Page 20 of Mr. and Mrs. Novak

11. Investigation

RUSLAN

Fuck, what the hell are these questions?!

I nearly choke on my wine when Sophia throws her first question about Natasha at me. My brain kicks into overdrive as I try to process what's happening. When she mentions the "sources" that told her about how I met Natasha, my stomach tightens. The whole situation feels surreal. My wife is questioning me about my mistress with the same detachment as if she were asking about the weather. I try to buy time, to downplay it, but every answer I give only seems to reinforce her determination.

"Sophia..." I start, desperately searching for a way to shut down this interrogation.

She cuts me off, and what follows is even worse.

"Are you in love with her?"

The question hits me like a punch to the gut. How the hell am I supposed to answer that? No, I don’t love her. I actually despise her, especially now that I know her better. But saying that would open the door to even more dangerous questions. Why do I see her? What keeps me going with this charade? Those are questions I can’t answer without jeopardizing everything. So I cling to the one thing I can say without risk:

"She has never set foot here and never will."

At least that much is an indisputable truth. One of the few I can afford to tell.

But Sophia doesn’t let up. She moves on to Stanislas. My answers stay as close to the truth as possible while being deliberately vague. Her gaze grows thoughtful. I know her, her sharp mind is already piecing things together, and I don’t like it one bit.

As soon as dinner is over, she disappears into her room. For once, I don’t mind her leaving. I feel like I’ve just gone twelve rounds in the ring.

Fucking tornado...

I pour myself a cognac and step out onto the terrace, phone in hand.

Sophia’s questions are still swirling in my head. She’s getting too close to the truth. I should have known that what I told her on our wedding night wouldn’t just disappear into thin air. She’s starting to connect the dots, and the picture coming together could destroy us all.

I need to steer her away from Stanford before it’s too late. And for that, I’ll have to hit hard.

Fuck. I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me for this... but it’s either that or risk something far worse.

My mind races. To protect Sophia, I have to redirect her focus away from Stanford and make her believe everything revolves around Natasha. A tragic love story, that’s what I need. Something that explains everything: my meetings with her, my ties to Stanford, my discomfort... A version she can believe, convincing enough to stop her from digging any further. I know it’s twisted, but it’s the only solution that keeps everyone safe.

I pull up Nicolas’s number and dial. He picks up after three rings.

"Yeah?" he grumbles, his voice groggy with sleep.

"I need you to fabricate proof of a love affair between Natasha and me, from before she married Stanford. Photos of us, like something a guy in love would keep in his wallet. Can you do it?"

Silence. Then a sigh.

"Look, I might have some AI experts who can handle that. But I’ll need pictures of you two."

"I’ll send you everything I have as soon as we hang up."

I hesitate for a second before adding, "Listen, Nicolas. I want flawless work. Nothing that can be detected. Not by the human eye, not by digital analysis."

He chuckles, unfazed. "This is gonna cost you."

"I’ll pay whatever it takes."

Money is the least of my concerns right now.

"And when do you need it by?"

"Yesterday."