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.
