She should Train herself

CHAPTER 11: SHE SHOULD TRAIN HERSELF.

NOAH'S POV 

The sound of Marianne’s heels clicking against the polished marble floor grates against my ears, a sharp reminder of her presence. I don’t need to turn around to know she’s behind me as her smell of perfume never seems to change. It is her signature mode of appearance. 

She didn't leave with the dignitaries who came that morning so I guessed correctly that she would come find me instead. 

Her gaze pierces into my back like a predator assessing its prey. I sigh, placing my whiskey glass on the counter, and bracing myself for the inevitable confrontation.

“Noah,” she calls, her voice laced with its usual saccharine sweetness, but I know better than to be deceived. I turn to face her, my expression is as impassive as ever.

“What do you want, Marianne?” My tone is calm but laced with warning.

She had displayed one of the skills that she is good at that morning. I expected it to happen and when it did, it was simply none of my business to interfere with.

She tilts her head, feigning innocence. “I just wanted to check in on you.” Her eyes flicker with something more—a hunger, a need for reassurance.

I take a measured sip of my drink before responding. “There’s nothing to check on.”

She steps closer, placing her manicured hand on the edge of my desk. “I am wondering, Noah. About you and that girl.” she decides to cut to the chase. 

She doesn’t need to say Rachel’s name for me to know who she’s referring to. Her eyes narrow, scrutinizing me for any hint of emotion. “What exactly is your relationship with her? Why did you not tell me that she works for you?”

   "And kindly remind me why that is necessary for you?"

   "What do you mean by that? Do you not see how rude she was to me that day? I didn't even know that she is a lowly servant. She was so relaxed in YOUR house and was even speaking to you as if she were your mother. What exactly is going on?"

I lean back against the counter, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. “Nothing that concerns you.”

Marianne stiffens, but she quickly recovers. “Nothing?” She lets out a light chuckle. “Noah, you don’t just take in random women and let them live under your roof. I get that you are still a bachelor and that you need to satisfy your sexual needs. I have seen you do that multiple times, and I am fine with anyone as long as you continue to maintain your distance from them. But keeping her in your house? Do you perhaps like her?”

My drink almost fell off my hand as I shot her a glare. 

  "Your wish isn't for me to fulfill and also, I am not desperate for women. She isn't my type."

“She needed money for her father’s surgery and came to me for assistance. She was helpless so I decided to be a nice boss. I helped her.” My voice remains detached. “But it came with a condition—she serves me in return for the money.”

A slow smile spreads across her lips, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. “So, that’s all? She is simply a servant?" she probes, a glimmer of triumph in her tone.

“That’s all.”

She exhales in relief and, emboldened by my words, reaches for me, her arms attempting to wrap around me in a hug. But I step back, putting deliberate distance between us. Her smile falters, replaced by an irritated frown.

“Noah…” she starts, confusion creeping into her voice.

“Just one more thing. From now on,” I say, my voice cool and firm, “I need you to quit acting like there’s something between us.”

Her brows knit together, and a flash of anger crosses her features. “What do you mean? There is something between us, Noah..."

   "There isn't. Do not complicate things for yourself."

   "You’re just using me, aren’t you?” she spits, her voice dripping with accusation. “For your ambitions, your connections—”

A dry chuckle escapes my lips as I cut her off. “And aren’t you doing the same?” I challenge, meeting her gaze head-on. “I know you, Marianne. You’re far from being in love with me like you claim, so let’s not pretend otherwise.”

Her eyes widen slightly, momentarily thrown off by my bluntness. But she quickly masks her shock with an exaggerated scoff. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” she snaps, her voice trembling between indignation and desperation. “You think I don’t love you? You think I would have done everything that I did simply because I am toying with your feelings?" 

No, she doesn't. Nobody ever does - they are lying that they do, but at the end of the day, nobody fucking cares. I am just a tool, a step they can mount on to achieve their fucking selfish ambitions.

I don’t respond. I don’t need to. The silence speaks louder than words.

She reaches for my arm, but I pull away once more, stepping past her without a second glance. “Don’t waste your time, Marianne.”

Her pleading voice follows me, but I don’t stop. Some battles aren’t worth fighting.

I need to clear my mind. I say to myself as I make my way out of the hotel.

.

.

.

. 

The bar is dimly lit a welcomed contrast to the suffocating brightness of my hotel. The scent of alcohol and cigarette smoke lingers in the air, blending with the low hum of chatter and the occasional burst of laughter. I find him exactly where I expect him to be—seated in our usual booth, a glass of bourbon in hand, exuding his effortless charm and cocky demeanor.

Liam smirks when he sees me, setting down his drink. “Well, well, look who finally decided to show up. I thought you were not going to make it,”

I slide into the seat across from him, signaling the bartender for a drink. “Didn’t feel like dealing with my usual headaches.”

“Ah,” he muses, taking a sip. “By headaches, do you mean work or women?”

I shoot him a look, and he chuckles. “Right. Both.”

We talk business for a while, his insights sharp as always, but it doesn’t take long before he steers the conversation elsewhere. “So,” he drawls, “are your parents aware that you’re married now? Damn, I could not even get you a wedding gift.”

My grip tightens slightly around my glass, but my face remains impassive. “You don't need to. There is nothing special about it. They are also not aware yet.”

He raises an eyebrow. “And when were you planning to drop that bomb?”

I exhale, leaning back against the booth. “When the time is right. I won't have to be the one to drop the bomb, the universe will do that on my behalf when the time is right.”

Liam snorts. “And by ‘the right time,’ you mean when you can’t avoid it anymore.”

I don’t deny it.

He swirls his drink before bringing it to his lips. “And Rachel?”

“What about her?”

He gives me a knowing look. “Do you think she’s capable of being your wife when the storm comes down? When your family gets involved? I ran a background check on her - she looks timid and not pretty much who I would have expected someone like you to go after.”

My jaw tightens slightly. I haven’t allowed myself to think that far ahead.

“I didn't go after her, she was brought to me." I correct him.

   "As regards her capability, when that time comes, I’ll know.”

Liam clicks his tongue. “That’s not an answer.”

I take a slow sip of my drink. “If she can’t face it, she should train herself to do so.” I set my glass down, meeting his gaze. “I didn’t give out that sum of money for free.”

Liam lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Cold as ever.”

I don’t respond.

I really do not care about her or what she will go through. I needed a scapegoat for my plans and I found one. By the time I am done, I will divorce her then she can go her way.