Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Kholod
Two in the afternoon. I glanced at my watch.
"Boss, the Eastern European arms dealer accepted our terms and ended the meeting early."
"Good." I kept it brief. "Cancel everything else today."
As our convoy pulled into the manor grounds, movement behind the greenhouse glass caught my eye. I stepped out and headed straight there. The moment I pushed open the door, warm air laced with tea fragrance enveloped me.
Sunlight streamed through the glass panels, casting dappled shadows across the floor. Noelle and Isabella Vance sat side by side on the sofa near the fireplace. Noelle held a thick fashion magazine while Isabella pointed excitedly at some page.
What surprised me most was Noelle—her head tilted slightly, lips curved in the kind of relaxed smile I'd never seen before.
My brow furrowed deeply. An inexplicable irritation churned in my chest. I'd never liked outsiders roaming freely through this place.
They sensed my arrival.
"Mr. Morozov!" Isabella practically sprang to her feet, face lighting up with delight. "You're back! What perfect timing!"
Noelle's smile vanished as if someone had flipped a switch. In its place came the familiar coldness and wariness I knew so well. She rose slowly, closing the magazine and letting it hang at her side.
"Miss Vance." I nodded curtly, but kept my eyes locked on Noelle. "When are you leaving?"
The air froze.
"I... I was just about to say goodbye," she struggled to maintain that sweet tone. "Just came to see Noelle. Haven't seen her in ages—I missed her so much..."
"Kholod! Isabella is my friend. How could you treat her like this?" Noelle stepped protectively in front of Isabella, fire blazing in her eyes.
Friend? In this world, true friends were rarer than roses in the Arctic. And the way she defended this so-called "friend" particularly grated on me.
"Noelle," Isabella quickly grasped her arm, "it's fine. Mr. Morozov is probably tired."
Then she turned back to Noelle, patting her shoulder reassuringly. "Oh, didn't you have something to give me?"
Noelle clearly froze, her brow creasing. "What?"
"That necklace you mentioned!" Isabella reminded her. "You said it would suit me perfectly and wanted to give it to me. It's in your room, remember?"
Noelle caught on quickly. "Oh! Right, how silly of me—I nearly forgot. I'll go get it right now."
She shot me a look brimming with displeasure, then glanced worriedly at Isabella, as if ensuring I wouldn't mistreat her friend.
Only after receiving Isabella's reassuring nod did she turn and leave the greenhouse.
Once her footsteps faded, only the two of us remained.
Isabella stood there awkwardly, fingers twisting the fabric of her skirt.
"Mr. Morozov," she began softly, obvious nervousness in her voice, "I'm sorry. I just... I was so worried about Noelle."
I walked to the tea service and poured myself a cup. The liquid cascaded down, creating ripples in the porcelain.
"She's here. There's nothing to worry about."
"I know." Isabella nodded hastily. "This is certainly the safest place. It's just... Noelle has such a stubborn nature. I worry she can't adapt to the Morozov family's way of life. After all, the difference between the Morozov and Bellucci families..."
She stopped mid-sentence, as if realizing she'd said something inappropriate.
I offered no response, simply lifted my teacup and sipped slowly.
"Actually, Noelle is wonderful," she continued cautiously. "Kind and intelligent, just a bit headstrong. With some patience, she'll make an excellent wife. We grew up together—I know her so well..."
"I have no interest in hearing this." I cut her off.
I didn't need to learn about Noelle from someone else.
Isabella choked on my abrupt interruption, embarrassment flickering across her features. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then thought better of it.
"Then... Mr. Morozov," she asked carefully, "may I tidy up my things first?"
I gestured toward the scattered items on the tea table.
Isabella exhaled in relief and crouched down to collect her belongings.
She picked up her phone first, then her lipstick, movements somewhat frantic. When she reached for her handbag, she seemed to lose her balance, toppling forward.
The bag hit the floor, its clasp springing open and spilling contents everywhere.
Compact mirror, keys, business cards, and—
A bracelet.
Platinum chain adorned with emerald-carved Christmas holly leaves and ruby berries.
My breath caught.
