He was seated behind the desk, cradling a glass of liquor, gazing out the window. At the sound of my voice, he turned slowly.
Those amber eyes were now as cold as ice.
"Mom said..." I panted, my voice quivering. "She said the family businesses have all been sealed... This... what's going on? Is it some kind of mistake?"
He stared at me in silence.
"Please..." I approached him, tears streaming down. "Help her, okay? It has to be a mix-up..."
"There's no mistake, Noelle." He finally spoke, his voice calm in a way that chilled me to the bone.
My heart plummeted.
"What do you mean?"
He rose and walked toward me. I instinctively backed away. He reached out, his thumb gently wiping a tear from my cheek. The touch was soft, but his eyes remained frozen.
"This is the price you and your family," he leaned in close, whispering in a devilish tone only we could hear, "should have paid long ago."
"I don't understand." I shook my head. "Kholod, what are you talking about..."
He didn't respond. Instead, he returned to the desk, picked up a file, and tossed it at my feet.
"Read it yourself."
With trembling hands, I picked it up and flipped through the pages.
Each line made my heart sink further.
Confessions. Bank transfer records. Call logs. Surveillance screenshots.
All of it pointed to one damning truth: My father, Marco Bellucci, ensnared by gambling debts to Kieran, had sold out Kholod's whereabouts, leading to that nearly fatal ambush.
"No... this can't be..." My voice shook. "It's fabricated... Dad wouldn't... he couldn't..."
"The evidence is ironclad." Kholod's voice sliced like a knife. "Noelle, this is the truth."
"It's not!" I shook my head frantically. "Kholod, it has to be fake! Dad would never do something like that!"
"Then how do you explain the five million dollars?" He pointed sharply at the bank record. "Just appeared out of nowhere?"
"I... I don't know..." My voice grew faint. "Maybe he really did owe Kieran..."
"Maybe?" Kholod sneered. "Noelle, you don't even believe that crap yourself, do you?"
"Kholod, please believe me..." I clutched his arm. "I had no ideaabout any of this! If I'd known what Dad did, I never would have saved you that night!"
"Still lying to my face?" He shook off my hand violently, his eyes blazing with rage. "Noelle, Isabella was the one who saved me—you know that. Or was that just another piece of your elaborate scheme?"
"No!" I nearly shouted. "Kholod, it was me that night! I remember your face, every detail—"
"Enough. I'm done with your fairy tales."
"I'm not lying! If the Morozovs hadn't driven my father to suicide, I never would have..."
"What? Out of excuses, so now you're trying to pin the blame on me?"
"I don't know how any of this happened!" I sobbed. "But Mom and I are innocent! We..."
