The Billionaire’s Fight For Redemption (Noah and Sierra) novel Chapter 211

Chapter 211

His eyes are distant. Like he’s here physically but mentally trapped somewhere far away. Somewhere where Chloe is still alive.

I swallow hard, my gaze sweeping the room again. The room It isn’t just frozen in time. It’s a shrine.

A graveyard of memories he refuses to bury.

I can’t stop the gasp that escapes my lips as everything inside me becomes unbearably heavy.

It rips out of me before I can clamp a hand over my mouth but the damage is done.

Noah’s head snaps toward the door, eyes narrowing, his whole body going still.

Shit. Panic hits me and my body moves before my brain does. I bolt. Not to my room, like someone with common sense. No. My genius instinct is to sprint downstairs.

By the time I reach the kitchen, my lungs burn. My heart is pounding so violently, it feels like it’s about to punch out of my lungs.

I brace both hands on the counter, dragging in shaky breaths, while trying to convince myself he didn’t see me.

“Has anyone ever told you it’s rude to spy on others?”

I whirl around so fast I almost snap my own neck.

He stands in the doorway, hands on his hips, expression unreadable but eyes locked on me with a sharp, unsettling clarity.

My stomach drops, and I swallow hard. “I—I wasn’t spying.”

I should have run to my room instead of the one place he would obviously check.

Noah raises a brow. “Really? You’re going to go with that?”

I expected him to be completely pissed off. To yell at me and say a couple of mean things like he usually does, but

I get nothing. He looks calm, even though his gaze is indifferent.

“I came down for a cup of cocoa since I couldn’t sleep,” I mutter, dropping my gaze. “I swear I didn’t see anything.”

He lets out a breath. “You’ve always been a terrible liar, Sierra.”

I don’t know what I expected next, but it definitely wasn’t Noah turning away from me, opening the fridge.

Pulling out a carton of milk.

I watch in stunned silence as he grabs a small pot, pours the milk, and sets it on the stove. He moves like this is normal. Like making midnight cocoa for the woman carrying his child is something he does every night.

I lean against the counter, staring at him like he’s grown a second head.

“What… what are you doing?” I ask quietly.

He doesn’t look at me. “Making cocoa.”

“You didn’t have to do that. I could have done it myself,” I murmur, my eyes flicking from the steaming milk to

his face.

1/2

Chapter 211

+25 Bonus

“It’s no problem,” he answers quietly, still not looking at me. “I couldn’t sleep either, so maybe a cup will help

me too.”

Silence settles between us. We both watch the pot. When it’s ready, he pours two cups, adds cocoa, then sugar.

“You remember,” I say softly, my breath catching as I stare down at the cup warming my palms.

I didn’t have to tell him how many spoonfuls of sugar to put in my cup. It was like muscle memory. I thought those small things were insignificant to him. Thought that he’d forgotten. Thought that he never paid attention back then, but I guess he did.

“Of course I do,” he says, finally meeting my gaze.

Something in my chest twists. “But… but-”

He lets a moment pass before he speaks again. “I tried forgetting. Buried everything about you in the deepest, darkest parts of my soul, but lately I’ve been remembering. Random things about you keep surfacing. And I won’t lie to you, Sierra, I’ve been struggling with it.”

I stare at him. Stare at those stormy grey eyes that I used to love so much. There is no bitterness in them, just the truth. Just a man struggling and fighting with our past.

“The room contains Chloe’s things,” I say, trying to change the topic, even though I know the truth.

“I couldn’t get rid of her things,” he says quietly, his eyes fixed on his cup. I thought if I did, I’d be letting her go. And I didn’t want to let her go.”

The admission lands like a soft blow. I understand him more than he knows. After all, I did the same after he left me. I hold on to that sweatshirt he left at my place. I kept his watch in a drawer. I cling to every little piece of him: his letters, his hoodie, every stupid small gift… because letting go felt like I was ripping out a part of me? 1