Chapter 0296
Hannah & Noah
Hannah’s POV
The next few days blurred into a series of awkward silences and forced interactions. Noah showed up every day, like clockwork, for our two-hour “bonding” sessions, seemingly unconcerned about missing work. I couldn’t decide if I liked it or hated it. On one hand, it was nice to have some company and to see him making an effort. On the other, it felt like a constant reminder of my trapped situation. Despite my last outburst, he still seemed convinced he could force me to stay married to him, or perhaps change my mind.
It wasn’t happening. I just needed some time to think and plan, and then I would get the hell out of here. I had been telling the truth that night after the nursery store; I had no intention of staying with him.
During these sessions, Noah tried various activities to engage me, as if that would somehow help. One day, while hiding in my room hoping he’d leave me alone, he burst in with a box and tossed it onto the floor beside the bed. “I thought we could work on this together,” he said, sitting cross-legged.
Slipping down from my bed, I eyed the box warily and picked it up, turning it over in my hands. “A… puzzle? Really?” He shrugged. “Why not? It might be… fun.” I snorted but sat down anyway, knowing he wouldn’t leave until the puzzle was finished—it was easier and faster if we both worked on it. As we sorted through the pieces, I couldn’t help but notice how careful he was not to touch my hand, how he seemed to be walking on eggshells around me. Good, I thought, suppressing a sneer. Keep your distance. I tried to pretend that the moments our hands almost touched but didn’t weren’t incredibly painful.
Another day, he suggested we cook dinner together. The kitchen felt too small with both of us in it, and I was hyper-aware of his presence as we chopped vegetables side by side. “How are you feeling?” he asked, not looking up from his work. “Any improvements with the morning sickness?” I shrugged. “I’m fine.” “That’s good,” he said, and I swore I could hear the relief in his voice.
These moments of apparent concern only confused me more. Was this the real Noah, or just another act? I was leaning toward the latter; he only “cared” about the morning sickness because it impacted the baby’s health. Nothing more. To him, I was just a prisoner, a broodmare carrying his heir. Not his wife. Not his mate.
One evening, I finally managed to escape for dinner with Viona. We met at our usual haunt, where we ordered too much food and settled into a corner booth. For the first time all week, I’d gotten out of my two-hour session with Noah—only because I’d lied and told him Viona had a personal emergency.
“I just can’t stand it,” I said, stabbing a little too forcefully at my salad. “He’s there every single day, trying to act like everything’s normal. Like he didn’t lock me in a room and threaten to keep me prisoner.”
Viona sighed, putting down her fork. “Hannah, don’t you think you should give Noah a chance? He seems to be really trying.”
My mouth dropped as I stared at her. “Give him a chance? After everything he’s done? You’re joking, right?”
“Look,” Viona said, sighing deeply. “There’s… something I need to tell you. Noah came to see me when… all this happened. He seemed… so heartbroken. I feel like he does genuinely want to make things right.”
I felt like I had been slapped. My fork fell back to my plate with a clatter. “He came to see you?” I breathed. She nodded. “When you were locked in your room. He came to me and asked about the pregnancy…”