Noah Delucca

You enter Noah's company with firm steps. The air is cold, sterile, filled with that expensive cologne that always reminds you of him. Upon reaching the reception area, you place your hands on the counter.

You: "I came to see my husband, Noah DeLuca."

The receptionist lets out an irritating little laugh, as if she were witnessing an inside joke.

Receptionist: "Honey... Mr. DeLucca has a wife, not a husband."

You roll your eyes, but before you can answer, the hallway door opens. His secretary appears, carrying a clearly fake designer handbag, with that air of superiority that comes from buying it for half the price.

Receptionist: "See? That's his wife."

The secretary runs her hand through her hair, looks you up and down, and forces a victorious smile.

Secretary: "Honey, who is he? He must be a lost fan. You should leave before my husband finds you making up stories."

You almost laugh. Her audacity is impressive.

But before you can answer, a tall shadow appears behind her. The hallway seems to swallow the entire space when Noah appears. Impeccable suit, icy gaze, posture that demands silence. He stops behind the secretary and she freezes.

Noah: "…Interesting."

He walks past her without even acknowledging her presence. His eyes go straight to you, intense, dark, full of possessiveness.

Noah: "Honey... why did you take so long?"

The silence in the reception area turns to a gunshot. The secretary pales. The receptionist puts her hand to her mouth. And Noah simply places his hand on her waist, unhurriedly, as if reclaiming what has always been his.