Chapter 91
Noah’s POV:
The quiet hum of the hotel air conditioner filled the room as I stared at my phone. Another call unanswered. I sighed, leaning back on the plush chair in frustration. “Come on, Mirabelle.” I muttered under my breath. “Pick up the damn phone.”
It has been over 30 fucking hours since we last spoke, and the growing silence between us made me irritated. I had called her more times than I cared to count-twenty, maybe even thirty. Each unanswered ring felt like another stone in my chest, dragging me down.
My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Startled, I straightened up. “Who is it?”
“It’s me, Natasha.” Her familiar voice called from the other side.
Natasha? What the hell was she doing here so late? I crossed the room quickly and opened the door. Natasha stood there, looking unusually grim. Her expression made my stomach twist.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She stepped inside, glancing around nervously. “You need to see this, Noah.” She handed me a tablet, which was already pulled up to a news page.
“What is it?” I demanded, taking the device.
“I was scrolling through the CBS News feed,” Natasha began, his voice low and hesitant. “And I came across… this.”
As I looked down at the screen, my blood ran cold. There it was-a headline that might as well have been a slap in my face: “Businesswoman Mirabelle Sylvester Under Investigation for Fraud and Corporate Mismanagement.”
“What the hell…” I whispered. My hands clenched around the tablet as I scanned the article. They were accusing her of embezzlement, mismanagement of funds, and even hinted at bribery allegations. It was a hot topic-a brutal takedown of her career and reputation.
“I don’t understand.” I said, pacing the room. “How could this happen? This is insane.”
Natasha closed the door behind him and stood silently, giving me space to process.
“They claim that there is evidence.” She said, pulling up another page on the phone. “Anonymous sources from within her companies. It’s bad, Noah.”
My mind raced. Anonymous sources? Someone was orchestrating this. Someone who wanted her destroyed. My first suspect was him- Ken. His name loomed large in my mind like a storm cloud. But then I stopped myself. No, this felt bigger than him.
“This doesn’t make any sense.” I said, pacing faster. “Mirabelle would never… She’s one of the most ethical people I know.”
Natasha hesitated. “Are you sure about that?”
I whipped around, glaring at her. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Smiling, she raised her hands in surrender. “I’m not saying it’s true, Noah. I’m just saying this kind of smear campaign doesn’t come out of nowhere. Someone has dirt, or at least they think they do.”
The thought made my stomach churn. If Mirabelle had told me, I could’ve helped her. But instead, she’d shut me out completely. My fingers itched to call her again, but I knew it would just go straight to voicemail, like all the others.
“I need answers.” I said aloud, more to myself than to Natasha.
“What do you want to do, Noan?” She asked, stepping closer.
“I’m flying back.”
Natasha looked startled. “Now? But your meeting with Mr Ali-”
“Screw the meeting!” I snapped. “Mirabelle is being dragged through the mud, and I’m sitting here doing nothing? No. I need to be there. Cancel everything.”
“Hold, let me make a few calls.” Natasha said, already pulling out her phone to make the arrangements.
I grabbed my suitcase from the closet and started tossing clothes into it. My mind was racing. What will I say to her? Why did she keep everything away from me?
I paused, clutching the edge of the suitcase. Memories of our last fight flooded my mind-her teary eyes, the way she’d looked at me like I was going away forever. I promised her that I wouldn’t hurt , that I’d always have her back. And now… this.
She couldn’t even trust me with her problems.
Natasha cleared her throat behind me. “I think you should try speaking to her first.”
“She is not picking my damn call.” I said, zipping up my bag.
As I made my way to the door, she stopped me. “Noah?”
“What?”
“Don’t act too hasty, speak with Mirabelle first. Send her a text message or something, let her know that you are coming back. She will surely call you.” She suggested.
I hesitated, gripping the handle of my suitcase tightly. “Do you think she’ll talk to me?”
“I don’t know.” She admitted. “But you’ll have to try.”
I took a few steps back before turning around and dropping the suitcase onto the bed. “Maybe it would be nice to hear from her first.” I said, picking up my phone from the side table.
“I’ll give you some privacy. I need to go pick up Mr. Ali from the airport.” Natasha said as she stepped out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
Taking a deep breath, I unlocked my phone, scrolled to Mirabelle’s name in my contacts, and tapped on the message icon. I began typing: “I’m on my way to the airport. I just saw the news.”
I wasn’t sure if Natasha’s suggestion would actually work, but part of me hoped it would. Deep down, I wanted to believe that the reason Mirabelle didn’t tell me about all this was because she was scared-worried I’d get distracted from work or overwhelmed.
But another part of me feared that: She probably felt like she couldn’t trust me at such a critical moment.
The loud sound of my phone ringing broke me out of my thoughts. Glancing at the screen, I saw Mirabelle’s name flash across the caller ID, and a smile tugged at my lips.
Without hesitation, I answered the call.
“Mirabelle?” I called softly.
There was a pause, then her voice came through the line, muffled and weary. “Hey?”
“It’s me.” I said. “Noah.”
“I know.” She replied. “Why the hell are you in a haste to return?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I saw the news.” I said, leaning forward. “Mirabelle, what’s going on?”
She sighed heavily. “I don’t want to talk about it, so can we not talk about it. Also, you don’t have to worry about coming back, I will have everything sorted out myself.” She said coldly.
“Well, too bad,” I pressed. “Because this is serious, and I’m not ending this call or calling off my plan on returning to America until you tell me everything.”
I heard her sigh, and for a moment, I thought she might cry again. Instead she continued. “You won’t understand.” She said quietly.
“Try me.” I said, my voice softer now.
She didn’t reply, but the sound in her voice told me everything I needed to know. She was scared.
“Mirabelle.” I said, stepping closer. “I’m here for you. Whatever this is, we’ll figure it out together.”
“Please.” I said. “Let me help you.”
For a moment, she just stood there, staring at the floor. Then, finally, she nodded.
“All right.” She whispered. “I’ll tell you everything.”