"Come in." Her voice called out.
I pushed inside. Anastasia sat behind her desk with several thick ledgers spread before her. She looked up, something appraising in her gaze.
"Sit." She indicated the chair across from her.
I sat down, waiting for her to speak.
"I heard about last night." She closed the ledger. "Kholod did right. That trash got what he deserved."
I said nothing.
"You don't need to feel guilty or ashamed." She continued. "In our world, only the weak get bullied. And you, Noelle, you're the lady of the Morozov house. No one will dare treat you like that again."
"Thank you," I said quietly.
"That's not why I called you here." She stood and walked to the bookshelf, retrieving a set of keys from a drawer. "Follow me."
I followed her through corridors to a concealed door. Keys turned, and we descended stairs to a metal door. After entering a code, it slowly opened.
When the lights came on, I froze completely.
The massive climate-controlled vault gleamed with Faberge eggs,diamond tiaras, antique paintings, and exquisite jewelry—every piece priceless.
"This is the Morozov family collection, inherited from Imperial Russia," Anastasia spoke slowly. "Never displayed publicly."
I stared at the artwork, speechless.
"I need to update the insurance inventory," she turned to me. "Someone needs to carefully catalog every piece. Anya lacks patience and constantly makes mistakes. Now you'll take over."
"Me?" I looked at her in surprise. "But..."
"This is a very important task." She cut me off. "If you do well, you'll have preliminary authority over Morozov family assets. If you don't..."
She didn't finish, but the meaning was clear.
"I understand." I took a deep breath. "I'll do my best."
"Good." She nodded. "Starting tomorrow, you'll work here every afternoon. I'll assign someone to assist you."
The following days, I immersed myself completely in the artwork. Each piece carried history, and I carefully recorded their provenance and value. Anastasia often checked my progress, occasionally sharing stories behind the pieces.
This afternoon, I was cataloging jewelry. Anastasia came to check again, watching me record an ornate necklace, then suddenly asked, "Do you know its background?"
"Not yet, I'm still documenting the materials."
"This necklace once belonged to a Grand Duke."
"Oh?" I looked up.
"He was incredibly powerful. Owned entire provinces, wealth beyond measure. Even the Tsar showed him deference." She paused, eyes distant. "But he had one fatal weakness—gambling."
My hand trembled slightly.
"He lost everything at the card table. Land, wealth, including this necklace." Her voice was soft. "What finally destroyed him wasn't battlefield enemies, but his most trusted friend at the gambling table. That man didn't just take his fortune—he framed his business rival for his death."
She gave me a meaningful look. "A clichéd story that keeps repeating."
I didn't understand why Anastasia was telling me this.
