Chapter 12

Isabella’s POV I stood frozen—stunned, while staring at the seven-year-old boy sitting on the couch. The swift change on his expression when the flour was cleared between us didn’t escape my eyes, but it quickly turned cold again. I watched him—confused by the sudden shift of attitude. His boots that costs more than my one-year salary touched the velvet carpet as he walked towards me with sharp and calculated steps—faint sound was created in each step. “We met again, Bella.” His voice was intended to bring terror—but it failed to shake my composure. I flashed a smile, remembering the day we met. “Noah! It’s really you! Oh my! You live here?” “It is an obvious question, Bella. And please…you should not call your young master by name.” He’s so cold. I wonder why. “I’m sorry, young master.” He walked around with precise steps while his arms are resting behind him. His age made him shorter than me, but the level of maturity and composure was of an adult. He lifted his chin. “Do you cook?”