Seeing my confusion, Anastasia seemed to understand, adding, "Noelle, truth is often different from what appears on the surface. Don't trust what others say without solid evidence. Now, we need to pick up the pace."
After she left, I kept pondering the story. What other truths didn't I know?
That evening, I sat alone in my room, flipping through a fashion magazine. Looking at the jewelry, I couldn't help thinking of Kholod.
He loved giving me these things, which often left me feeling helpless. I'd be happier if he just let me go shopping than receiving limited edition Chanel perfume.
I found myself thinking about Kholod's actions last night, the things he'd said. If only he weren't my father's killer!
Wait. Father?
Anastasia's story suddenly became crystal clear in my mind, especially that phrase "framed his business rival for the death." The story Anastasia told suddenly echoed in my head, especially that line about "framing his biggest business rival for the death."
Could it be? No! This was impossible! Everyone knew Morozov drove my father to death, that their pressure left him with no choice but suicide. The Morozov family's pressure cornered my father, leading to his suicide jump. Everyone in our circle knew this.
I knew Father gambled, but... that story kept replaying in my mind. What if father's death had nothing to do with Kholod? What if someone exploited Father's weakness and framed Kholod? I knew father was a gambler, but... that story kept playing over and over in my head. What if father's death wasn't because of Kholod?
What if someone else exploited Father's weakness, then framed Kholod?
My whole body shook. If Kholod didn't kill my father, then all this hatred I've carried for so long...
I squeezed my eyes shut, afraid to think any further.
Chapter Seventeen
Kholod
"Boss, the dock accounts have been verified."
Dmitri's voice crackled through the intercom, but I was staring at the surveillance feed on my computer screen, not hearing a word.
"Boss?"
"Yeah, got it." I snapped back to attention. "Proceed as planned."
"Yes, sir. Also, regarding Miss Isabella Vance, we've transferred the funds as you instructed. Future requests will be accommodated within reason, but she won't be allowed near the manor again."
"Good."
I cut the intercom and turned back to the screen.
In the collection room, Noelle was wearing white gloves, carefully polishing a gilded religious icon. Her movements were gentle and deliberate, like she was handling something precious and fragile. Soft light hit her face from the side, outlining her delicate profile—the slight upturn of her lashes, her straight nose, those lips I knew all too well.
Damn it. I was actually wondering what it would feel like if she touched me with that same gentle care...
I rubbed my temples, forcing myself to turn to the pile of documents. But within three minutes, my eyes drifted back to the screen.
How many times today? Ten? Twenty?
Ever since that night in the garage, everything had spiraled out of control.
I'd thought completely possessing her would calm this restlessness. Instead, it was the opposite—that loss of control hadn't brought satisfaction, but worked like an addictive drug, making me crave her even more.
Not just her body.
Everything about her.
The slight furrow in her brow when she read quietly, her focused expression while painting, her occasional soft smile, even the defiance in her eyes when she looked at me coldly—it all hooked into every nerve I had.
