Chapter 104

“We’re the sentimental type,” Noah interjected smoothly, his warm palm covering my hand. He shot me a subtle, almost warning, look. He was up to something. I was sure of it.

If Emily noticed anything amiss, she didn't show it. She simply nodded, pen poised over her notepad, as Noah delivered a slick, clearly rehearsed speech about the importance of small things in love. Bullshit, I thought. Seriously, what's his angle? This isn't even our anniversary; it's a random Saturday.

Still, I calmly observed him, admittedly impressed by his deep voice, effortless confidence, and charisma. This was the Noah I vividly remembered from our early days—the born leader who commanded any room.

Had he always been this much of a liar? Even back when he made pinky promises? Were those rehearsed, too?

Before I could dwell on it, Emily cleared her throat, pulling me from my reverie. “Lovely sentiment, Alpha. And you, Luna Hannah?” she asked, smiling pleasantly. “Might we have a few words from you as well?”

“Excellent,” Emily said, turning a page. “I must ask—how old were you when you and the Alpha first met, Luna Hannah? Before your bond, I mean. There's been such secrecy surrounding your relationship. How many years ago was it?”

I began to answer, “I was se—” but Noah interrupted smoothly. “Hannah was fifteen when we met,” he said, patting my hand. “I was nearly eighteen. We would have been high school sweethearts, had we been from the same pack.”

My head snapped around; my heart pounded. That wasn't right. I had been seventeen, only a few months younger than Noah.

As Noah continued his tale of young love, my world felt askew. Another lie, another subtle alteration… for what? His gain? His narrative?

Or had he truly forgotten our past? It hit me then: he’d mixed me up with Zoe. He'd conflated their story with ours. How could he?

“Noah,” I interrupted, facing him, “you’re wrong. I was seventeen when we met; I’m only a few months younger than you.”

A tense silence fell. Emily's pen stilled, Noah's jaw dropped, and the room felt utterly silent, though it wasn't. I stared at the man who called himself my husband but couldn't remember my age. He stared back, unblinking.

Finally, Emily chuckled nervously. “Fifteen and seventeen,” she said, sipping her drink. “Those are very different numbers.”

“Yes, they are,” I said, maintaining a neutral expression. I managed a thin smile. “Ah, well. Perhaps he’s just confused me with someone else.”

Emily laughed at my barb, oblivious to the tension. Noah remained silent. Good, I thought, plastering on a fake smile and continuing the interview as if nothing had happened. Serves him right.

Not that it made it hurt any less.