Chapter 13

Hannah

Zoe's house was a mess. Stepping into the living room, I couldn't believe my eyes. What should have been a sleek, modern space was instead covered in unfolded laundry, dirty dishes, and used takeout containers. Surfaces overflowed with books, mail, and random clutter; several pairs of muddy shoes lay in a heap by the door.

"The kitchen is just through here," Noah said, seemingly unfazed. He led me through the living room and into what should have been a beautiful, spacious kitchen—but it was even worse than the living room. The smell of a full garbage can hit me immediately. Fruit flies buzzed around a bowl of fruit, and the sink was piled high with dirty dishes.

I scrunched my nose, setting the casserole dish down. How was this possible? Zoe had never seemed so messy. Maybe she'd become accustomed to servants while living with Drake. That had to be it. Surely the princess had forgotten how to manage without help.

Or…

My gaze swept the living room again, and I noticed something else: Adam's things—toys, school reports, drawings on the fridge, jars of dried Play-Doh, half-used crayons, overflowing backpacks, muddy overalls.

My heart twisted. Maybe I'd been too cruel. She was a mom, a single mom now. I pictured her scrambling to keep up with Adam, trying to keep him occupied and happy amidst the divorce. Late nights spent getting him to sleep, driving to school for conferences, too tired to cook, resorting to takeout. No one to help with the dishes, her feet too sore to stand at the sink. "I'll just do the dishes in the morning," she'd likely say, only to repeat the cycle.

For the first time, I felt true empathy for Zoe. This could be my life soon, with a newborn, though I'd have it easier returning to my pack as female Alpha. Here, in Nightcrest, Zoe was just a typical single mom, and I was a jackass making fun of her instead of offering help.

Snapping my gaze to Noah, I said, "We should clean up before she gets back."

He looked surprised. "Why? You don't have to—"

"If you were Zoe, would you want to come home to this?" I asked, gesturing around. "She's probably exhausted from being a single mom, and then add a burst appendix to it… It'll only take a little while if we work fast."

He paused, clearly still in shock, before nodding. "Alright, well… yeah, that's a good idea."

"I'll take care of the dishes and laundry," I said, pushing up my sleeves. "You take care of the garbage and vacuuming. Oh, and let's toss Adam's toys in that basket."

Soon, we were scurrying around, cleaning. Dishes were washed and put away, counters wiped, laundry started, floors vacuumed, toys picked up, and bathrooms cleaned. The cute house beneath the mess slowly reappeared. I wandered, picking up anything I missed. Pausing outside Zoe's bedroom, I took a deep breath before entering.

Like the rest of the house, her bedroom was a mess. Laundry lay strewn about, the bed unmade, the vanity cluttered. Sighing, I tidied, avoiding touching too much, focusing on trash and dirty laundry.

Making the bed, I paused. Both pillows showed dents—both had been used. I frowned, tugging up the sheets. Had Adam slept in Zoe's bed? He was a little kid, scared in a new house. Maybe… My eyes fell on the open nightstand drawer.

Glancing over my shoulder to ensure Noah wasn't watching, I carefully opened the drawer further. Zoe's journal stared up at me.

My fingers itched to open it, to read. Surely there was juicy information—perhaps even something about Noah. Oh, who was I kidding? Probably entire chapters about my husband; my name countless times.

Slowly, I reached for it, dying to see what was written. My pupils dilated. Then, I pulled my hand back as if burned. This was too far. I'd had many thoughts about Zoe and my husband, but I wasn't snooping in her journal. That was wrong.

Shuddering, I closed the drawer and finished making the bed, fluffing the pillows. I grabbed the laundry basket and turned toward the door. Then, I saw it: a comb on the dresser, a men's comb.

A men's comb with straight, dark hair. My breath caught. This wasn't Zoe's hair, Adam's, or Drake's—both had slightly curly hair. No, this hair was too familiar. This hair belonged to Noah.

Forgetting the laundry, I picked up the comb with shaking fingers. Yes, this was Noah's hair—dark brown, perfectly straight, not jet black like Drake's. My fingers curled around the comb, my eyes snapping up as my blood boiled.

So he had slept here. I looked at the pillows, wondering if he'd laid his head on one. Surely he had.

"Noah!" I growled, storming from the room with the comb. "What is this—"

My words died as I heard Zoe's voice. The front door shut; I saw Noah's back as he rushed to help her inside. My heart pounded. Panicking, I shoved the comb under the sofa just as Zoe and Noah walked in.

Chapter 133