Page 2 of Mr. and Mrs. Novak

"You’re impossible…"

Why does Ruslan's voice take on this caressing intonation? My heartbeats go wild. I sense the blow coming, but I'm not ready. My feet are like lead, preventing me from stepping back, from fleeing.

"Oh, Ruslan, I missed you so much. You have no idea… Thank God that dreadful ceremony is over. Soon, we’ll be able to see each other like before."

Her words hit me like a slap, but that’s not the worst part.

"Patience," responds the grave voice I once loved so much—the same one that whispered words of love to me just hours ago. "You have to be more careful, Natasha. If your husband ever found out the truth about us, both our lives would be in danger. You know what he’s capable of."

Natasha.

I remember her. A dangerously beautiful woman, her sculpted body wrapped in a designer gown, radiating confidence, her smile enigmatic. Standing in her shadow, I suddenly feel small, insignificant in my off-the-rack wedding dress. And then, the truth slams into me with a force that makes me sick. I was never more than a stand-in, a convenient cover for their affair.

"I’ll be careful, my love. We’ll wait for his business trips to make sure he never suspects a thing. Now shut up and kiss me"

The sound of their kiss reaches me, and I shatter from the inside out. I barely manage to stifle a whimper of pain—of sheer, unbearable despair.

No. Not him. Not Ruslan.

Not the man I’ve loved since childhood. Not the one who, just hours ago, swore fidelity to me before God and our families. The betrayal is so violent my legs threaten to give out. My shattered heart crumbles to dust when Natasha’s voice rises again—languid, cruel:

"The thought of you consummating your marriage tonight makes me sick. It must be unbearable for you to perform your husbandly duty with that insignificant little girl. But think of me when you’re inside her—I want you to come with my name on your lips."

Bile rises in my throat as her obscene words pierce my heart like poisoned blades. The shock is so brutal it knocks the breath from my lungs, leaving me gasping, one hand pressed against the wall to keep from collapsing.

"Think of me when you’re inside her…"

The vile sentence plays on an endless loop in my mind, blending with the soft, telltale sighs escaping from the room.

A searing pain pulses in my chest, so intense it makes me want to scream. Every beat of my heart pumps burning poison through my veins, consuming everything in its path—my dreams, my hopes, my love. My throat tightens to the point of suffocation as I fight back my tears with everything I have. I won’t give them that satisfaction. I won’t hand them that victory.

On trembling legs, I step back in silence, my movements swallowed by the plush carpet. Fragments of memories stab through me in waves—his dark eyes locked on mine when he told me he loved me for the first time, his hands cradling my face, his whispered promises against my lips… All of it, masterfully crafted lies. And now, with devastating clarity, I finally understand.

I was never anything more than a pawn in their game. An insignificant little girl they used to keep their affair alive.

2. Yes, I do

RUSLAN

The words leave my lips with a confidence I don’t actually feel. My heart pounds strangely hard for a marriage that’s nothing more than a façade. I lower my gaze to Sophia as she says her vows. She is beautiful in her white dress, her black eyes shining with a love so pure it constricts my throat. A wave of guilt washes over me, only to be immediately repressed. I can’t afford to feel anything. Not now.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride," the mayor declares.

I lean toward her, determined to play my role to perfection. But the moment my lips touch hers, something unexpected happens. Her delicate scent surrounds me, her soft mouth parts slightly under mine, and I lose my grip. For a fleeting moment, I’m no longer acting. I hold her close as if she were truly mine.

Amused coughs snap me back to reality. What the hell is wrong with me? This is Sophia. She’s just a pawn in my plan. Nothing more.

"Save it for the wedding night!" someone shouts from the crowd.

She steps back, blushing, a shy smile on her lips that makes my heart falter.

No, I can’t. I can’t allow myself to feel anything. I have to stick to the plan—nothing else. In a few months, this will all be over.

I scan the crowd of guests. Most of them are business associates, useful connections I can’t afford to ignore. They’re here for the spectacle rather than out of genuine affection. But that’s how things work in our world. I feel Sophia’s hand tighten around my arm—a silent witness to her discomfort. Every conversation seems like a challenge for her, every glance a test. Her natural shyness, already heightened by the atmosphere, collides with the arrogance of this superficial world. These self-assured businessmen and their impeccably groomed wives judge her, some with barely concealed condescension. Their gazes linger on her simple dress, so far from the designer pieces they see as status symbols.

Their smugness infuriates me. I hate this petty way of reducing a person to their clothing, of ignoring what truly matters to focus on the superficial. Sophia is worth so much more than the dress she wears, more than these artificial women, prisoners of their appearances and their pretense. Her posture is tense—she’s noticed their judgmental stares. And I hate myself for not protecting her better, for not thinking to get her a designer gown that would have made her the undisputed queen of the evening. Screw them all. The number of people in this room who are actually worthy of her could be counted on one hand.

At the head table, I’ve gathered our real family. Loïc and Renée Delorme, who raised me with near-military discipline and unwavering generosity. I still remember their silhouettes in the doorway the day I arrived at their home. They welcomed me without judgment, despite my sullen, angry teenage attitude.