Chapter 87

Noah strode from the conference room, his face stern, tugging at his suit cuffs. The meeting with foreign diplomats had been grueling, each movement meticulously calculated. Just another day for the Alpha, he mused, rolling his shoulders to relieve tension.

His phone chimed. A message from Scott; it seemed urgent. “Need to see you ASAP. Meet at your office?”

Noah's brow furrowed at the cryptic message, but he immediately replied affirmatively. If his Beta and half-brother required a personal meeting, the matter was undoubtedly sensitive.

Less than an hour later, Noah reached his office. Scott waited, rising as Noah approached.

"What's going on?" Noah asked, unlocking the door. "Is this related to the commerce situation we discussed last week? It was mentioned at my meeting."

Scott shook his head grimly, entering the office. "I wish it were that simple." He paused, displaying his phone. "Take a look at these."

Noah examined the high-resolution photographs. His eyes widened. A sleek black motorcycle idled at a curb; the rider's jacket and helmet, though concealing, clearly identified Drake. And intimately embracing the rider...was Hannah.

A muscle twitched in Noah's jaw as he viewed the images. Hannah's arms were wrapped tightly around Drake, her body pressed against his. Her breasts were against his back. Though her face was obscured by her helmet, their closeness spoke volumes. Several shots showed them at a scenic overlook; Hannah's helmet was off, her hand resting on Drake's shoulder.

"These were sent by a paparazzi agency," Scott explained. "Have they posted them yet?"

"No," Scott replied. "But they want a substantial sum for the entire set; otherwise, these pictures will hit the front pages, along with whatever narrative they concoct about Hannah and Drake."

Noah's stomach churned. He had warned Hannah. Goddess, Drake had likely planned this. He wanted to humiliate Noah. Noah wouldn't let that happen.

"How much do they want?" Noah asked, casually straightening his cufflinks and sitting at his desk.

Scott, surprised by Noah's calm acceptance, stated the amount: "A hefty sum. Six figures."

A harsh laugh escaped Noah, devoid of humor. "Fine. Get them on the line. Tell them I'll pay whatever they want for the entire set, no questions asked." His eyes narrowed. "Just keep this out of the public eye."

"You're sure?" Scott asked.

"Don't question me."

Scott left, contacting the agency. Noah, alone, slammed his hand on his desk. What were Hannah and Drake playing at? Their recklessness and disregard for Hannah's position were blatant. More than that, it stung his pride. He was her husband, yet she'd been so quick to become intimate with another man behind his back. It didn't matter that their relationship was strained and divorce was imminent. This was inexcusable. He needed to speak with Hannah immediately.

By the time Noah reached Hannah's office at the mansion—a small, chaotic room she used for reading, writing, and emails, lately increasingly for Luna duties—his anger had escalated to fury.

Without knocking, he entered, his gaze searching for his wife. Hannah sat at her desk, her chin resting on folded arms, her long chestnut hair cascading over scattered documents. She was asleep, her features relaxed and peaceful in the afternoon light.

Noah's steps slowed. Without her usual bitterness and condescension, Hannah looked innocent, youthful, and lovely—a stark contrast to her recent demeanor. She resembled the soft-hearted young woman he'd fallen for years ago. When had he last seen her sleeping? He couldn't recall the last time he'd spent the night with her.

No, he thought. This wasn't the time for sentimentality. He was supposed to be angry. Furious.

Shaking his head, he approached her, intending to shout. But his gaze fell upon the documents on her desk. Detailed plans for the upcoming Lunar Festival—impressive plans, he had to admit, no matter how much he tried to deny it.