I didn't get time to cross the street.
I had only taken a few shaky steps when the restaurant door burst open again behind me. A hand shot out, gripping my wrist so tightly the bones ground together. I gasped, whirling around to face a furious, wine-stained Arron.
"Why did you leave?"
he demanded, his voice a low, venomous hiss, all traces of his earlier charm completely gone. His eyes were wild, his expensive shirt ruined.
"You think you can just humiliate me and walk away?"
I tried to pull my arm back, but his grip was like iron. Across the street, I saw Noah push off his car, his body coiling like a spring. The air crackled with imminent violence.
I shoved him away with a surge of angry strength, finally breaking his painful grip.
"You deserve that, jerk!" I snapped, my voice trembling not with fear, but with righteous fury. A wave of clarity washed over me, and with it, a profound gratitude for Bella. "If I hadn't had Bella, I would be completely broken thanks to you. But she warned me. She warned me exactly how boys like you operate. You're just a pathetic, predictable—"
I was cut off as Arron was suddenly wrenched away from me. One moment he was looming over me, the next he was stumbling back from the force of a brutal punch that connected with his jaw with a sickening crack.
I turned, startled, and there he was.
Noah wasn't across the street anymore. He was right by my side, his chest heaving, his knuckles already red. He had moved faster than I could even process. He stepped between Arron and me, a solid, unbreakable wall of protective fury.
"Don't you ever touch her again,"
Noah growled, his voice so low and dangerous it made the air feel cold.
Noah didn't say a word. His silence was more terrifying than any shout. Still fuming, the energy rolling off him in hot, angry waves, he took my hand. His grip was tight, possessive, but carefully controlled, not painful, just absolute. He was a dam holding back a flood.
He led me, or rather, guided me with an unyielding purpose, straight to his car. He opened the passenger door, his jaw clenched so tight I thought it might crack. He waited, a silent, immovable command, until I slid inside.
Only then did he move, closing the door with a firm, final thud that sealed us in a tense, quiet bubble. He walked around the hood, slid into the driver's seat, and finally, the engine roared to life. The car pulled away from the curb, leaving the ruins of my failed date and his shattered ego behind us. The only sound was the low growl of the engine and the deafening weight of everything left unsaid.
I slumped in the passenger seat, the adrenaline finally gone, leaving me completely hollowed out. The emotional whiplash of the night—the hope, the humiliation, the fury—had drained me entirely, leaving behind only a deep, aching sadness.
Noah hadn't spoken a single word. The car was filled with the tense, thick silence of his contained rage and my utter exhaustion. When I opened my mouth to try and speak, to explain or apologize, nothing came out. My throat was too tight with unshed tears and a profound weariness.
He didn't look at me. His focus was locked on the road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. He drove with a grim, single-minded purpose, taking me straight to my house without a single word exchanged.
He pulled up to the curb, the engine idling. The silence stretched, a chasm between us filled with everything that had happened and everything that was yet to be said. He had rescued me, defended me, and brought me home, all without making a sound. It was both a comfort and its own kind of punishment.
The car stopped in front of my house. The engine idled, a low, impatient rumble. He was waiting for me to leave, to let this silent, painful night end.
But I couldn't. I was in no mood for more ignorance, more silence. I turned to him in the dark cabin, my voice a fragile, broken thing.
"Noah…" I started, the question I needed to ask catching in my throat. "Why… Ar—"
I couldn't finish his name. A sob tore through me, violent and unstoppable, shattering the last of my composure. I buried my face in my hands, the weight of the betrayal, the humiliation, and his silent, painful presence finally crushing me.
He stayed perfectly still, his gaze fixed straight ahead through the windshield, not even sparing me a glance. My sob echoed in the silent car, a raw, ugly sound that seemed to emphasize the chasm between us.
His refusal to look at me, to even acknowledge my breakdown, was a fresh, sharp pain that cut deeper than Arron's betrayal. It felt like a punishment. He had been my protector, my avenger, but now, in my most vulnerable moment, he felt a million miles away. The silence wasn't just empty; it was full of his judgment and my shame.
The sound of my crying seemed to be the one thing he couldn't bear. His rigid posture finally broke. He let out a sharp, frustrated breath, his hands clenching on the steering wheel before he slammed his palm against it.
The sudden noise made me jump, my sobs catching in my throat.
He finally turned to me, and the raw anguish in his eyes stole the air from my lungs. It wasn't anger. It was pain.
"Do you have any idea," he said, his voice a ragged, broken whisper, "what it did to me? Watching you walk in there? Knowing what he was, and having to stand by and do nothing because you had to see it for yourself?"
A single, furious tear escaped his eye, tracing a path down his cheek. He swiped at it violently, as if ashamed.
"Why don't you understand?" he demanded, his voice dropping to a guttural, possessive growl that vibrated through the very seats. "That you're mine. Only mine."