Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Noelle
"Noelle, come out for a walk!"
Isabella's cheerful voice drifted through the door, accompanied by gentle knocking. I lay on the master bedroom bed, staring at the ceiling, having lost count of how many days it had been.
Ever since that night, Kholod had moved out of the master bedroom, as if he couldn't bear to see me anymore. He was the one who'd dragged me here, yet this whole situation felt like some twisted joke.
"Noelle? Are you there?" Isabella knocked again.
I took a deep breath and sat up.
"Come in."
The door opened, and Isabella peeked her head in, wearing a sweet smile. She was dressed in a pale pink cashmere dress, her makeup flawless, practically glowing.
"Such beautiful weather—don't waste it cooped up in here." She sat on the bed's edge and took my hand. "You look pale. You need some fresh air."
Isabella was staying here at Kholod's invitation. He'd said the manor was too quiet, that she could stay as long as she wanted. Of course. In his mind, she was now the savior. The whole thing was absurd, but I should blame Kholod, not her.
"Come on!" Isabella pulled me to my feet without waiting for an answer. "Stop moping around—you'll make yourself sick."
"Fine." I finally got up, threw on thick clothes, and followed Isabella outside.
Light snow dusted the garden, flakes settling gently on the trimmed hedges. I pulled my coat tighter as we walked side by side down the freshly de-iced path.
"You know what? Yesterday I saw this gorgeous new Valentino gown," Isabella said excitedly. "The cut was absolutely perfect! It would look stunning on you. Should we order one?"
"No, thanks," I declined. "You know my closet's already overflowing."
"But those are all Kholod's picks, right?" She blinked at me. "A woman needs her own style. Can't just let men choose everything."
I didn't respond. She was right. But I had zero interest in those dresses.
"This manor is absolutely stunning!" Isabella looked around. "I couldn't sleep last night—I kept thinking how living here must feel like a dream!"
"It's okay. I don't find it particularly beautiful." Very typical Kholod style—cold and monotonous.
"I completely disagree." She laughed. "You can tell everything here was carefully designed. Look at how those trees are shaped! Noelle, you're so lucky!"
Just then, Kholod appeared from another path. He wore a charcoal coat with the collar turned up, making his face look even more severe.
Seeing us, he paused for a moment, then walked straight over.
"Kholod!" Isabella brightened. "You're back!"
He nodded, his gaze sweeping past my face.
"Taking a walk?"
"Yes!" Isabella smiled. "Noelle's been shut up in her room all day, so I dragged her out for some air."
"Mm-hmm." Kholod made a sound of acknowledgment, then naturally positioned himself between us. "I was just heading to check the greenhouse. Join me."
His placement cleverly separated us. I walked on his left, Isabella on his right.
"Oh, Kholod," Isabella's voice came from his other side, "did you hear about last week's auction at the Philadelphia Museum of Art? They sold an authentic Monet for an absolutely shocking price!"
"Yes, I know." Kholod's voice sounded gentler than usual. "A Japanese collector bought it."
"My God! You know all the details!" Isabella marveled. "Are you into art?"
"I dabble. The family has some pieces—feel free to look anytime."
"I'm so jealous!" Isabella's voice filled with longing. "I've always dreamed of having my own collection room filled with art from around the world."
"Pick whatever you like and take it."
"Really? That's wonderful..."
Without realizing it, I'd fallen a step behind. Their conversation flowed so naturally, so smoothly—as if they were the couple and I was just an unnecessary observer.
"Do you ski?" Isabella continued. "I heard the slopes in the Alps are incredible!"
"Been a few times. St. Moritz has excellent snow quality."
"Amazing! I've always wanted to go but never found the time..."
"You should check it out sometime." His tone carried encouragement—the kind of warmth he'd never shown me.
"Noelle, do you ski?" Isabella suddenly turned to me.
I snapped back to attention. "No."
"That's such a shame!" she said regretfully. "Skiing is so much fun! Right, Kholod?"
"Yeah," Kholod responded. "Though not everyone's suited for that kind of sport."
I bit my lip and kept walking with my head down.
"Oh, that reminds me!" Isabella suddenly perked up. "Kholod, didn't a new French restaurant open in Philadelphia? I heard the chef came from Paris—Michelin three-star!"
"Le Jardin? Went last week. Food was excellent."
"I can never get a reservation! That's the Morozov influence for you!"
Every word stung. Art, skiing, Michelin stars—these weren't topics I couldn't discuss, but I'd never been interested. I preferred natural landscapes and handicrafts. When I'd chat with Isabella about these things before, she'd always find me boring.
Kholod even smiled—making him look less harsh but utterly foreign to me.
"...there's this Children's Art Foundation organizing a charity auction soon. I've been invited to help," I heard as I tuned back in.
"Is that so?" Kholod sounded interested.
"Yes!" Isabella nodded. "But it's my first time doing something like this. I'm a bit nervous..."
"Need help?"
"Would you really?" Isabella looked at him with delight.
"Tell me what you need."
"I..." Isabella seemed embarrassed. "I was thinking, if we could have a really significant piece as the finale..."
"I'll have Dmitri arrange it."
Isabella's eyes lit up with excitement. "Kholod, thank you so much!"
He agreed so readily. Yet when I'd wanted to go out shopping, he'd insisted on having me watched.
"By the way, Kholod," Isabella continued, "have you been to Iceland?"
