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Noah Carter had a girl best friend. They were so inseparable they'd share a single blanket on movie nights and finish each other's milkshakes without a second thought. I asked him to create some space. He cut me off, his tone laced with irritation. "If anything was ever going to happen between Hannah and me, it would have happened years ago. Can't you just have a little faith in me?" Fine. I went out and got myself a guy best friend. The next time Noah stayed out until dawn with Hannah Miller, my response was utterly composed. He stumbled through the door around lunchtime, carrying a box from Honeydew Bakery. When his eyes met mine, he actually offered an unsolicited explanation, which was a rarity for him. "The whole crew hadn't hung out in ages, I had one too many, so we just got a couple of rooms at a hotel downtown. But it wasn't anything, I slept on the couch, I promise." He put deliberate emphasis on that last part. The previous time this scenario played out, it had sparked a colossal argument. I'd accused him of having no concept of appropriate boundaries for a married man and insisted on a face-to-face with Hannah. She was his childhood friend, the type with a boisterous, 'one-of-the-guys' personality who thought nothing of plopping down on any available lap, laughing uproariously, or taking a swig straight from someone else's beer bottle. At first, Noah attempted to reason with me, his patience wearing thin with each repetition. Eventually, he'd had enough and delivered the classic line, "If it was meant to be, it would have been. Long before you came along." The slam of the front door echoed his finality. The most infuriating part? His friends actually tried to smooth things over by saying, "Hannah's like family. We've known her since she was in pigtails. That's just Hannah. Noah thinks of her as a little sister." She's twenty-five. What kind of 'little sister' is that? I reached my limit. I told him if he couldn't learn where to draw the line, I wanted a divorce. After that, Noah did make a visible effort to keep Hannah at arm's length for a while. But the consequence was Hannah seizing every public gathering to make thinly-veiled, sarcastic remarks aimed at me. "Content now? I'm all the way over here by the wall." "Maybe you should skip the next bar, Noah. I'd hate to cause any… tension." "Wow, Noah. Who's calling the shots these days? Don't worry, I'll keep my distance. Cross my heart." She'd say these things right in front of me, casting a thick, awkward pall over the entire group every single time. It wasn't long before I became known in our entire social circle as the insecure, jealous, and utterly unreasonable wife. Around that same period, the warmth between Noah and me evaporated, replaced by a chilly formality. I shook off the memory and glanced at the bakery box in Noah's hand. It contained pastries I once adored, but now the sight of them turned my stomach. Noah noticed my indifference. He set the box on the kitchen island, closed the distance, and pulled me into an embrace, his voice dropping into that coaxing, honeyed tone he used when seeking forgiveness. "Liv. That indie film you've been talking about for weeks? I cleared my schedule. Let's go catch a matinee. I heard the reviews are fantastic." That film was one I'd been eagerly anticipating for months. I'd asked Noah to see it with me on opening night. He told me he was swamped with a client deadline. A few days later, I saw Hannah's social media post—a picture of two crumpled movie stubs. His face wasn't in the frame, but the hand holding one ticket was unmistakable—the familiar shape of his fingers, the prominent knuckles, and the glint of his platinum wedding band right there on his ring finger. I caught a subtle scent of jasmine and cedarwood clinging to Noah's shirt, Hannah's signature perfume, and disentangled myself from his arms, my face blank. "No, thank you," I stated, my voice devoid of inflection. I turned back to zipping up my carry-on suitcase. "Olivia Carter." Noah's voice hardened with impatience. He grabbed my forearm to halt my movements. "Are we really doing this again? The dramatic suitcase packing? I told you. There is nothing going on with Hannah." "I know," I said, calmly extracting my arm from his grip. "You're just friends." That seemed to give him pause. His expression tightened momentarily before he dropped his hand, running it through his hair in frustration. "Then what's with the ice queen routine?" he demanded. "I have a business trip," I explained evenly. Noah's frown deepened. He studied my face for a long moment, as if searching for cracks in a facade, for the hidden anger