Page 10 of Mr. and Mrs. Novak

"How bad?"

He shares his screen, revealing a spreadsheet filled with data.

"Depends. For containers carrying electronic components, it’s between 500 and 800 kilos. But for industrial equipment shipments, sometimes it’s several tons."

"And the paperwork?"

"Flawless, as always. Administrative corrections, weight adjustments, everything checks out. But always on containers linked, directly or indirectly, to Stanford."

I clench my fists.

"The installation in Warehouse 4?"

"Nicolas took advantage of the ventilation work to set everything up. Micro-cameras hidden in the ducts, motion sensors disguised in the new light fixtures. They won’t notice a thing."

"The image quality?"

"Perfect. We have a clear view of the area where they usually handle the containers."

"Good. This time, we’ll finally find out what they’re up to."

8. Stanislas Stanford

SOPHIA

As the technicians bustle around the cables and routers, I call out to Laurent.

"Can you prepare a lunch tray for me today? I have an important call," I say, trying to sound as natural as possible.

"Of course. I’ll get it ready right away," he replies with his usual kindness.

Once the internet connection is restored, I head to the kitchen. Laurent is already there, waiting with a carefully prepared tray. A homemade sandwich with generous fillings, a portion of Comté cheese, fresh bread, and a slice of apple tart that smells absolutely mouthwatering. A bottle of water completes this improvised feast.

"Thank you, you're saving my life," I say gratefully before slipping away quickly.

I rush to my office, my heart pounding. Just as my door closes, I hear Ruslan’s door opening.

Perfect timing! The tension in my shoulders suddenly eases, and I become fully aware of the anxiety that had gripped me at the thought of having lunch with him. I won’t always be able to dodge him, but the less I see him, the better.

Sharing the same space with him is pure torture. Everywhere I turn, memories of us flood my mind. My heart and body ache for him, and it’s excruciating to sit across from him, pretending I’m indifferent, that he doesn’t shake me to my core, that it doesn’t hurt like hell.

I set the tray on the table and start playing a pre-recorded audio file. Immediately, my voice fills the room, discussing network issues and troubleshooting with a client. Then, I eat in peace. These recordings really do come in handy.

After finishing my meal, I leave the tray next to my door and return to my desk. Settling into my chair, I take a few moments to center myself. I inhale deeply, trying to steady my breathing. It’s a ritual I’ve developed, calming my mind, compartmentalizing my emotions, neatly packing them away into mental boxes.

Then, I force myself to analyze the bigger picture.

Ruslan. Natasha.

Any rational woman who discovered her husband had a mistress would immediately put as much distance as possible between them and herself. But I’m not just any woman. I need to understand, and if no one is willing to explain what’s going on, I’ll find the answers myself.

Ruslan had a reason for getting close to Natasha. He has unfinished business, something important enough to make him approach the wife of a man as dangerous as Stanislas Stanford appears to be. To the point that, when they were caught, he came up with that ridiculous marriage excuse to try and get out of it.

So, everything that happened between us after that was just a lie?

I shut down that thought.

Stay focused, Sophia.