Chapter 185

Hannah

I stared at Noah, unsure of what to say. I had assumed that he wouldn’t show up today, since I had taken care to schedule our meetings during his work hours, but it seemed I was mistaken. And now he wanted me to come up with something to do.

“We could go out to eat,” he suggested, counting off on his fingers. “Or watch movies. I’ll even take you shopping if it would make you happy. Anything to make you less stressed.”

I blinked, still trying to process the situation. The Noah I knew wouldn’t skip work for me, let alone offer to take me shopping. Something felt fishy about this whole situation. It was too… performative.

“I... I’d rather just stay home,” I said, secretly hoping he would be content to go to his study and leave me well enough alone.

To my relief, Noah nodded. “Alright, if that’s what you want.” He turned and left the room without another word.

Satisfied, I picked up my book and began to read again. Finally, some peace and quiet. I sank deeper into the couch, relishing the solitude.

But my contentment was short-lived, because a few minutes later, Noah returned with a tray in his hands. “Healthy snacks and protein shakes,” he said, setting the tray down on the coffee table and turning to me. “Get up.”

“Why?”

“Please, Hannah.”

With a loud huff to show my disdain, I stood and watched as he spread a few blankets across the couch, plumped the pillows, then turned on the TV and navigated to a streaming platform.

“What are you doing?” I asked, peering at the tray of food: milkshakes, popcorn, fruit, carrots and hummus.

“Sit,” was all he said as he handed me a milkshake. “I put protein powder and prenatal supplements in it.”

I obeyed, sitting beneath one of the blankets and nervously sipping the milkshake. It was delicious, of course, but made it feel a bit like I was his broodmare again—being fattened up solely for the sake of producing a healthy heir.

His heir. Not mine. I was just the prisoner who would be forced to carry it to term. The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth that overpowered the chocolatey sweetness of the drink.

“How is it?” he asked, plopping down next to me and flipping through the available movies.

I couldn’t help myself. “For a jail warden, you treat your prisoners pretty nicely.”

Noah’s expression tightened, but he didn’t stop searching for a movie. “Again, you’re not a prisoner. How many times do I have to say it?” He paused, flicking on some romantic comedy that I hadn’t seen in years, then kicked back and began snacking on some popcorn he had brought out.

I remained silent, sipping my milkshake, but my frustration grew despite his kindness. Once again, this felt too performative, too fake. He wasn’t doing this for me. He was just doing it so that I would have gained some weight for our next appointment and nothing more. So he could look like the ‘doting Alpha’ again.

After a few minutes, I couldn’t take it anymore. Seeing the couple on screen instantly fall in love in the midst of their coffee shop meet-cute was enough to drive me mad.

“This movie is boring,” I said. It was a lie, of course—I loved this movie—but I couldn’t bear to look at it. Without waiting for a response, I reached for the remote and shut off the TV, then made a show to shove my half-finished milkshake away. “And this milkshake tastes like chalk.”

I hoped my bad attitude would push him away, but Noah seemed unperturbed. Without so much as batting an eye, he reached into a drawer and pulled out a deck of cards. “Okay. How about we play Go Fish?”

“I hate that game,” I said flatly, crossing my arms.

“Okay, how about Poker?” he suggested calmly, shuffling the cards.

“No.”

“Blackjack?”

“No.”

Suddenly, a mischievous glint appeared in his eye, one I hadn’t seen since the summer hunt. That felt so long ago now, even though it had only been two days. “Strip Poker?”

I gasped, grabbing a pillow and chucking it straight at him. “Noah!” The pillow hit him square in the face, and for a moment, I saw a flash of the boy I used to know—an uncharacteristic smirk, a huff of laughter, and reddened cheeks

Dammit; I had to bite back the urge to laugh, too. I was supposed to be mad at him, but seeing that playful side of him, even for a moment, stirred something in me that I thought was long dead. I had to bite the inside of my cheek just to keep myself from smiling.

Finally, giving up on trying to push him away, I sighed. “Fine. Let’s play Crazy 8s.”

As we played, the tension in the room slowly eased—even if only slightly, because I was too distracted to notice my anger.

Suddenly, Noah said, “So, I’ve been thinking about which room we could use for the nursery.”

I froze, the card in my hand hovering midair. I hadn’t really thought about it yet, as I had intended to be divorced and living in my ancestral home in Silvermoon by the time the baby was born. The idea of a nursery in this house, of raising a child with Noah… I still didn’t intend on it.

But Noah continued, either oblivious to my thoughts or choosing to ignore them.

“I think the east-facing side of the house would be good,” he said as he placed a card on the pile. “It’ll help the baby develop a natural circadian rhythm with the rising sun. And imagine how lovely it would look in the morning, the sun streaming through some nice sheer curtains. Maybe bright yellow walls? Something cheerful.”

I stared at him, stunned. When had he put so much thought into this? It was hard to reconcile this Noah, who was thinking about curtains and wall colors, with the cold, distant man I had been living with for years.

The man who had locked me up yesterday.

“What do you think?” he asked, looking at me expectantly.

I swallowed hard, trying to maintain my cold demeanor despite the urge to smile. “I hate yellow,” I said flatly and placed a card down. Another lie.

To my surprise, Noah just nodded and drew a card from the deck, seemingly unfazed by my negativity. “Well, we can try countless other colors until we find the shade you like the most,” he suggested with a shrug. “Maybe green, or blue. Whatever you want.”

His eagerness to accommodate my preferences caught me off guard. I found myself actually considering the options, imagining a room bathed in soft morning light, a crib by the window…

No, I told myself. My baby won’t live here.

We would get divorced before the birth. I’d make sure of it. I would find a way.

We continued playing in silence for a while, the only sound the soft shuffle of cards and the occasional clinking of ice in our glasses. Finally, Noah checked his watch and stood up. The two hours had come to an end, and…

I hated to admit it, even to myself, but it wasn’t total torture.

“You’re welcome to pick out the decorations for the nursery,” he said as he began to gather our dirty dishes. “I’ll pay whatever the cost is. Just let me know what you decide. Or we can go to the store ourselves.”

As he turned to leave, he paused, looking back at me. “I know this isn’t easy for you, Hannah. But I want you to know that I’m trying. For you, for the baby…” His voice trailed off and his eyes flicked first to my belly, then to my trembling hands, and then landed on my own gaze.

“...For us,” he finished.

With that, he left, the door closing softly behind him.

I sat there, stunned, my mind reeling.