Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Kholod
"Boss, are you really going to meet Kieran tonight?"
Dmitri's voice carried a rare note of concern.
"He reached out first. Not showing would make me look guilty." I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples. "Station men around the club. Keep them ready."
"Understood."
I lit a cigar and took a deep drag.
Everything had been pissing me off lately.
Isabella had been staying at the manor for weeks now.
Truth was, being around her felt a hell of a lot easier than dealing with Noelle.
She spoke softly, knew how to read the room.
She'd adjust to whatever I wanted—when I was working, she'd sit quietly nearby, not like Noelle, who always watched me with those wary, hostile eyes.
She didn't talk back, didn't fight me, didn't say things that cut deep. With her, I didn't have to stay on edge constantly. Didn't have to worry about what would set me off next, didn't have to see that stubborn defiance in her eyes that made me both furious and... something else I couldn't ignore.
I crushed the cigar and stood up. Maybe forcing Noelle to stay was a mistake from the start. Isabella was better suited for me—she was my real savior. Gentle, kind, obedient. And Noelle... just a beautiful lie. A damn fraud.
So why did thinking that make my chest ache with a dull pain I couldn't name? I shook my head, pushing the thoughts away. Get it together, Kholod Morozov. What the hell are you thinking?
Lunch was uncomfortably quiet.
Isabella broke the silence first. "Kholod, this beef is incredible. I heard you had it specially prepared?"
"Yeah," I grunted.
"It's amazing! I'm so lucky to get to try it!"
"Good."
"Noelle, did you go to the garden today? You should keep up with your exercise!"
Noelle looked up, voice flat. "No. I'm not feeling well."
"Oh, you should rest then!" Isabella said with genuine concern.
She turned back with a sigh. "Speaking of beef, Noelle, do you remember those wagyu steaks we used to love? I still miss that taste sometimes. I remember it was Lorenzo who..."
She stopped dead.
The air froze. My grip tightened on the silverware. Why the hell was she bringing up that name?
Noelle's face changed, voice tense. "Why are you suddenly talking about him?"
"Oh, I ran into him a few days ago," Isabella said, looking worried. "He looked terrible—completely worn down. I heard that ever since what happened last time, he's been really depressed..."
Enough.
I slammed my silverware down. The crash echoed through the dining room.
Everyone jumped.
"Looks like you two really do have deep feelings for each other," I turned to Noelle, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Even your good friend here is so worried about him."
Noelle set down her utensils, fire blazing in her eyes. "Kholod, I'm telling you for the last time—I have nothing to do with him."
"Nothing?" I laughed coldly. "Then explain why Isabella cares so much about him. How did she 'run into' him? Why is she telling you about his condition?"
"How the hell should I know?" Her voice rose. "Why don't you ask Isabella?"
"I'm asking you!" I stood, leaning over the table to loom over her. "Noelle Bellucci, are you still thinking about him? Still secretly in contact?"
"You're insane!" She shot up too, eyes blazing. "You've got me locked up in here—I can't even leave! How could I contact him?!"
"You'd find a way! Through your mother, through Isabella..."
"Enough!"
Mother set down her fork, fixing me with a stern look.
"Shouting at the dinner table—is this how the Morozov family behaves, Kholod?"
She paused, glancing at Isabella.
"We have a guest. Do you want her to see us make fools of ourselves?"
I clenched my jaw, forcing down the rage.
Anastasia turned to Noelle, her tone slightly softer. "Noelle, go to your room."
Noelle took a deep breath, nodded, and left. Her back was straight but couldn't hide the loneliness.
I watched her go, and the anger only burned hotter—made worse by my mother's apparent "favoritism." This woman was already influencing everyone around me.
"Kholod, come to my study after dinner." Mother's order.
"Yes." I sat back down, forcing myself to appear calm.
The rest of dinner passed in silence. Only the sound of silverware on china echoed through the massive dining room.