Isabella frantically dropped to her knees, desperately trying to gather everything, her movements rushed and panicked.
"Wait." My voice sliced through the silence.
She froze, looking up with terror in her eyes.
"Mr. Morozov..."
"That bracelet. Let me see it."
"This... this is just..."
"Give it to me."
Isabella picked up the bracelet with trembling hands and offered it to me.
I took it, examining every detail between my fingers.
The scratches on the chain, the gem cuts, the clasp workmanship—everything matched my memories perfectly.
My finger traced to a particular spot—near the clasp, where an incredibly fine welding mark caught the light.
Years ago, this bracelet had been broken. I'd sent it for repair, and the craftsman used the most exquisite technique to mend the break. But even the finest craftsmanship leaves traces. And here, in the exact same location on this bracelet, the telltale welding mark stared back at me.
My heart felt crushed by an invisible fist, breath stopping entirely.
"Where did this bracelet come from?" My voice came out hoarse.
Isabella trembled from head to toe.
"It was... Noelle gave it to me..."
"When?"
"Before the wedding... I saw it at her place and took it back..."
I seized her wrist. "This was originally yours?"
"Yes... I'd had it for years, wore it almost daily... then it disappeared..."
"When did you lose it?"
"Three years ago, in winter... around Christmas..."
My breathing grew labored.
"Three years ago," I spoke each word deliberately, "did you save someone in South District?"
Isabella's eyes went wide suddenly.
"Was... was that you?" Her voice broke. "So that person was you..."
"Continue."
"That day I attended mass at the church... on my way home, I saw someone covered in blood in an alley..." She wiped away tears. "I was terrified, but I went over anyway..."
"Then what?"
Her face flushed crimson. "I heard people coming... got so nervous, and I... leaned in very close..." Her voice grew smaller. "I don't know what came over me... maybe I was too frightened..."
I remembered that night. That inexperienced kiss.
If that girl was her, why was she so embarrassed about that kiss? Shame? Or perhaps... mortification at having done such a thing with a complete stranger?
"What happened after that?"
"Then I called an ambulance," she continued through her sobs. "After they carried you away, I ran home... only discovered the bracelet was missing when I got there..."
"Why didn't you come forward all these years?"
"I was terrified!" She nearly shouted. "You were covered in blood—I was afraid those people would hurt me... Later when I heard someone was searching for the bracelet's owner, I became even more frightened that it was for revenge... By the time you'd identified Noelle, I didn't dare speak up..."
Tears streamed down her cheeks. "I was afraid you wouldn't believe me... and besides, you'd already married her... I was afraid of destroying your happiness..."
I stared at her, studying her tear-streaked face.
Every detail aligned with that night in my memory.
The alley.
The injury.
The ambulance.
The lost bracelet.
So Noelle knew I was searching for Isabella. But she hadn't told me the truth. She was gambling—gambling that I would believe it was her.
"Go home for now." My voice turned glacial. "This requires investigation."
"I understand..." She nodded through her tears. "But please don't blame Noelle—she truly is a good person..."
I silenced her words. I pulled out my phone and pressed the intercom.
"Dmitri."
Moments later, Dmitri appeared in the doorway.
"Escort Miss Vance home."
"Yes, boss."
Isabella hastily gathered her belongings, cast me one final pleading glance, and followed Dmitri out.
The greenhouse fell silent once more. Only the crackling of logs in the fireplace and my increasingly heavy breathing remained.
I stood there, clutching the bracelet tightly, its metal coldness biting into my palm.
I pulled out my phone and called Dmitri again.
"Deploy every resource we have. I want every detail about that Christmas Eve three years ago. Every person who might have been near that alley, every possible witness, every potential lead."
"Boss, you..."
"Focus on Isabella Vance," I interrupted. "Her family background, everywhere she went three years ago, her social circles. Find the brand of this bracelet and all records of who might have purchased this particular batch back then."
I paused, my voice growing even colder.
"I want the truth. At any cost."
"Understood, boss. I'll oversee this personally."
I ended the call and collapsed onto the sofa, elbows on my knees, face buried deep in my hands.
