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 surveillancemonitors, 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.
