The Billionaire’s Fight For Redemption (Noah and Sierra) novel Chapter 93

Chapter 93

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I rub at my face, trying to wipe the flour away, but it’s useless. The more I try, the worse it gets. The icing smears across my cheek, my fingers are sticky, and at some point, I just… give up.

So, I just stand there awkwardly frozen at the door, not sure what to do.

Noah’s eyes drag over me slowly, and the way he’s looking at me makes my skin prickle. It’s not like the angry stares I’ve seen before. It’s searching, as if he’s seeing me for the first time. Which is weird given he’s known me since I was eight. 2

The silence stretches. I shift from foot to foot, crossing my arms as if that’ll shield me from his stare.

Finally, I clear my throat. “Come in.”

He blinks, like I’ve just reminded him how to move. He steps inside, his shoes clicking against the floor. And almost immediately, laughter echoes from the kitchen, filling my house with warmth.

Noah follows the sound, his strides long and certain, while I trail a few steps behind.

When we step into the kitchen, I almost forget how to breathe.

The twins are still perched on the stools, giggling as they try to stack cookie cutters into a tower. The moment they see him, their faces light up.

“Daddy!” they shout in perfect unison.

Before Noah can even brace himself, they leap off the stools and run straight into his arms. Flour bursts into the air as they collide with him, tiny arms wrapping around his legs, his waist, wherever they can reach.

He doesn’t scold them. He doesn’t even flinch at the flour covering his expensive charcoal suit. Instead, he kneels, scooping both of them up in a single, strong embrace.

My chest tightens at the sight. This gentle Noah is a contrast to the version of him I’ve always known… but then again, he hates me, so I can’t really expect him to be gentle or warm with me.

“Aunt Sierra taught us how to bake!” Nova announces proudly. “And then we had a food fight, and now everyone’s covered in flour!”

The words hit me with a surprising warmth that blooms deep in my chest. Their voices carry so much affection. It’s like I’m not just some stranger they met twice, but someone who already means something to them.

It shouldn’t get to me like this, but it does.

Noah doesn’t respond right away. I can’t see his face from here, but the stiffness in his shoulders says enough. He’s not happy. In fact, if I were to guess, I’d say he’s downright pissed.

He pulls back just enough to look at them. “How did you even get here?”

Nolan’s chin tilts up with that quiet confidence only kids can pull off. “We knew you wouldn’t let us come, so we took matters into our own hands.”

“You mean you disobeyed me,” Noah says, voice low but sharp.

“You said you’d think about it,” Nova pipes in, unfazed. “But we know you daddy. That’s your way of saying no without saying no.” (1

I almost choke on a laugh. Even at their age, they’ve got him figured out.

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Chapter 93

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Realization dawns on me… so they asked him, and he said no. I’m not even surprised.

My legs suddenly feel tired, so I move past Noah and take a seat at the breakfast counter. When I glance back at him, I finally see his face. His jaw is clenched tight, the muscle twitching, anger simmering just beneath the

surface.

“How did you get her address?” he asks, his voice cutting through the air.

Nolan glances at his sister, then back at their dad, clearly debating whether to tell the truth. “We… might have asked Auntie Iris,” he admits finally. “But she didn’t know we were coming. We just told her we wanted to send Aunt Sierra some gifts.”

Noah’s nostrils flare, and I swear I hear him mutter something under his breath. He’s so red in the face, I can’t help thinking of those cartoons where they get so red and angry that steam comes out of their ears.

I fight for my life to keep myself from laughing at that absurd image.

“Alright, that’s it,” he says, standing. “Time to go.”

“No!” Nova stomps her little foot. “We’re waiting for the cookies!”

“And we have to help clean up,” Nolan adds quickly, ever the little man of principle. “We made a mess.”

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