Chapter 0298

Hannah

I found myself standing outside Noah’s office door. The sun had begun its nightly descent, the shadows in the hall lengthening. I hadn’t seen Noah all day; he had abruptly canceled our daily bonding time that morning, and I wondered if my locking the bedroom door last night, when I heard him standing outside, had anything to do with it.

Good. Maybe he was finally getting the hint.

My heart raced as I raised my hand to knock, hesitating before finally rapping my knuckles against the wood. The sound echoed in the empty hallway, making me flinch slightly.

“Come in,” Noah’s voice called from inside, muffled by the thick door.

I took a deep breath, steeled myself for the conversation ahead, then turned the handle and entered. Noah looked up from his desk, surprise flickering across his face. The sunlight streaming through the window behind him cast a golden glow around his silhouette, outlining his sharp jaw. Clearing my throat, I quickly looked away. No; now was not the time to be thinking about how handsome he looked.

“Hannah,” he said, setting down his pen. “Is everything alright?”

I nodded stiffly, hating the way my fingers nervously played with the hem of my shirt. Quickly, I clasped them behind my back and squared my shoulders.

“I just wanted to let you know that I intend to visit the Luna Council tomorrow for my trial. I wanted to know if I’m allowed to go…” I paused, a slight curl to my upper lip. “…despite being your prisoner.”

Noah’s expression shifted from surprise to exasperation. He sighed, rubbing his temples as he leaned back in his chair. “Of course you can go, Hannah. You’re not my prisoner. You can go anywhere you want.”

“Anywhere except home,” I replied bitterly, the words tasting like ash. Noah’s brow furrowed, his green eyes flashing with annoyance, then exhaustion. “This is your home.”

I shook my head, feeling a lump in my throat. “Not anymore.”

For a moment, I thought I saw sadness flicker across Noah’s stony face, but it was gone instantly, and I forcefully dismissed the notion. Even if he were sad, which I doubted, I didn’t care about his feelings. To me, he was nothing more than my captor.

“Thanks,” I said curtly, turning to leave.

But as I turned, Noah called out, “Hannah, wait.”

I paused, my hand on the doorknob. I debated leaving, but forced myself to wait and hear him out—without turning to look at him.

“Will you ever see me as anything but your jailer?” he asked, his voice surprisingly soft and pained.

My fingers tightened on the doorknob. He continued, “Even if I spend the rest of my life trying to become better, will you ever forgive me for denying the divorce? I’m sorry I locked you in your room. I was angry and scared that you would take my child from me.”

I turned slowly, my wide eyes meeting his. He was standing now, his fingers pressed against his desk. For a brief moment, I saw a flash of the boy Noah used to be: innocent, kind, and scared.

My heart ached as I remembered the person I had fallen in love with all those years ago—the boy who just needed a friend. I opened my mouth, ready to tell him that I might forgive him in time, that I was glad he finally wanted to work on our marriage.

But then, a thought struck me. I needed to know something first.

“Noah,” I said, taking a step forward, “do you remember the letters?”

He blinked, confused. “What?”

“The letters,” I pressed, taking another step closer to his desk. “Tell me you remember. Tell me you saved all the letters we sent during those two years we were apart.”