting my home," I growled through gritted teeth.

"No, Graham. You’re destroying it." Lillian took three quick steps up, leaning over the dark railing to spit her final threat down at me.

"I am going up to that room right now. I am packing every single bag I brought here. And the second my feet cross that front door, I am calling your mother, the board of directors, and every tabloid editor in the city. By tomorrow morning, the entire world will know that Graham Sinclair discarded his pregnant partner to chase a cheating wife who locks him out of her bedroom. I will strip you of your reputation, your legacy, and I will make sure you never, ever lay eyes on this baby again!"