Chapter 85

Hannah

I kicked off my heels with more force than what was necessary. Flopping down on the edge of the massive bed, I angrily ripped the glittering chandelier earrings from my ears and tossed them haphazardly aside.

My chest heaved with ragged breaths, my fingers trembling as I worked to take down the ornate updo that my hair was in. But I fumbled, unable to work out the bobby pins. That damned image was too seared into my mind to be able to focus on anything else.

Noah and Zoe, swaying together on the dance floor. Her head tilted towards his, her fingers trailing along the nape of his neck. The way his broad palm had splayed across her lower back—

A mirthless laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep in my throat, the sound harsh and bitter in the stillness of the bedroom. As if seeing them together wasn’t torture enough, I still had Noah’s idiotic words echoing endlessly on a loop in my mind.

“Shouldn’t you only be interested in sex when you’re fertile?”

My fingers curled into fists around the duvet, my nails digging into my palms hard enough to sting. The humiliation, the sheer indignity of it all made heat prickle along the back of my neck.

Is that what he had believed all this time? That I was nothing more than a broodmare to be utilized during an ovulation window every month? All thanks to the words of some moronic doctor?

I shuddered, swiping angrily at the dampness clinging to my lashes. Goddess, how I wished I could march right down to the clinic and give that idiot doctor a piece of my mind.

Of course, that might have proven difficult—a quick glance at my phone confirmed that the doctor had recently taken a leave of absence. My fingers tightened even harder into a fist, my teeth grinding.

How convenient. Disappearing right when I had a bone to pick with him.

Suddenly, a sharp rap at the door sent me jolting upright, barely stifling a groan.

“Go away,” I called without glancing back over my shoulder. I didn’t want to see anyone right now, regardless of whoever it was.

“Hannah,” Noah’s voice rang out as the door creaked open despite my demand. “We need to talk.”

Grinding my teeth, I shot him a withering glare over one shoulder. “Oh, so now you want to talk? Couldn’t be bothered earlier when you were too busy whirling your ex around the dance floor?”

Instantly, Noah’s expression clouded over. I would have been satisfied that my words had hurt him, had I not been so hurt myself.

“She just needed to discuss something,” he muttered, his voice clipped. “About Drake and the Luna Queen—”

“What, is that the excuse you’re going with?” I scoffed, surging to my feet and rounding on him. “Don’t bother. I don’t want to hear it.”

Noah’s jaw ticked with obvious frustration as he puffed out his chest. “Would you just listen for one damn minute? This isn’t what you think.”

“Oh, isn’t it?” I folded my arms across my chest, my chin jutting out. Part of me didn’t even care about Zoe at that moment, if I was being honest. I only cared about the lies he had allowed himself to believe—the lies that had not only hurt me but our marriage—all these years.

“Go on, then. Talk.” With a huff, I sat back down on the bed and crossed one leg over the other. “But I’ll warn you, if any portion of this involves more bullshit pseudoscience about how I can only get aroused during my ovulation—”

“Alright, alright,” Noah cut me off with a curt wave of his hand. “I know it was idiotic.”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping almost imperceptibly as he dragged his free hand over his face. For the briefest moment, that egotistical mask of his slipped to reveal something that almost resembled regret. Just seeing that sliver of humanity made my heart twist a little.

“Look. I should not have blindly accepted the doctor’s words,” he finally admitted, his gaze meeting mine once more. “It seems he was… misinformed.”

I blinked, temporarily taken aback by his admission of fault. The great Alpha Noah, admitting he was wrong? Perhaps Hell had frozen over after all.

“You don’t say,” I said flatly when I found my voice, falling back on the protective barrier of sarcasm rather than betraying how his admission had actually softened me a bit.

“Forgive me for being a fool, Hannah. I’m sorry. But I only ever wanted to protect you. He told me that it would be painful for you, and…”

Noah’s words trailed off as he dropped his gaze. I opened my mouth to retort but closed it again, unsure of what to say other than: “I… see.”

Noah took a hesitant step closer. It was only now that I could pick up the scent of his cologne and could see the way his tie was loosened around his neck, the first button of his shirt undone to reveal a taut vein beneath.

“That’s why I only had intimacy with you once a month,” he said softly. “Because I didn’t want to hurt you. And…” He paused, clenching his jaw and looking away. “That’s why I always left the house at night.”

I furrowed my brow. “Explain.”

The faintest pink color tinged Noah’s cheeks as he spoke. “I know you don’t want to believe me, but… I’m attracted to your body,” he muttered. “I get more turned on by you than you realize. Even just being in the same house would make me feel feral, so I slept in my office.”

He paused, then laughed wryly. “My own body paid the price for that. Sleeping on a couch for years isn’t exactly the best thing for a man’s back.”

“You couldn’t even manage to stay in a spare room here?” I scoffed.

Noah shook his head. “I couldn’t. I didn’t want to risk losing control and trying to have sex with you when it hurt you.”

For a moment, I was flattered, and maybe even elated—my husband had, after all, admitted that he could barely control himself around my body.

But that was just it: my body. Not me. I was still incompatible with him. Compatible sexually, perhaps, but completely incompatible in every other way. A piece of meat.

“Well then.” I stood, crossing the room if only to put some distance between us as I got to work taking my hair down in front of the vanity mirror. “I don’t want you to hurt your precious back. So you should stay here.”

Noah’s eyes widened fractionally as they flickered to our bed—no, my bed. “You mean—”

“Not in my bed,” I said flatly, tossing a bobby pin down on the vanity. “Use one of the spare rooms. I’ll lock my door at night.”

For a moment, Noah was silent. I chanced a glance at him in the mirror, only to see him clenching his jaw harder than ever as he stared at the bed canopy. I thought he might refuse, that he might insist on sleeping in our marriage bed—and if I was being honest, maybe a part of me did want that.

Maybe a part of me got off on the idea of him finally acting like a husband, finally putting his foot down and saying, “No, I’m sleeping in our bed… And I’m making love with you, because I’m your husband and I want you.”

But of course he didn’t say any of that, because that was only a fantasy. He simply nodded, muttered, “Goodnight, then,” and slipped out of the room.

I watched the door click shut behind him, and only then did I finally let out the breath I had been holding. Only then did I allow myself to show the fact that my hands were trembling.

Huffing, I crossed over to the door and slid the lock over. I nodded to myself and turned on my heel to finish getting ready for bed.

But then I froze, chewing on my lower lip. No. Maybe… Just maybe…

I turned and unlocked the door again.

Just in case…