Chapter 0292

Hannah

I stared at Noah, unsure of what to say. I had assumed he wouldn’t show up today, since I had carefully scheduled our meetings during his work hours, but it seemed I was mistaken. And now he wanted me to come up with something to do.

“We could go out to eat,” he suggested, counting off on his fingers. “Or watch movies. I’ll even take you shopping if it would make you happy. Anything to make you less stressed.”

I blinked, still trying to process the situation. The Noah I knew wouldn’t skip work for me, let alone offer to take me shopping. Something felt fishy about this whole situation. It was too… performative.

“I’d rather just stay home,” I said, secretly hoping he would be content to go to his study and leave me alone.

To my relief, Noah nodded. “Alright, if that’s what you want.” He turned and left the room without another word. Satisfied, I picked up my book and began to read again. Finally, some peace and quiet. I sank deeper into the couch, relishing the solitude. But my contentment was short-lived, because a few minutes later, Noah returned with a tray in his hands. “Healthy snacks and protein shakes,” he said, setting the tray down on the coffee table and turning to me. “Get up.”

“Why?”

“Please, Hannah.”

With a loud huff to show my disdain, I stood and watched as he spread a few blankets across the couch, plumped the pillows, then turned on the TV and navigated to a streaming platform.

“What are you doing?” I asked, peering at the tray of food: milkshakes, popcorn, fruit, carrots, and hummus.

“Sit,” was all he said as he handed me a milkshake. “I put protein powder and prenatal supplements in it.”

I obeyed, sitting beneath one of the blankets and nervously sipping the milkshake. It was delicious, of course, but it made me feel a bit like I was his broodmare again—being fattened up solely for the sake of producing a healthy heir. His heir. Not mine. I was just the prisoner who would be forced to carry it to term. The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth that overpowered the chocolatey sweetness of the drink.

“How is it?” he asked, plopping down next to me and flipping through the available movies.

I couldn’t help myself. “For a jail warden, you treat your prisoners pretty nicely.”

Noah’s expression tightened, but he didn’t stop searching for a movie. “Again, you’re not a prisoner. How many times do I have to say it?” He paused, flicking on some romantic comedy that I hadn’t seen in years, then kicked back and began snacking on some popcorn he had brought out.

I remained silent, sipping my milkshake, but my frustration grew despite his kindness. Once again, this felt too performative, too fake. He wasn’t doing this for me. He was just doing it so that I would gain some weight for our next appointment and nothing more. So he could look like the “doting Alpha” again.

After a few minutes, I couldn’t take it anymore. Seeing the couple on screen instantly fall in love in the midst of their coffee shop meet-cute was enough to drive me mad.

“This movie is boring,” I said. It was a lie, of course—I loved this movie—but I couldn’t bear to look at it. Without waiting for a response, I reached for the remote and shut off the TV, then made a show of shoving my half-finished milkshake away. “And this milkshake tastes like chalk.”

I hoped my bad attitude would push him away, but Noah seemed unperturbed. Without so much as batting an eye, he reached into a drawer and pulled out a deck of cards. “Okay. How about we play Go Fish?”

“I hate that game,” I said flatly, crossing my arms.

“Okay, how about Poker?” he suggested calmly, shuffling the cards.

“No.”

“Blackjack?”

“No.”

Suddenly, a mischievous glint appeared in his eye, one I hadn’t seen since the summer hunt. That felt so long ago now, even though it had only been two days. “Strip Poker?”

“No.”