I went to Mother's study. She was focused on trimming a pine bonsai, scissors cutting away excess branches with surgical precision, filling the room with a solemn atmosphere.
"Sit." She didn't look up.
I took the chair across from her, waiting. Mother rarely interfered with my personal business. But when she did, it was because I'd made a mistake she considered serious.
"You've been spending a lot of time with Isabella lately." She finally set down the scissors, her flat tone carrying weight.
"She's easy to be around," I answered honestly.
"Easy?" Mother trimmed another unnecessary branch, a hint of mockery in her voice.
"Kholod, you need to learn the difference between a warhorse that can help you conquer new territory and a canary that only sings pretty songs."
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
She put down the scissors and turned around, eyes sharp enough to see straight through any pretense.
"Kholod, whatever old grudges you're carrying, whoever you think your real savior is—you need to remember one thing."
She sat across from me, hands folded elegantly but with undeniable authority.
"You married Noelle Bellucci. You announced in front of all of Philadelphia—hell, all of American high society—that she's your wife. The future mother of the Morozov heir."
"So?"
"So," her voice deepened, "the Morozovs need stability. Her stability is the family's stability. If her position wavers, the Morozovs waver. Do you understand?"
"But she's a fraud." I shot back. "She pretended to be my savior."
"So what?" Mother's counter-question caught me off guard. "Did you really marry her just because of that bracelet?"
"Of course."
"Then why didn't you divorce her immediately and marry Isabella the moment you discovered the truth?"
I opened my mouth but found myself speechless.
"You have feelings for Noelle." Mother continued. "She means more to you than just a savior."
"I..."
"As for Isabella, yes, she's gentle and obedient. But she's not your wife, and she's too perfect to be real. As head of this family, you need someone who'll stand beside you in a crisis, not a nod-along that tells you what you want to hear."
"My son," Mother's voice softened, "don't let emotions become a blade your enemies can turn against you."
She waved her hand dismissively. "Go. Think carefully about what I've said."
I stood and left the study. Mother's words echoed in my head, but I didn't want to listen, didn't want to admit that Noelle had already become more than an obsession.
The next day was surprisingly clear. The snow had stopped, sunlight sparkled on the snow-covered garden, making everything look bright and clean. Isabella suggested we take a walk together. I agreed.
We strolled along the garden paths.
"Kholod," she looked up at me with a radiant smile, "what beautiful weather today!"
"Yeah," I responded.
"I've always wanted to ask," she continued, "why do you support charity work so much?"
"Just feels like the right thing to do."
"You're so kind!" Her eyes were full of admiration. "Not cold like people say..."
I didn't respond. I was cold. She just hadn't seen that side yet.
When we reached a path covered with smooth pebbles, Isabella's foot suddenly slipped.
"Ah—" She cried out, losing her balance, falling toward me.
I instinctively reached out to steady her.
My palm pressed against her wrist. I could clearly feel her skin—soft, slightly cool.
But instead of stirring any romantic thoughts, the touch filled me with inexplicable revulsion. Like touching something fundamentally incompatible with my nature—a physical, instinctive rejection.
"Thank you, Kholod." Isabella steadied herself against my arm, a shy blush coloring her cheeks.
She didn't let go immediately. Instead, she gripped tighter. Skin against skin, her warmth spreading to me, making that discomfort even more pronounced.
I smoothly withdrew my arm. "The path is slippery. Be careful."
"I will." She smiled.
We continued walking, but I deliberately maintained distance. I didn't want to touch her again.
That evening, I was in my study handling paperwork.
A gentle knock on the door.
"Come in."
Isabella entered, carrying documents.
She wore a tight white dress that accentuated her slim waist and curves. The air filled with an overpowering orange blossom scent—sickeningly sweet and cloying.
Noelle wore the same fragrance, but hers was always light and pleasant.
Why was I thinking about her again? I refocused on my visitor.
Isabella walked to my side, placing the documents on the desk. "Kholod, this is the preliminary plan for the charity auction. Could you take a look?"