"A few times," Kholod said. "Mainly for business."
"Noelle always talks about wanting to go there. It must be beautiful, especially the northern lights."
"The winters are long, but it's definitely worth seeing."
He was discussing Iceland with her. My dream destination. The place I'd mentioned repeatedly in my photo albums and blog posts.
My fingers clenched tight.
"Noelle, what's wrong?" Isabella noticed my reaction. "You look pale."
"I'm fine." I forced a smile. "Just tired."
"Let's head back then." She said thoughtfully.
"No need." I stopped walking. "You two go to the greenhouse. I want to be alone for a bit."
I turned and walked back.
"Noelle—" Isabella called after me.
"Let her go." Kholod's voice carried over, calm and cold.
I paused for a moment, then quickened my pace.
I wandered aimlessly through the garden as the snow grew heavier, covering our earlier footprints. Only when my hands and feet went numb did I decide to return.
Passing the greenhouse, I couldn't help but glance inside. They were still there, sitting on the sofa at a proper distance. Isabella was saying something with a smile. Kholod leaned in slightly, listening, a rare gentle curve to his lips.
This was a Kholod I'd never seen—relaxed, warm, even enjoying himself.
My heart twisted painfully. I turned and hurried away, snowflakes hitting my face like ice.
Dinner time.
I still sat to Kholod's left, with Isabella beside me. She kept the conversation lively.
"Mrs. Anastasia, today's roast duck was absolutely delicious!" she said brightly. "The spice blend was ingenious."
"That's the chef's credit," Anastasia replied coolly.
"You're too modest!" Isabella continued. "I heard this is a traditional Russian dish, but the preparation is very intricate. Getting to taste something so authentic is truly an honor!"
She then turned to Kholod. "Kholod, thank you so much for the necklace you sent this afternoon. It's absolutely stunning."
"It's nothing." Kholod's tone was flat.
"Maybe to you it's nothing," Isabella's eyes filled with gratitude, "but for those children, it's a chance to change their lives. Mr. Morozov, your charitable heart is truly admirable."
Kholod didn't speak, just smiled faintly—that same gentle expression again.
I'd seen that necklace—countless diamonds linked together, sparkling brilliantly in the greenhouse sunlight, the center stone as large as a dove's egg. For Isabella, he was willing to donate jewelry worth over a hundred million. My heart churned with conflicted feelings.
"Noelle cares about charity too, don't you?" Isabella suddenly asked me.
All eyes turned to me.
I looked up with a polite smile. "Of course."
"See!" she told Kholod with a laugh. "Noelle thinks it's wonderful too! You must come help me at the auction, Noelle!"
"She won't be going." Kholod suddenly spoke, his voice calm but final.
Isabella blinked. "Why not?"
"She's not suited for those kinds of events."
Was he making decisions for me? Or did he simply not want to bring me?
"Oh, I see." Isabella looked disappointed, then turned to me. "Well, Noelle, you rest up. We'll do the next event together."
I forced a smile. "Sure."
Dinner continued.
Isabella and Kholod chatted from charity auctions to Philadelphia social circle gossip. Their conversation buzzed around me, but I couldn't absorb a single word.
After dinner, I stood to return to my room.
"Noelle, wait," Anya called out.
I turned around.
She approached and lowered her voice. "Whatever's happening between you and Kholod, don't let Isabella come to this house anymore."
I froze, hurt welling up.
"But... I didn't invite her this time."
"What?" Anya frowned.
"Kholod invited her to stay," my voice carried bitterness. "Said she could stay as long as she wanted."
Anya's face changed.
Just then, Anastasia walked over.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Mother," Anya turned to her, "did you know Kholod invited Isabella to stay?"
Anastasia looked stunned, her expression complex.
"I didn't know." She looked at me. "Noelle, what happened?"
"That's what Isabella told me."
She fell silent for a moment.
"It seems," her voice was quiet, "Kholod is more confused than I thought."
She turned to me, her gaze serious. "Noelle, listen. Even though I'm not satisfied with you—your background, your family... none of it appeals to me. But compared to Isabella Vance, I'd rather accept you."
Her words shocked me.
"But Kholod..." my voice caught.
"Kholod is my son," Anastasia said, "but this is between you two. I won't interfere. Just remember your position—you're the lady of this house. That position is yours. Whatever happens, don't forget that."
I stayed silent. She sighed. "Go on, get some rest."
I nodded and headed upstairs.
Back in the master bedroom, I closed the door and leaned against it.
Kholod was gentle with Isabella, patient, even smiled.
With me...
I walked to the mirror and started unbuttoning my shirt to change into pajamas, then saw the tattoo again.
H.M.
Kholod Morozov.
He'd carved his name into my skin, claiming ownership. Yet now, he wouldn't even look at me.
I rebuttoned my shirt and walked to the window. Snow kept falling, flake after flake, seeming endless. I should be happy—if he wasn't coming for me, I wouldn't have to endure that torment. If he focused on Isabella, I could have peace. Wasn't this what I wanted?
I sat on the bed. This had been our marriage bed, where he'd tormented me, possessed me, left countless marks. I lay down and buried my face in the pillow. It still carried his scent—cedar and tobacco, a faint reminder that he'd once slept here.
So this cruel, domineering man could be normal with others, even pleasant. That hurt more than any humiliation.
A sense of loss washed over me, as if something that had belonged to me—even though it was full of pain and hatred—was being casually taken away.