Chapter 3 - Ghosts of the Past
The guesthouse was larger than Isabelle's former apartment. It smells of cedar, lavender, and old leather. A gas fireplace ignited with the press of a switch, instantly filling the living room with an amber glow.
Thomas brought in a bundle of clean clothes—a thick gray cashmere sweater, heavy fleece sweatpants, and wool socks. "These were Catherine's, " he said quietly, placing them on the plush sofa. "I couldn't bring myself to give them all away. They should fit you. "
Isabelle looked at the soft clothes, feeling an overwhelming wave of guilt. "I shouldn't be wearing your wife's clothes, Thomas. "
"She would have wanted you to have them, " he replied simply. "There's hot water in the bathroom. Take your time. I'll bring some soup from the main house. "
When the door closed behind him, Isabelle stood alone in the quiet space. She walked into the bathroom and stared at the large gilt-framed mirror. She carefully unbuttoned the tattered cream lace dress—the dress she had been wearing six months ago when she was unceremoniously marched out of her office building by security guards after being framed for stealing four million dollars from the firm's escrow account. Her ex-fiancé, Richard Vance, had cried as he broke their engagement, telling her he couldn't be associated with a criminal. Later, she learned he had bought out her share of the firm for pennies on the dollar and merged it with his own family business.
She stepped into the shower. The hot water hit her skin like needles, but as the grime, dirt, and freezing memories washed down the drain, she leaned against the tile wall and wept silently. For six months, she had been too frozen to cry. Now, surrounded by warmth she didn't deserve, the dam broke.
Twenty minutes later, dressed in the oversized cashmere sweater and thick sweatpants, she stepped into the living room. Her wet blonde hair hung over her shoulders, and her pale cheeks were flushed from the heat.
Thomas was sitting at the wooden dining table, placing a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup and a mug of tea on a placemat. He stood up when she clicked, and for a fraction of a second, his breath caught in his throat.
Isabelle caught the look. "Do I look that much like her? "
Thomas shook his head, recovering his composure. "No. Catherine had dark hair and green eyes. You just... you look alive again. That sweater suits you. "
Isabelle sat down at the table, the delicious aroma of the soup made her stomach growl loudly. She blushed, but Thomas merely exclaimed, sitting across from her with his own mug of coffee.
"Eat, " he encouraged. "Slowly, or your stomach won't take it well. "
She ate with trembling hands, savoring every warmth, rich spoonful. It was the first proper meal she'd had in weeks. Thomas watched her quietly, his analytical gaze assessed her, not as a homeless vagrant, but as an enigma he couldn't quite solve.
"You speak well, Isabelle, " Thomas noted casually. "Your hands aren't those of someone who has spent her whole life on the streets. Your nails are short, but the nail beds are neat. You have calluses where a drafting pen rests. "
Isabelle froze, her spoon hovering inches from her mouth. She looked up, her blue eyes narrowing defensively. "You're very observant. "
"I run a global logistics and investment firm, " Thomas said, leaning back in his chair. "I pay attention to details. It's how I keep my business alive. So tell me... what kind of architect were you before Richard Vance ruined you? "
Isabelle gasped, her spoon dropped into the bowl with a splash. Her posture instantly went rigid. "How... how do you know that name? "
Thomas took a slow sip of his coffee, his expression turning grave. "Because Vance Development is currently trying to secure a fifty-million-dollar funding line from Sterling Capital. And yesterday, Richard Vance sat in my boardroom, pitching me a blueprint for a downtown commercial tower that bore a very distinct signature style. "
Isabelle felt her blood run cold. The world suddenly felt terrifyingly small. "The Meridian Tower, " she whispered. "That was my project. My entire life's work. "
"I know, " Thomas said softly. "Because three months ago, an anonymous whistle-blower sent me a partial file containing the original architectural schematics. The metadata listed the creator as Isabelle Hayes. "
Isabelle sank back into her chair, her head spinning. "You knew who I was... at the train station? "
"I recognized your face from the news reports when the scandal broke six months ago, " Thomas admitted. "I didn't believe the stories then, and after seeing you tonight, I definitely don't believe them now. A woman who embezzled four million dollars doesn't sit barefoot in the snow confessing a stranger's help. "
Isabelle covered her face with her hands, a harsh, bitter laugh escaping her lips. "He took everything, Thomas. My career, my reputation, my savings, my home. He used my master login to transfer the funds into a shell company in Panama, then made sure the paper trail led straight to my personal computer. By the time I realized what was happening, the police were at my door. "
"Why didn't you fight back? "
"With what money? " She looked up, her eyes blazing with raw, helpless anger. "He hired the most expensive defense lawyers in the state. My public defender advised me to accept a plea bargain, but I refused to plead guilty to something I didn't do. They dropped the criminal charges due to 'insufficient direct evidence, ' but the damage was done. My assets were frozen to cover the civil liabilities. I was evicted, blacklisted from every architectural firm in the country, and left with nothing. "
Thomas leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. The kind, gentle father from the train station disappeared, replaced by the formidable, calculating CEO of Sterling Capital.
"Richard Vance comes to my office on Monday morning to sign the final investment contracts, " Thomas said, his voice dropped to a low, dangerous rumble. "If I sign them, he becomes untouchable. If I don't, he goes under. "
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Isabelle stared at him, her heart pounding. "Why are you telling me this? "
Thomas smiled—a sharp, cold edge appearing at the corners of his lips. "Because, Isabelle, my daughters were right. You do need a home. And as it turns out, I need someone who knows Vance Development's dirty secrets from the inside out. "