he expected. But he found nothing. My demeanor was simply… placid. Because the truth was, I genuinely didn't care anymore. He could go to the movies with whomever he pleased, disappear for nights on end, share inside jokes—it all registered the same to me now: a distant, irrelevant noise. Chapter 2 I thought my calmness would have soothed him. It did the exact opposite. Noah grew even more furious, as if he was utterly certain I was orchestrating some complex psychological game. Desperate to prove a point, he snatched his phone and began feverishly searching for showtimes to that film. I watched him swipe and tap, his agitation mounting with each passing second. Finally, I couldn't hold back and murmured, "That movie left theaters weeks ago." Noah's thumb stilled on the screen. In that frozen moment, I saw a whirlwind of emotions flash through his eyes. A thick, oppressive silence descended between us. The takeout he'd brought sat forgotten on the table, growing cold. I knelt, slid the final items into my suitcase, and closed the zipper with a definitive sound. I felt completely hollow. After that day, Noah became unexpectedly attentive. While I was away on my trip, he kept messaging, asking for my return flight details. I gave them to him. The day I landed, I exited the arrivals hall at Pinecrest Regional Airport and immediately saw his car—a sleek black Porsche Cayenne idling at the curb. He got out as soon as he spotted me, strode over, and took my suitcase as if it were the most routine gesture. But when I followed him to the passenger side, I saw Hannah already seated there. She had one leg crossed over the other, her arm dangling casually out the open window. She beamed a saccharine smile at me. "Hey, Olivia! Hope you don't mind me hitching a ride. I'll swap seats with you in a jiffy." Her tone was light and teasing, but she made no actual move to unbuckle her seatbelt. Noah finished stowing my luggage in the trunk and came back to find me rooted to the spot. He sounded vaguely uneasy. "She was in the area. Needed a lift. You know she gets motion sickness, so... yeah. Just for the drive." We'd had arguments before about Hannah always claiming the seat beside him whenever we carpooled. But before I could even form a response, Hannah leaned further out the window, her eyes sparkling with faux-innocence, and chimed in. "Lucky Noah was free, right? I'd have been totally stranded. You have no idea the nightmare it is getting out of my neighborhood, Liv. Seriously. It's all in the group chat if you want proof." She was referring to their private chat with all the childhood friends. A group from which I was conspicuously excluded. "Besides," Hannah continued, playfully aiming a pretend punch at Noah's shoulder before snatching her hand back dramatically and shooting me a wide-eyed, 'oops' look. "If Noah ditched me? Oh, I'd be speed-dialing his mom so fast." She let her arm hover near him for a beat too long before recoiling as if scalded. "Sorry! Old habits, Olivia. Didn't mean a thing by it." Ever since my major confrontation with Noah, Hannah had shifted her tactics. She'd gone from being blatantly, thoughtlessly touchy-feely with him to being theatrically cautious... yet still touchy-feely. The entire performance was engineered to paint me as the irrational, jealous shrew who forced this awkward dynamic. But if she was genuinely trying to maintain boundaries, why was she still pulling all-nighters with the group and going on what were essentially one-on-one outings with him just weeks later? The deliberate provocation was crystal clear in her gaze. That kind of petty manipulation would have ignited my temper in the past. Not anymore. I couldn't summon the energy to play along. As Noah started to tell Hannah to move to the back, I simply shook my head and reached for the rear door handle myself. "It's fine," I said, my voice flat. "I actually have a friend who needs a ride too. He can sit back here with me." "A friend? What friend?" Noah didn't have to wait long for his answer. I heard my name called from across the pickup lane. When I turned, I saw Noah's expression shift immediately. A man with a strong build and a confident stride, dressed in smart casual wear and looking effortlessly handsome, was walking briskly toward us, pulling a carry-on suitcase. He stopped beside me and launched into a good-natured gripe. "Seriously, Olivia? You just vanished on me. I look up from checking my bag and you're gone." He reached out and took my hand in his, his grip warm and firm. "I'm a stranger in this town. You're officially my guide." 💗💗 Click to Read on CH3 👉👉

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💗💗 Click to Read on CH3 👉👉