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.
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 wasa 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?
