Chapter 214

Hannah

The doctor put away his stethoscope with a sigh, his brow furrowed as he turned to face us. The sound of the metal instrument clinking against his desk seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet room, echoing off of the sterile white walls.

“You may need to undergo amniocentesis,” he said, his voice grave.

I felt Noah stiffen beside me, his hand tightening around mine. We exchanged worried looks, the fear in his green eyes mirroring my own. The leather of the examination table crinkled beneath me as I shifted uncomfortably.

“Why?” I asked, my voice hardly more than a whisper. “What’s wrong?”

“Your latest blood panel has come back with some concerning red flags,” the doctor explained as he flipped through the clipboard containing my medical information. “There’s a possibility that your baby may have complications.”

Complications.

The word felt dirty, empty. Like a puddle of muck that went deeper than it appeared.

My free hand instinctively went to my swollen belly.

“What kind of complications?” Noah asked tightly.

The doctor took a deep breath before explaining the process of amniocentesis in detail. He described how they would use a long needle to extract amniotic fluid to test for genetic diseases.

The thought made me queasy, my stomach churning uncomfortably. I couldn’t help but squirm a bit on the table just thinking about it.

“It will be uncomfortable, I’m afraid,” the doctor warned, his eyes softening as he saw my pained expression, “but it’s necessary to ensure your pregnancy goes smoothly. This is the heir of Nightcrest, after all.”

To my surprise, Noah’s eyes flashed with irritation. “It’s not just the heir of Nightcrest,” he said firmly, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “It’s the health of my wife and child.”

I felt a warmth spread through my chest at his words, my heart softening toward him once again. It seemed to be happening more and more lately, these… moments of tenderness.

“Right,” the doctor said, paling a bit beneath Noah’s glare. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

As we left the doctor’s office with an appointment set for two weeks from now, Noah’s arm was wrapped protectively around my waist. His jaw was set hard as he opened the car door for me, but his eyes were gentle, worried.

So different. He was so different now.

Our contract had evolved into something more passionate, more intimate lately. We were having sex more than once a day, sometimes stolen moments in his office or hurried encounters in the shower.

It was almost like we were newlyweds again, unable to keep our hands off each other. The way Noah looked at me now, with hunger and adoration in his eyes, made my skin tingle with anticipation. I tried to tell myself it was just hormones, just the pregnancy making me crave his touch.

But deep down, I knew it was more than that.

Noah had... changed lately. Glimmers of his old self, the boy I had fallen in love with as a teenager, kept slipping through the icy facade he usually wore.

He smiled more often, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made my heart skip a beat. He laughed more readily, the sound rich and warm. He flirted with me shamelessly, his eyes twinkling with a roguish charm I thought he had lost long ago.

I found myself wondering where this version of him had been throughout our entire marriage. I had missed this Noah, the one who looked at me like I was the only woman in the world.

And as soon as I had gotten him back, we would be divorcing.

…

“Hannah…”

Noah’s lips left trails of blazing embers across my back, his hands roaming my spine and hips delicately, reverently, and yet with a fire that spoke of a deep and primal hunger.

As we reached our peak together, I arched my back for deeper access, my cheek pressed into the pillow. The sound of our mingled cries filled the room, our bodies trembling against each other.

But even as my body shuddered with release and he slumped into a sweaty, panting heap on top of me, I could sense that Noah’s mind was elsewhere.

Once we had both stopped throbbing, he rolled off me and walked into the bathroom, leaving the door cracked. I lay there for a moment on my belly, catching my breath, the warm summer breeze blowing across my sweat-covered flesh, before I rolled onto my back and sat up.

“Are you alright?” I called out, my voice still husky.

There was a pause before Noah’s voice drifted back to me. “I’m worried,” he admitted softly. “About the baby. And you.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that.

When he came out of the bathroom, fully nude, his face was drawn with concern. My heart stuttered at the sight of him, vulnerable and open in a way he rarely allowed himself to be. The moonlight streaming through the window cast shadows across his muscled form, highlighting the tension in his shoulders.

Without thinking, I got up and went to him, cupping his face in my hands. His stubble rasped against my palms as I tugged his tall frame closer, causing him to hunch a bit to meet my gaze.

“It’s going to be okay,” I promised, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Our baby will be fine.”

Noah’s hands came up to hold my wrists, his eyes closing as he pressed his forehead against mine. The heat of his body enveloped me, comforting and familiar. Suddenly, he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Hannah, I…” He swallowed hard, seeming to struggle with something he wanted to say.

I was reminded of that night when I had told him about WhiteRabbit—I still hadn’t forgotten it, nearly two months later. He had stopped by the door and had said those same two words, but then his voice had trailed off and he had left.

“What’s on your mind?” I asked softly, my thumbs stroking his cheekbones.

His mouth opened and closed a couple of times. But then he shook his head and pulled back, brushing past me. The loss of his warmth left me feeling suddenly cold and bereft despite the mid-summer heat blowing in through the open window.

“It’s late,” he said, his voice suddenly gruff. “Let’s get to sleep.”

I watched him climb into bed, a sense of disappointment settling in my chest. For a moment, I thought he might open up to me, might let me in completely. But the walls were back up, and I was left wondering what he had been about to say.

…

Two weeks passed in a blur.

The night before the procedure, I found myself sitting at my vanity, brushing out my hair before bed. The repetitive motion was soothing, helping to calm my frayed nerves.

Noah lay in bed behind me, the soft glow of his phone illuminating his face. I could see his reflection in the mirror, his brow furrowed in concentration as he scrolled through something on the screen.

We hadn’t had sex tonight, both of us too preoccupied with thoughts of tomorrow’s appointment. The tension in the room was palpable, neither of us even in much of a mood to speak.

I was… terrified. Not just for the pain, but for my baby. I hoped that everything would be okay.

Suddenly, Noah’s phone buzzed loudly, breaking the silence. I watched in the mirror as he read what appeared to be an email, his expression darkening with each passing second.

“Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

I turned to face him, my brush forgotten in my hand. “What is it?”

Noah looked up at me. The light from his phone cast harsh shadows across his face, making him look older and more tired than usual.

“I can’t come with you tomorrow, Hannah. I’m sorry.”