Over the following days, I conducted business as usual—handling affairs, chairing meetings, making decisions. But everyone noticed something was amiss. Mother hesitated multiple times during dinner, clearly wanting to speak. Anya became unusually subdued.
Only Noelle remained unchanged. She sat at my left during meals, quietly eating, occasionally glancing up with wary, puzzled looks.
I still found myself uncontrollably watching the surveillance monitors, observing her every movement throughout the manor.
She read books, painted, and strolled through the gardens.
Sometimes she would pause at the walk-in closet entrance, gazing at those mountains of luxury items, then turn and walk away.
She hadn't touched a single piece.
If she truly was some fortune-hunting fraud, why did she show such disdain for all of this? The thought made me agitated, even brought an unfamiliar flicker of panic.
If she wasn't that girl, then everything I'd forced upon her...
On the third evening, Dmitri finally returned.
When he entered the study, his expression was as somber as if attending a funeral.
He carried a thin manila folder.
"Boss." His voice was subdued.
"Report." I leaned back in my chair, fingers drumming lightly on the armrest.
He placed the folder before me. "We located Isabella Vance's former nanny.
She testified that three years ago, Miss Isabella did indeed possess a Christmas holly bracelet.
She treasured it dearly, wearing it almost constantly.
But after that Christmas Eve, the bracelet vanished.
Miss Isabella wept over its loss for quite some time. "
My fingers stilled.
"The bracelet originated from a small artisan shop where young women would commission custom pieces. The proprietor confirmed the pickup signature belonged to Isabella herself."
He extracted a photograph. "We also found several shopkeepers who operated in that alley vicinity back then. One grocery store owner recalled seeing a distraught young woman that night. When shown Isabella's old photograph, he indicated she looked familiar."
My fist clenched tightly.
"Additionally, hospital archives confirm that the day after you were admitted to emergency care, someone did visit. The nurses' station registry bears the signature: Isabella Vance."
Every piece of evidence pointed to one person—Isabella Vance.
"That's enough." My voice sounded hollow. "Leave."
"Boss..." Dmitri hesitated.
"Leave."
"Yes, sir."
He turned and departed, gently closing the door behind him.
I sat alone in the encroaching darkness.
Snow began falling outside once again. I opened the folder, turning each page methodically.
Nanny testimony, jewelry store receipts, shopkeeper identification photos, hospital record photocopies.
They formed an unbroken chain, all pointing toward the same inescapable conclusion—the person who had saved me was Isabella Vance, not Noelle Bellucci.
I closed my eyes, and Noelle's face materialized in my mind. Her revulsion upon first meeting me, her resolute rejection of my proposal, her struggles in the church, her complete indifference to every gift. That damnable, unyielding pride of hers.
In this moment, everything acquired a new interpretation.
Not character traits. Not some nonexistent family vendetta. Simply the guilty conscience of an impostor.
A woman who knew she wasn't that person, yet went along with the deception, hoping to climb into high society, but too cowardly to actively confess the truth.
Rage erupted like a volcanic explosion. The fury of being deceived, of being made a fool, nearly obliterated my rationality. I surged to my feet, snatched up the bracelet and that damning stack of evidence, and strode from the study, heading directly for the master bedroom.
I would confront her face to face. I would look into her eyes and hear her confess with her own lips. I wanted to see just how long this woman could maintain her charade.
I threw open the door. Noelle had just emerged from her bath, damp hair cascading over her shoulders as she sat at the vanity, staring blankly at her reflection in the mirror.
At the sound, she whirled around in alarm. Seeing my expression, bewilderment flashed in her eyes, quickly replaced by wariness. She instinctively rose and stepped backward.
"Kholod... you..."
I gave her no time to react, advancing step by step until I stood directly before her.
I withdrew the bracelet from my pocket, spread it across my palm, and held it before her eyes. My gaze locked onto hers, determined not to miss the slightest flicker of change.
Suppressing the rage roiling within me, I asked with deceptive calm, each word precisely articulated, "Noelle. I'm asking you one final time. This bracelet... is it truly yours or not?"