His Secret [Completed]

Chapter Thirty-Five

"Brooke!" He barked into the silent apartment to get the attention of the woman he'd grown to despise over the past year.

Brooke emerged from the library wearing a low cut shirt, exposing the tops of her breasts. "Yes, my love?" She walked closer to him and around the desk to where he was sitting. She placed her hands onto the mahogany and pushed herself up, crossing one long tanned leg over the other.

"It has been two hours since you started making dinner, where the fuck is it?" He scooted his chair to the left, moving away from her. She uncrossed her legs and then crossed them the other way so that her warm skin was touching his arm.

Noah rolled his eyes in disgust. "I only want to make the best for the man I love," she whispered and leant down, kissing him just below his ear, her kisses then trailed down his jaw until they were uncomfortably close to his mouth. His mind was telling him to push her away, to run in the other direction but his body was beginning to betray him as his eyes closed and he pictured Sophia's lips on his.

"Get on with it then!" He finally shouted. Noah had told her more than enough times to stop with the affectionate names. He hated them coming from her mouth. The pet name my love was the worst of all. He could cope with honey and baby but he drew the line when it came to the word love. He didn't love her, not anymore. He had loved her once, but it was a long time ago, and he felt sick to his stomach thinking about that time. Brooke had been playing him and he was too in love to see her for who she was. He was captivated by the same long legs that were on full show, he was captivated by her beautiful soft skin, her enchanting eyes, auburn hair and even her down to earth personality. But that had been a lie, a tactic of deception, and Noah had fallen for it. She'd only wanted one thing, and it wasn't him.

Sometimes he wondered if she did really love him, whether she'd fallen for him through all of the deception and manipulation, but then he'd realise how absurd that was and wiped the thought from his mind completely. There was no way a woman as evil and manipulative as Brooke would have the capacity to love, she cared about one person and one person only; she only cared about herself. And the reason she was with Noah to begin with was to feed that self-love.

Twenty minutes later, the sound of Brooke's heels clicking on the hardwood floor closed in on the study and Noah braced himself for yet another argument. She carried a large tray with a bowl in the centre. To the left was a salt and pepper shaker and to the right was a glass filled about halfway with red wine. Brooke placed the tray onto the desk and took a step backwards, seemingly proud of herself. He picked up the spoon and swirled the chunks around in the water. "It took you two hours to make a fucking soup?"

"That's the best soup you're ever going to have, baby." She strutted out of the room, smirking. He hated to admit it to himself but she was right, the soup was delicious and he wanted more once he'd cleared his first bowl.

A few minutes later he called Brooke into the study again. "We leave tomorrow, early. Make sure you have everything packed. I'm not going to wait around for you." She nodded quickly as she always did to anything he said and scurried out of the room to pack her bags. A moment later, she entered again and asked if he wanted her to pack his bags. Noah was hesitant but agreed nonetheless, yet knew he would have to double-check she'd packed the essentials he needed.

At eleven-thirty, he'd finished his work and decided to head to bed, but on the walk to his bedroom, he felt the agonising memories flood in of Sophia. It happened most nights. Noah remembered each night before she headed to bed, Sophia would wish him a good sleep. There wasn't a single day she hadn't done so since living with him. Regardless of whether they'd had a small disagreement or not, the ritual and routine would stay the same. He remembered watching her disappear into her dimly lit room, wearing a grey dressing gown and a pair of worn slippers, before closing the door gently. The same door that was now open widely as if beckoning him inside.