The penthouse was covered in chilly, grey light the following morning, which exactly reflected my attitude. Absently swirling a cup of long-gone cold coffee, I sat at the kitchen island. Noah was sitting on the edge of the couch across the room, reading through his phone, his look as inscrutable as always.
The gala's events stayed between us, an unsaid tension neither of us felt ready to confront. Last night Noah had been my guardian, filling in with a force and clarity I hadn't anticipated—but that didn't mean I trusted him.
"Do you constantly have to manage everything alone?" I asked abruptly, the question flying before I could stop it.
His eyes keen and evaluating turned up to meet me. " What's that supposed to mean?"
Frustration boiling to the surface, I shouted, "It means you keep everything bottled up, like the world will collapse if you let anyone in."
He dropped his phone and leant forward slightly. And what precisely, Isla, do you believe you should know?
"Anything," I responded, my voice becoming higher. "You keep me in the dark about everything, but you behave as if I should be the ideal wife for this farce. Your family, your history, Selene—"
His jaw closed at her name, a flash of something black over his face. "This isn't about Selene."
"Isn't it?," I said, rising now. "Because it seems like you are not sharing with me a lot."
Rising to his full height, he was suddenly rather commanding. "You shouldn't know everything, Isla."
His words pierced through the air like a slap, with a finality.
Noah's phone buzzed on the counter, relieving some of the suspense before I could reply. He looked at the television, his face turning to something colder, tougher.
He responded sharply, leaving the room before I could counter, "I have to take this."
I watched him walk, the hurt of his remarks still raw in my memory. He was excluding me once again and withdrawing behind the precisely constructed walls.
But I was not going to let it go this time.
An hour later I was looking for a notepad I had left behind earlier in the penthouse office. Every surface in the room was perfectly polished. But as I dug through the desk drawers, I came across a basic manila folder with my name clearly on the tab.
My hand hung over the folder as my heart thumped agonisingly in my chest. I paused.
Are you truly that curious?
The response was in fact yes. I opened it, my breath stuttering as I went over the contents. Pictures of me abound, some current and others from years past. Copies of my professional portfolio, financial papers, even specifics about my split with Markus.
"What the fuck?" I spoke softly, my hands shaking.
"Discover something fascinating?"
Noah's voice cut through the air, scaring me so hard I dropped the folder. Though his face was blank, he stood at the doorway and exuded obvious stress.
I staggered to my feet, the rage in my breast overwhelming whatever shame I had for spying. "Care to clarify this?" I insisted, pointing to the spilt contents of the folder.
Inside Noah closed the door behind him. "It is not what you believe."
Then tell me what it is, I said, my voice quivering. "Based on where I am now, it seems as though you have been monitoring me."
"I was safeguarding my interests," he answered coolly, but his voice was tinged with anxiety.
"Your interests?" Again, incredulous. "You had me looked at before we ever got together?"
Indeed, he said, his voice calm but frigid. "I had to know who I was dealing with."
The revelation threw a tsunami of betrayal over me. " Noah, I am not some acquisition. You cannot just analyse my life as if it were part of your commercial portfolio.
"I wasn't dissecting anything," he fired back, his composure flaying somewhat. "I was ensuring you posed no threat."
"A threat?," I grimaced angrily. "To what exactly? Your planet? Your treasured picture?
"To myself," he whispered gently, his voice freezing me cold.
As I gazed at him, the weight of his words sank in and my rage came out. I saw something weak, almost frail beneath the mask he constantly wore for the first time.
" What do you mean?" I inquired gently.
Noah paused, his eyes falling to the floor then back to face me once again. "Isla, I had burn experience from past. Those I assumed I could rely on turned out to have own goals. I was not going to let it repeat.
His comments touched something deep within me and sent up a mixture of irritation and sympathy. "Thus, what? Before I had an opportunity to prove myself, you chose to shape the story?
He nodded with a sad look. Absolutely.
Trying to sort everything, I shook my head. "Do you even know how screwed that is?"
"probably," he replied, a weak, devoid grin pulling at his lips.
The room became quiet as we looked at one another, the weight of unsaid facts hanging squarely between us.
Finally, my voice gentle but strong, "I'm not the enemy, Noah," I said. "You need not keep me at arm's distance."
His look softened momentarily before the barriers went back up. "Isla, you don't grasp." You cannot know certain things; they are not known.
Then tell me, I advised.
"I can't," he answered, his voice full of calm certainty.
I sunk back into the chair as Noah exited the room, wondering a lot. While his armor's flaws were widening, so were the truths he kept from sharing.
I fixated on the spilt contents of the folder, a single idea repeating in my head: what is Noah Blackwood so determined to hide?