The car entered a private estate surrounded by dense forest, finally pulling up in front of a villa. Villa? It looked more like a fortress, with its dark gray stone, black steel accents, and vast expanses of bulletproof glass.
Kholod got out first, opened my door, and extended his hand.
I stared at that long, knuckled hand but didn't take it. Instead, I steadied myself on the doorframe and stood.
He withdrew it, a flicker of displeasure crossing his eyes, but he said nothing and turned toward the villa.
New home. New cage.
The wedding dinner—if you could even call it that.
The long table was draped in pristine white linen, with silverware gleaming coldly under the crystal chandeliers. Anastasia still wore her tailored black suit from the ceremony, the soft luster of pearls at her neck failing to soften the aloofness on her face. She appraised me openly, her gaze sharp enough to cut through flesh, as if dissecting the very essence of my soul.
Anya was more blunt. She barely looked up, only glancing overwhile toying with her phone, her lips curled in an unmasked sneer colder than the wind howling outside.
"Sit," Anastasia said at last. Kholod strode to the head of the table, and a servant guided me to the seat on his left. A maid quietly arranged my place settings and poured the red wine.
The entire meal unfolded in silence, broken only by the faint clink of knives and forks against fine porcelain. I sat with my back ramrod straight, grateful for once for the etiquette lessons Sofia had drilled into me. In that moment, they were my only armor, preventing me from faltering in such hostile territory.
I cut into my food mechanically but couldn't bring myself to swallow a single bite.
"Coming from Bellucci stock, handling this is already impressive," Anya said suddenly, eyeing me with mock pity. "Noelle, have you ever used cutlery this elaborate? Need me to teach you?"
My fingers tightened around the knife and fork, nails biting into my palm. I looked up and offered her the faintest of smiles. "Thanks for the offer, Anya. But I figure as long as the knife cuts and the fork lifts the food, I'm set. After all, no matter how fancy the tools, they're still just for eating, right?"
Anya faltered, her face flushing with irritation. She opened her mouth to retort, but Anastasia, at the head of the table, lightly tapped her fork against her plate.
"Silence during meals. That's the house rule."
Anya pouted, shooting me a venomous glare, but fell silent.
That stifling wedding dinner finally came to an end, and a maid escorted me to the master bedroom.
The room was enormous, done in a classic European style, but the palette was oppressive—dark wood furniture, deep green velvet curtains, and massive floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a snow-blanketed forest. The only remotely bright element was a brand-new vanity tucked around the corner, jarringly modern amid the aged pieces.
The maid opened a door to reveal a bathroom nearly as large asmy old bedroom. Another maid stood ready with towels and fresh clothes.
"Madam, please bathe."
I allowed them to remove my gown and stepped into the tub. Warm water infused with lavender oil enveloped me, but it only heightened the sense of suffocation.
He'd investigated me. Thoroughly.
Three years ago, on that Christmas Eve, it was me who pulled him back from the brink of death.
I'd never forget that night. Snow swirling everywhere, I'd left the church mass and taken a shortcut home. In that dimly lit alley, I spotted him—face pale as death, eyes bloodshot. High brows, deep-set eyes, a sharp nose like a mountain ridge, thin lips pressed tight, jawline resolute. Snowflakes clung to his thick lashes. He slumped against the wall, his tall, imposing frame appearing uncharacteristically fragile.
I kissed him. Saved him, too. No denying it—at first sight, his stunning looks had captivated me.
I searched for him afterward, but he vanished without a trace. I dismissed it as a chance encounter.
Until I saw that stern profile in the financial news, paired with the name "Morozov." My heart plummeted.
The man I'd saved was the king of Philadelphia's underworld.
Worse still, less than six months into his rule, my father died. Suicide.
In those final months, I watched our family disintegrate, saw the light fade from his eyes.
