Alpha's Regret After Her Rebirth

Hannah

The director was a kind, rosy-cheeked woman in her mid-fifties who introduced herself as Margaret. She beamed at Noah and me as she led the way inside the orphanage, chattering about the facility's history and her dedication to providing the children with a warm,This belongs © NôvelDra/ma.Org.

loving home.

I only half-listened, to be honest, too busy sneaking sidelong glances at Noah out of the corner of my eye. As promised, the slightly mangled paper crown was still perched on top of his head, although he kept reaching up to adjust it self-consciously every few minutes. Unable to help myself, I bit the inside of my cheek to stifle a grin. He looked utterly mortified beneath that silly hat, his shoulders hunched and his gaze fixed firmly on the floor in front of him.

It was... well, kind of cute, in an odd way. Like a surly teenager accompanying his parents on a dreaded family outing.

Only instead of his mother, I was his wife. I wondered, as we wandered the orphanage, if I had ever even seen him be silly during our years of marriage. I certainly couldn't remember a time. What was marriage if we couldn't be silly together?

After a few minutes of touring the common areas and playrooms, the director paused to turn and face us with a bright smile. "And this next area is-oh!"

My stomach chose that precise moment to let out a long, pitiful grumble, the noisy rumble echoing loudly in the tiled hallway. 1 flushed a deep shade of red, quickly moving my hand to cover my stomach. Unfortunately, after my bout of morning sickness, I hadn't had the time or the stomach to eat the breakfast my handmaid had brought me.

The director, however, seemed utterly unbothered; perhaps spending the better part of your day with kids does that to you.

"It sounds like someone is in need of a meal," the director said with a warm smile. "It's about lunchtime: would you like me to have the kitchen prepare you something, Luna Hannah?"

"Oh no, there's no need-" I started, keenly aware of Noah's suddenly sharp gaze boring into the side of my head.

"But

you

have to eat, Luna Hannah!" one of the little girls, an adorable six-year-old with bright red pigtails and a button nose, piped up as she began tugging insistently at my skirt. "Grownups gotta eat too!"

A chorus of childish agreement rose up all around me as the rest of the kids chimed in, their pleas swiftly becoming too impassioned to wave off. It seemed as though they were hungry as well-or at least, the promise of food made them think they were hungry.

I shot the director a helpless look, but she simply laughed and held up her hands in a placating gesture. "Well, it seems you've been overruled. I'll have the kitchen staff prepare some-"

Suddenly, I had an idea. "Actually," I cut her off firmly, raising my hand, "if it's not too much trouble, would you mind if I handled the cooking myself? I like to cook."

Dead silence answered me. The director gaped at me, clearly stunned, while Noah let out a loud bark of Chapter 0066

laughter from behind me. I whirled on him, bristling at the mocking gleam in his eyes. "What's so funny, dear?" I asked, plastering a fake smile on my face.

Noah smirked at me, that infuriatingly smug look I knew so well settling onto his chiseled features. What's with you and cooking lately?" he teased, then leaned over to address the director. "Hannah rarely cooks."

My nostrils flared with indignation at Noah's tone; he was clearly trying to keep his tone light as though he were merely teasing me, but I knew better. Still, I kept my smile on my face as I turned back to face the director. "It's true; I don't cook often," I admitted. "But lately, I've been developing more of an interest in it. And I'd love to prepare something for the children."

From behind me, I could feel Noah's gaze boring into me again. But the director simply nodded and shot both of us a warm smile.

"I think it sounds fun," she said. "And it'll be an excellent chance to show you our cooking facilities."

With that, the director turned and made her way down the hall. I followed, casting one last glance at Noah out of the corner of my eye. He had fallen silent.

The kitchen was spacious yet cozy at the same time, with clean granite countertops and vintage, but functional, appliances. I immediately felt at home there, like I had just stepped into my grandmother's kitchen.

"Well then," I said, clapping my hands together and turning to face the children. "How does everyone like spaghetti?"

Before long, the scent of aromatic pasta sauce and freshly baked bread was wafting through the kitchen, practically making my mouth water, I chopped vegetables on a cutting board, delegating tasks to the workers around me.

Noah, of course, did not lift a finger to help. But he made sure to stay right in the doorway, watching with an unreadable expression on his face.

I chose to ignore him.

By the time the director poked her head in to check on our progress, I already had the pasta sauce simmering on the stove and the bread proofing on the counter. When her jaw dropped at the sight of the neat rows of unbaked loaves, I couldn't help but shoot Noah a smug little smile of my own.

"See? I told you. I've been reading a lot of recipes lately"

To my surprise, Noah simply shrugged one shoulder, his eyes flickering almost begrudgingly toward the stove where the sauce was simmering. "I guess I stand corrected."

Pleased pride surged through me at his admission. Obviously, he was still far too full of pride and stubborn as hell to apologize... at least, not in front of anyone else.

It was less than an hour later when I strode into the cafeteria, Noah on my heels and a tray loaded with heaping bowls of pasta and several loaves of fresh bread balanced carefully in my hands.

The director ushered us to one of the long tables near the front, Noah and I settling in at the head while the rest of the seats rapidly filled up around us. I found myself flanked on either side by a gaggle of giggling little girls, all of them gazing up at me in open adoration. Digging into my own bowl, I couldn't help but glance over at Noah to gauge his reaction. He had already made a sizable dent in the food on his plate, shoveling forkfuls of pasta into his mouth like his life depended on it-not at all like the way he ate at the family banquet when Zoe did most of the cooking "Wow," I prompted, unable to hide my growing smirk. "It can't be that bad if you're eating so quickly."

Noah paused mid-bite, his cheeks coloring slightly as he caught me watching him. The children closest to

erupted into laughter, clearly picking up on my implied teasing.

US

For one heart-stopping moment, I wondered if he was going to come up with some new scathing retort, or maybe even get up and leave. But he didn't.

Instead, he simply sighed and gave a nod, stabbing another piece of pasta with his fork.

"Alright, I take back what I said," he conceded gruffly. "You are a good cook, Hannah."

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