Dark Revenge Of A Jilted Bride: Till Life Do Us Part!-Chapter 60: Hangout IV

"Gianna! We have been looking for you..."

Gianna listened with a thin smile as Athena barreled into her, arms wrapping tight, looking both relieved and sad at the same time.

Gianna welcomed the embrace, allowed herself to lean into it for a second longer than necessary, even as her eyes lifted past Athena’s shoulder and landed on Noah.

He stood a short distance away, exactly where she had told him to stop, leaning against the sleek line of his car with the lazy ease of someone entirely comfortable in his own skin, unbothered by the curious glances her friends were throwing at him.

She had texted him in haste, impulsively, not expecting him to come in record time. She had thought—assumed, really—that her friends would already be away from the club’s premises when he arrived.

It would have made the move quieter. Seamless. Less dramatic.

Nevertheless...

"Sorry..." she murmured when Athena finally loosened her grip enough to let her breathe. "I didn’t want the questions..."

Her voice was soft, apologetic without sounding guilty. And that was exactly why she hadn’t chosen to retire to the Thornes’ mansion either. Questions lived there. Questions and looks that demanded answers.

"Questions?" Athena echoed gently. "The discussion wouldn’t have happened until you wanted it to."

Gianna nodded slowly, eyes dropping for a brief moment before lifting again. "I have to go."

She watched Athena’s gaze drift, assess, linger briefly on Noah in a way Gianna knew all too well. Athena was cataloguing him the same way she catalogued everything—strength, intent, danger, capability.

Gianna wondered what conclusions her friend was drawing, then stopped wondering altogether.

She was leaving with Noah tonight. Best not to get ideas.

"He looks capable," Athena muttered under her breath, not quite softly enough.

Gianna thought the same.

Noah wore black—shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms, fabric clinging in a way that suggested muscle without ostentation, black pants cut clean and tailored.

He looked capable all right. That, and hot.

The parking lot lights cast a muted sheen over the polished car beside him, reflections sliding lazily across the metal.

He pushed off the car when he saw her watching, posture unhurried, eyes sharp and attentive despite the relaxed slant of his stance.

"Take care of yourself still," Athena said, hands resting briefly on Gianna’s arms. "And don’t do what you will regret in the morning."

Gianna nodded again, not trusting herself to make promises she wasn’t sure she could keep.

She wished her friends goodnight, offered nods and murmured farewells. She acknowledged the guys too—except Zane.

He stood frozen, staring like he couldn’t quite reconcile what he was seeing, like reality had shifted and left him behind.

She didn’t linger, however. She strolled to Noah.

"Hey, beauty..." he muttered, low but loud enough for the group to hear.

Areso barely held back a chuckle, hand fluttering toward her mouth in open delight.

"Hey..." Gianna replied, equally quiet, equally unbothered.

Noah opened the door with a gentlemanly flourish that felt half sincere, half amused performance.

She slid into the seat smoothly, catching Chelsea’s low whistle from behind her.

Oh well. She could deal with her friends in the morning.

"What the hell?"

Zane’s voice cut through the night, unrestrained, as the taillights of the car disappeared down the road. "How could you let her enter Noah’s car this late at night?"

Athena didn’t even turn to answer him. She was already walking toward her own car, keys in hand, beckoning Ewan with a tilt of her head.

Ewan paused long enough to tap Zane’s shoulder lightly, sympathy and warning mixed in the gesture. "Good luck," he said quietly, before strolling after his wife.

The other girls didn’t look at him at all. They filed into the car they had come with. Spider followed them, seeing as he stayed at the Thornes’ mansion too, leaving Aiden and Sandro standing with Zane beneath the streetlights.

Zane turned to them, agitation rolling off him in restless waves, needing—desperately—for them to see his point of view.

Aiden shook his head, calm where Zane was anything but. "Gianna is an adult," he said evenly. "And Noah is an eligible bachelor. What did you expect us to do—hold her back from seeing him?"

Of course, Zane thought bitterly. Of course that was what he expected. But even in his own head the thought sounded unhinged, unreasonable, and he hated that realization.

