Chapter 7

Noah stepped into the luxurious Monarch parked at the entrance of the Riverbend Grand Hotel, the heavy door closing with a muted thud that sealed out the city noise. He adjusted his cuffs, his expression cool and commanding. "Bring around the national car I purchased," Noah instructed his bodyguard. The request was a deliberate ruse. He had no intention of letting his new wife glimpse the extent of his wealth just yet. He had purchased the modest property at Briarwood and the inexpensive vehicle specifically to evaluate Chloe's true nature. As the car pulled into traffic, Noah leaned back, a sudden realization hitting him. He had an impressive memory for business figures and strategic data, but he possessed a habit of blocking out individuals he disliked. His wife fell firmly into that category. "What's the name of the missus again?" he asked aloud. The bodyguard glanced at him through the rearview mirror, his tone factual and slightly chiding. "The young missus is Chloe Hayes, twenty-five this year." "Sure. Got it," Noah replied, his voice nonchalant and dismissive. He didn't care for the details. Dorothy Hayes had been so relentless in her praise of the woman who had rescued her that Noah had finally succumbed to the pressure. Dorothy hadn't even returned the marriage license to him yet, having only discovered he had bought the Briarwood property after the papers were signed. The drive from the Riverbend Grand Hotel to the Briarwood neighborhood took exactly ten minutes. As the small convoy of luxury sedans reached the neighborhood entrance, the sleek cars halted. Noah stepped out of the Monarch and took the wheel of the national MPV. He drove the final stretch alone, navigating the modest streets until he reached the house. He parked and stepped out, expecting a quiet entry. Instead, his eyes fell on the doorstep. A pair of his slippers sat discarded outside the front door, lonely on the concrete. His anger, which had simmered since the wedding, surged back to the surface. He had initially felt a flicker of gratitude toward Chloe for helping his mother, but Dorothy's constant nagging had turned that spark into resentment. Seeing his belongings tossed out like trash solidified his suspicion. She was manipulative, trying to stake her claim or perhaps marking her territory in a way that insulted him. He had saved her contact information earlier that day, adding a sharp note about their spousal status to the entry, and he had already tried to call her on the way over. She hadn't picked up. Noah reached for the door handle and turned it. It didn't budge. He tried his key, but the deadbolt was firmly engaged from the inside. He was locked out. In his own house. The frustration boiled over. Noah hammered his fist against the wood and followed it with a sharp kick to the base of the door. He pulled out his phone, redialing her number with trembling fingers while simultaneously jarring the door with his shoulder. Inside the house, Chloe jolted awake. The thunderous banging and the vibration of the door frame echoed through the hallway. A notorious morning grump, her temper flared before her eyes were even fully open. She scrambled out of bed and marched to the door, throwing it open with a scowl. "Who is it?" she snapped, her voice thick with sleep and irritation. "Why are you knocking on my door when you should be sleeping?" She blinked, the hallway light spilling over the man standing on the porch. His face was a mask of cold fury. "Oh," Chloe stammered, her anger evaporating into a puddle of embarrassment. "It's you, Mr. Hayes." She hadn't checked her phone and had no idea he had been trying to reach her. Noah didn't wait for an invitation. He brushed past her into the foyer, his shoulder nearly clipping hers. He didn't say a word, but the chill radiating from him was palpable. Chloe watched his retreating back. She wasn't easily frightened by the prospect of intruders, having practiced self-defense for years, but the look in his eyes was unnerving. As he walked toward the living room, she stuck her tongue out at his back, a silent rebellion, before turning to secure the door once more. The neighbors hadn't stirred despite the commotion of Noah slamming the door. The street remained deathly quiet. Noah turned back to her, fixing her with a chilly, penetrating gaze that left him momentarily speechless. He seemed to be waiting for an explanation for the locked door and the slippers on the porch. "I returned home at midnight," Chloe explained, her tone apologetic but practical. "I figured you wouldn't return since you weren't here by then, so I locked the door." She gestured toward the porch where the slippers still sat. "I was home alone, and I thought it wise to leave your slippers by the door. If anyone sees a man's slippers outside, they'll know there's a man in the house and think twice about trying anything." It was a safety precaution she had used before, a simple way to ward off trouble. Noah didn't look impressed. He looked insulted. Chloe felt a twinge of regret. She probably should have called him to check his plans, but they barely knew each other. "I apologize, Mr. Hayes," she said, lowering her gaze. "I told you not to worry about me," Noah said, his voice firm and biting. "But this is my home. I'm not pleased that you locked me out." "I'm really sorry, Mr. Hayes. I'll make sure to call in advance next time to see if you're coming back," she promised, trying to offer a reassuring smile. "I won't lock the door if you plan to return." Noah's expression didn't soften. He was a man who took pride in his discipline, from his business dealings to the way he maintained his weight. He didn't like chaos, and he certainly didn't like being managed by a woman he had married out of obligation. "I'll let you know when I'm going on business trips," Noah established, his tone brook no argument. "I'll be home every day unless I—" He cut himself off, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her. "Don't call me. I'm a busy man and I simply don't have the time for your relentless calls." Chloe's shoulders slumped slightly. "Oh," she murmured, her voice soft and resigned. The silence between them grew heavy. Chloe looked at him, noting the tired lines around his eyes. She figured he might be feeling hungry; men like him often worked through dinner. "Mr. Hayes, would you like any supper?" she asked, trying to bridge the gap with kindness. "I don't typically snack at midnight," Noah replied, his voice factual and dismissive as he turned away. "It's not good for me." He began to move toward his room, leaving Chloe standing in the hallway. She stood there for a moment, watching him, before the reality of their living arrangement began to sink in. Noah stopped at the doorway of the bedroom and turned back, his eyes scanning her from head to toe. ════════════════════════════════════════