Chapter 6 - The Glass Mansion
Noah’s primary residence was a sweeping, ultra-modern estate in Greenwich, Connecticut, built from poured concrete, dark timber, and massive panels of floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking twenty private acres of forest.
We arrived at eleven o'clock that night. The house was dead quiet, illuminated only by low floor lighting that cast geometric shadows across polished concrete floors.
A middle-aged housekeeper in a neat navy uniform met us in the marble foyer.
“Good evening, Mr. Ward,” she said politely, before bowing her head toward me. “Good evening, Mrs. Ward. I have prepared the master suite.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Gable,” Noah said, removing his suit jacket and handing it to her. “That will be all for tonight.”
Mrs. Gable bowed again and retreated down the quiet hallway.
I stood in the center of the soaring foyer, still holding the train of my wedding dress. The reality of what I had done finally descended upon me like a heavy velvet curtain. I was in a strange, monumental house, married to a man I had met less than twelve hours ago.
Noah walked over to a floating glass bar, poured two fingers of amber bourbon into a crystal glass, and turned back to face me.
“The guest suite on the second floor has been fully prepared for you,” Noah said, his tone businesslike and entirely devoid of pressure. “It has its own bathroom, dressing room, and private terrace. My quarters are in the east wing. You will have absolute privacy.”
I looked at him, surprised. “We aren't sharing a room?”
Noah took a slow sip of his bourbon. “Our agreement is a public contract, Claire. I have no intention of forcing myself into your personal space. You have had a traumatic day. You need rest, not complications.”
I felt a sudden, unexpected warmth bloom in my chest—a quiet respect for a man who possessed unlimited power yet chose restraint.
“Thank you, Noah,” I said softly.
“Tomorrow morning at eight, my legal team will arrive to finalize the trust documents for your business,” Noah continued, walking toward the grand floating staircase. “And at ten, we have our first public obligation.”
“What obligation?”
Noah stopped on the third step, looking down at me over his shoulder.
“Olivia called my assistant twenty minutes ago,” Noah said, his eyes cold. “Sophie has been discharged from the hospital. Olivia wants to meet with us tomorrow morning to discuss the 'terms' of our separation.”
My eyes narrowed. “She wants money.”
“She wants everything she thinks she lost when I walked out of that hospital,” Noah said flatly. “She believes that because Ethan is Sophie’s father, she can leverage the child to claim a settlement from my estate.”
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“She’s using her own daughter as a pawn,” I said, disgust rising in my throat.
“She always has,” Noah said simply. “Get some sleep, Claire. Tomorrow, we show her what happens when she plays against the wrong team.”
