Page 14 of Mr. and Mrs. Novak

The silence is suffocating.

I think back to our engagement, to the relationship we had started to build. To those nights when she finally opened up, when I rediscovered the girl who had once been the first to break through my defenses. The woman I saw then fascinated me. It felt like finding something precious I never even knew I had lost. I cherished those moments.

Now, when our eyes meet, all I see is indifference. She barely acknowledges my presence. Sometimes, I feel completely invisible to her.

Her attitude throws me off balance.

How do I reach her? How do I break through this wall between us? How do I find a way back to what we lost?

I would have preferred her anger, her yelling, her accusations. At least anger is something I can handle. Indifference? No.

If she wanted revenge, she couldn’t have chosen a better way. But this isn’t revenge, it’s worse. She’s erasing me from her life, and I’m terrified she’ll succeed. And that, I refuse to accept.

I don’t know when she stopped being just a convenient wife and became something more. But suddenly, I realize how much this marriage, this relationship with Sophia, matters to me.

Then I remember her promise, the one she made in the car on the night of our wedding: to keep up appearances in public. A perfect marriage in the eyes of the world, a flawless facade. Since words are no longer of any use, I’m going to force her to keep her word. Maybe in this role-playing game, I’ll be able to break down her defenses and regain a bit of what we’ve lost.

"I’d like to invite Akim, Nicolas, and their partners for dinner on Saturday," I say.

She keeps eating, her movements slow, deliberate.

"Noted," she finally replies, her voice flat.

"Try to contain your excitement," I mutter, disappointed.

Her head snaps up, green eyes blazing.

"What exactly do you want?" she spits. "For me to jump for joy at the idea of playing the perfect little wife? To be thrilled about an evening of pretending? Or maybe you'd rather I act like I don’t know you're screwing Natasha while I play my role as your trophy wife?"

Shock renders me speechless. I’ve never heard her talk like this.

"Sophia…"

"No, shut up!" she cuts me off. "I’ll keep my promise, since that’s what you want. I’ll be the perfect wife in front of your friends. I’ll smile, I’ll laugh at their jokes, I’ll play my part flawlessly. But don’t expect me to pretend in private."

I’m caught off guard.

This side of her, this sharp, furious version, completely destabilizes me. The quiet, measured Sophia is gone, replaced by a wild, unfiltered force. Her usual calm eyes blaze with fire. Her cheeks are flushed with indignation, her hands trembling slightly as she tries to contain her rage.

"Can you check the menu with Laurent?" I ask. "We’ll expect them at seven."

"It will be done," she replies, not lifting her eyes from her plate, her voice cold, distant.

I watch her for a moment, fascinated despite myself by the two sides of her.

And then it hits me: my Sophia is angry, and she’s keeping me at a distance. But if she thinks that’s enough to make me back off, she’s dead wrong.

Her anger only fuels my determination.

And, I have to admit, I like this version of her. This woman who speaks her mind without sugarcoating, who doesn’t hide her emotions behind politeness. This fierce, passionate side of her—it’s intoxicating.

Every sharp word she throws at me feels like a challenge, igniting something primal inside me.

I want to kiss her just to shut her up. To capture that burning fire between my lips. To turn her anger into something just as intense.

The thought strikes like lightning: inappropriate, undeniable.

This Sophia reminds me of the girl I once knew, the one who wasn’t afraid to feel everything deeply.