He hated that he was beginning to sound crazed, that he could feel it himself. It only made him angrier. What was wrong with him?

He followed Sandro meekly to their car, the silence between them thick with things unsaid. As they drove, his mind betrayed him, conjuring images of Gianna and Noah too easily—her laughter, her smile, the possibility of her softness offered to someone else.

The thoughts made him restless. Made him furious with himself. It was a vicious cycle.

Meanwhile, in Noah’s car, Gianna sat quiet, gaze unfocused, thoughts drifting in directions she didn’t quite want to follow.

Noah watched her intermittently, eyes flicking toward her at red lights, at slow bends in the road, curiosity simmering beneath restraint.

What could possibly have wound her up this badly?

What had made her text him this late at night, asking him to come get her, to pull her free from a group that represented the elite of the state?

Friendships men in business warred over, negotiated for, paid dearly to be near—handed to her on a platter of gold.

He knew everyone there, including the president’s aide. Influential power players. Everyone except the two younger fellows he hadn’t seen before.

He wanted to ask questions.He didn’t. He knew better. This wasn’t the time.

They pulled up to a skyscraper of apartments, glass and steel rising into the night, lights glowing like a constellation. Gianna stirred, surprise flickering across her face.

"You live here?" she asked.

Noah nodded easily. "Not the Thornes’ mansion," he said, almost apologetic. "But I promise it’s good."

Gianna smiled then—her first real smile since entering his car—small but genuine. She said nothing as she unbuckled her seat belt. She had asked because she knew the building. Had lived in it, once. It belonged to her best friend.

She didn’t say that either. It wasn’t necessary.

She followed Noah inside, surprise deepening when the elevator stopped just below Athena’s old apartment—the one Aiden lived in now. Nostalgia brushed her as she stepped into a space crafted almost identically to the one upstairs. Same layout. Same quiet elegance.

"I’m working on building my own house," Noah said, tossing his keys aside. "But this will do."

She nodded, observing the details, the careful choices that spoke of permanence. He was setting roots here. He really was back in the city to stay.

He showed her the room she would stay in for the night, movements precise, considerate, pointing out the facilities without lingering. He handed her a polo and sweats.

"Freshen up," he said. "Meet me in the dining room when you’re ready."

Then he left her to be.

A gentleman, she thought, undressing. She had half expected him to go for the kill immediately.

In the bathroom, steam curling around her, Gianna leaned against the sink, breathing in slowly. Thoughts tumbled—of Tony, of Zane’s words, of the way the past kept surfacing when she least expected it.

She steeled herself, tucked the hurt away with practiced efficiency. She would deal with it. Later.

For now, she let the water wash over her skin, grounding herself in the present.

Moments later, she left the bathroom slowly, towel-dried skin warm, hair damp and combed back with her fingers.

Noah’s clothes hung on her two minutes later—his polo loose across her shoulders, the hem brushing her thighs, the sweats cinched at her waist and pooling slightly at her ankles.

The fabric smelled faintly of him, clean and understated, not overpowering, just present enough to notice. She was... comfortable with it.

She paused in front of the mirror. For a moment, she simply looked.

Not at the clothes, not really, but at herself wearing them. The reflection felt strange—too intimate, too close to something she hadn’t planned on examining tonight.

She turned slightly, assessing, then scoffed under her breath, shaking her head once as if to chase the thought away.

A knock sounded at the door then.

She stilled.

"Gianna," Noah’s voice came through, unhurried. "Dinner is ready. I hope you are hungry."

She didn’t open the door, nor did she answer. Instead, she moved farther into the room, sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping softly beneath her weight.

Her gaze drifted around the room slowly—the clean lines, the muted colors, the work of arts on the walls. She exhaled slowly. Should she have called Noah? Was this arrangement too soon?

So far he has been a gentleman, but one can never tell with this gender...

Outside the door, Noah waited without pushing, knowing she was awake. "Take your time," he said finally. "I’ll be in the dining room."