"Leave it there." I didn't look up. "I'll review it tomorrow."
"But..." She leaned down, moving closer. "There are some details I'd like to confirm with you now..."
Her perfume grew even stronger, almost suffocating. I frowned and leaned back slightly.
"Like this," she pointed to a line in the proposal, her body almost pressed against my arm, "do you think this price point is appropriate?"
I glanced briefly. "It's fine."
"What about this?" As she turned the page, her hand deliberately covered mine.
Instantly, intense nausea surged through me. I jerked my hand away and stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor.
"Kholod?" Isabella looked at me in surprise. "What's wrong?"
I wasn't sure if it was the overly cloying perfume or the temperature of her skin—so different from Noelle's—that made me feel sick. I only knew that every cell in my body was rejecting this contact.
But it hadn't been like this before.
In that alley, her scent, her lips and skin—I'd wanted to absorb them into my very being. If I truly found her repulsive, why had I spent three years searching?
Maybe her perfume really was just too strong tonight.
"I just remembered I have a meeting." I straightened my cuffs, avoiding her gaze. "Dmitri will take you home."
"Home?" Isabella froze. "But... didn't you say..."
"Your family contacted me," I pressed the intercom. "It's been two months. Your mother is worried."
"But I..."
"Dmitri," I spoke into the phone. "Take Miss Vance home. Now."
"Yes, boss."
Isabella's smile completely froze.
She opened her mouth to say something, then fell silent under my cold stare.
"Well... alright then." She forced a smile. "I won't disturb you any longer."
She turned and left the study, her posture rigid.
After the door closed, I collapsed into my chair, taking a deep breath. Isabella was gentle and understanding—so why did my body instinctively reject her?
I closed my eyes, and another figure appeared unbidden in my mind.
Noelle.
Her cold eyes, stubborn expression, soft body... Damn it. I grabbed my coat. I needed some fresh air.
That evening, I met Kieran as planned.
This man who'd once nearly killed me now had gray hair and a face full of wrinkles. But those eyes were still cunning and ruthless.
"Morozov," he blew out a smoke ring, grinning with dark amusement. "Rare to see you honor an invitation."
"Cut to the chase. What do you want?"
"Straight to business." Kieran laughed. "I want to talk about the dock operations. You're eating the meat—how about letting us have some of the soup?"
"The docks belong to the Morozovs." My voice was ice-cold. "You want soup? Depends on whether you've earned it."
After some verbal sparring, he barely managed to trade a piece of real estate for scraps of port business.
Kieran shook his head. "Still so domineering. But..." He looked at me meaningfully. "Even the strongest fortress can fall to termites from within. Watch out for fires in your own backyard."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing much." Kieran's grin turned more sinister. "Just heard... your household has been quite lively lately. New bride, female houseguest... you're a lucky man indeed."
He knew about what was happening at the manor. Who had told him? My fists clenched, knuckles turning white.
"Kieran," my voice was cold as winter, "mind your own damn business."
"I wouldn't dare meddle in Morozov affairs." He spread his hands mockingly. "Just offering some friendly advice to an old friend—sometimes the most dangerous enemy isn't outside your walls, but lying right beside you in bed."
He stood up, brushing off nonexistent dust from his jacket.
"That's all for today. Think over the dock proposal. As for your domestic situation..." He shook his head with feigned regret, then closed the door and left. But his words had lodged themselves in my mind.
"The most dangerous enemy lies beside you in bed."
What was he implying? Noelle? Or...
I pulled out my phone and called Dmitri.
"Run background checks on everyone in the manor. Maids, butler, cook... everyone."
"Boss, you suspect..."
"Someone's been leaking information. Kieran knows too much."
"Understood."
"And Isabella Vance," I paused, "check all her movements and contacts. I want results within three days."
"Yes, boss."
I hung up and sank into the sofa, closing my eyes. Right now, I didn't know who I could trust.
Noelle? Isabella? Mother?