Chapter 9

Isolde's POV

"Wearing so little, standing here in the wind." Graham's voice was low and hoarse, emotionless, but his deep gaze was locked firmly on my frozen pale face.

"I..." I opened my mouth, my throat so dry I couldn't make a sound.

He didn't wait for my explanation. His eyes moved down to my reddened hands, frozen from the cold.

Graham stepped forward, his long, strong fingers covering the back of my hand, effortlessly taking the suitcase handle from me.

His palm was hot, so hot it made my fingertips flinch.

"Let's go." He said just one word, then turned and strode toward the exit.

I was wrapped in his coat, his scent surrounding me completely.

My mind was a mess, but my legs unconsciously followed his steps.

A black Maybach glided silently to the curb, stopping steadily in front of us.

A driver in a black suit quickly got out and respectfully opened the back door.

Graham handed my suitcase to the driver with one hand, his other hand shielding the car roof: "Get in."

The car had the heat on full blast, and the leather seats were soft and comfortable.

I huddled in the corner, watching Graham get in from the other side.

As the door closed, it shut out all the noise from outside.

Graham leaned back in his seat, his long fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, his profile looking even sharper in the dim light.

"Graham, why are you in Silverlight City too?" I finally found my voice, softly breaking the silence.

"I'm taking advantage of my leave to handle some branch office matters." He said coldly, eyes closed.

The car fell silent again.

I wanted to ask how he happened to run into me at the airport, wanted to ask if he knew Louis had left me stranded here.

But looking at his tired expression, I swallowed those words back down.

The car drove smoothly through the night for nearly twenty minutes, finally stopping in front of a landmark building.

A top-tier five-star hotel in the city center.

The doorman opened the car door, and I followed Graham into the magnificent lobby.

Graham walked straight to the front desk, pulled out a black gold card from his black wallet, and handed it to the front desk manager: "Top floor suite, add one more room."

The front desk manager saw the card and immediately showed a professional and respectful smile.

"Yes, Mr. Cox, we'll process that right away. May I see this lady's ID please?"

I fumbled through my bag for my ID and handed it over.

Two minutes later, a gold-embossed room card was returned along with my ID.

Graham took the room card and put it directly into my hand.

"Stay here for the next few days." Graham looked at me with deep eyes. "Chase's car is parked in the underground garage. He'll be responsible for driving you around these next few days."

Chase was the Maybach driver from earlier.

I froze, my fingers tightening slightly around the room card.

In this unfamiliar city, Louis had left me with an unreachable phone and fully booked hotels.

But Graham, without saying much at all, had directly put a secure place to stay and complete arrangements into my hands.

"Graham... this is too much trouble for you." I lowered my head, my nose tingling.

"Since you're my brother's girlfriend, don't say that nonsense to me." Graham's voice remained cold. "Go up and rest quickly, I still have some things to handle."

After saying that, he turned and walked toward the door, his tall figure quickly disappearing at the entrance.

I stood there, clutching the room card tightly, my eyes suddenly burning.

The suite had underfloor heating, and the temperature was comfortable.

I dragged myself to the living room and immediately saw the dining table by the floor-to-ceiling window.

A black pepper steak with a few asparagus spears on the side.

And a cup of hot toddy—the scent of honey and lemon wafted out.

Hot toddy was my favorite drink, good for warming up and soothing the throat.

In the glass bowl beside it, cherries and kiwis were cut and neatly arranged.

All things I loved to eat, and the only things my fragile stomach could handle right now.

My throat tightened, feeling blocked and uncomfortable.

These were the two sons of the Cox family.

Raised under the same roof, yet the difference between them was so huge.

Louis could call me all the way to Silverlight City, then leave me stranded in the freezing wind.

Graham, who spent most of his time in the military, could arrange everything quietly during his business trip, even considering my tendency to catch colds.

Before, if I hadn't heard from Louis, I would have cried from worry and couldn't eat a bite.

But now, I calmly pulled out the chair and sat down, picked up the knife and fork, cut the perfectly medium-rare steak bit by bit, and slowly ate it all.

Then I picked up the hot toddy and drank it all in one go.

The warm liquid slid into my stomach, driving away the last bit of cold from my body.

Walking into the bathroom, I soaked myself in hot water, washing away all the exhaustion.

After changing into silk pajamas, I leaned against the headboard and first sent my parents a WhatsApp message to let them know I was safe.

After doing all this, I stared at Graham's pure black profile picture on the screen, my finger hovering over the keyboard for a long time.

Finally, I typed: [Thanks Graham, the food was really good.]

I hit send.

Before the screen even dimmed, he replied immediately.

Graham: [Rest early. If you feel unwell anywhere, call me anytime.]

He didn't make small talk or ask about Louis, but this brief sentence eased my anxiety.

I put my phone on silent and slipped into the lavender-scented sheets.

Surprisingly, I slept incredibly soundly.

When I opened my eyes again, white light was seeping through the gaps in the blackout curtains—it was already bright outside.

I rolled over and reached for my phone on the nightstand.

The screen lit up, immediately showing a flood of missed calls and messages.

Thirteen missed calls, all from Louis.

WhatsApp was filled with his messages.

[Isolde, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! Last night there was an equipment problem during rehearsal, everyone was rushing to fix it, and my phone died!]

[Did you arrive? Where are you staying?]

[I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to, can you please answer the phone?]

The messages continued sporadically until 3 AM, then stopped.

Looking at the screen, I knew he probably sent his complaints, didn't get a response from me, and just went to sleep.

I leaned against the pillow, quietly looking at these apology messages, feeling nothing inside.

This kind of thing had happened too many times.

My memory involuntarily pulled me back to when I was sixteen.

At a birthday party in Emerald City's social circle, Louis had a bit to drink and, emboldened by alcohol, pinned me against a wall in a corner of the garden and kissed me messily.

After that, everyone teased us about being a couple, and we naturally got together.

At first, when he stood me up, was late, or went MIA, I would fight with him, cry and ask if he even cared about me.

But each time he'd smile brightly at me, apologize softly, then continue doing whatever he wanted, never actually changing.

Over time, fighting became pointless.

I got used to his unreliability and was too tired to make myself miserable over these things.

Thinking about it now, all these years, Louis had never even properly said "I love you" to me.

Maybe from the beginning, it was just me being presumptuous, thinking that because we grew up together, it meant something more—just a dream I made up.

I exited WhatsApp and dialed Louis's number.

"Sorry, the number you have dialed is not answering..."