Page 3 of Mr. and Mrs. Novak

Loïc, a former Air Force captain, embodies discipline and integrity—values he instilled in our daily lives. Renée, a psychologist by profession, balances his strictness with her gentleness and her innate ability to read wounded souls. Together, they make an improbable yet incredibly effective duo—he instilling order and honor, she soothing our invisible scars.

Beside them are Tania and Émeline, my sisters at heart, two foster kids like me. Against all odds, Tania became a veterinarian, defying the grim predictions of social services, while Émeline now runs her own creative agency. Both live in Brest and remain closely connected with Renée and Loïc.

Raphaël, Sophia’s brother, is also here. His dark, piercing gaze cuts through me as if he’s trying to uncover all my sins.

And finally, my two pillars: Akim and Nicolas, my closest friends since our law school days. They’re here with their dates—two models they met on their last business trip.

These men and women, coming from such different backgrounds, create a unique picture: foster kids turned successful adults, gathered around the people who gave us a chance when no one else believed in us.

After the toast in our honor, we take our seats around the table. Conversations flow easily, punctuated by laughter and shared memories. During the appetizer, Renée, visibly emotional, speaks up.

"I always knew you two would end up together," she says, looking at me with fondness. "When you first came to us, you had these terrible fits of rage, storms that nothing seemed able to calm… except Sophia’s presence. She wouldn’t say a word—she’d just sit next to you, and as if by magic, you’d settle down. It was fascinating to watch."

I lower my gaze to my napkin, unsettled by memories I had almost forgotten.

"It worked both ways," Émeline chimes in, her knowing smile lighting up her face. "When Sophia pouted, all it took was one look from Ruslan to make her giggle. The moment their eyes met, she’d burst into laughter."

"That’s true! I’ve never seen a connection like that!" Renée adds with a small laugh.

"Do you remember the time she fell on the way home from school and sprained her ankle?" Tania chimes in. "Ruslan carried her on his back for two kilometers, flat-out refusing to let anyone else take over. That day, he would have climbed a mountain for her."

"Well, I never knew you had such a knight-in-shining-armor streak, Ruslan," Akim teases with a smirk. "That totally kills your bad-boy image."

Laughter erupts around the table, and I even catch a hint of a smile on Raphaël’s face.

Sophia, meanwhile, slips her hand into mine under the table. I turn to her, and our eyes meet. Her radiant smile completely disarms me. She’s happy—genuinely, deeply happy.

I suppress the guilt gnawing at me, lean in, and press a kiss to her lips.

After two hours of dinner in a constant hum of voices, I start to suffocate in this stifling atmosphere. When my phone rings, my mood darkens even more. I excuse myself to Sophia and her family and head outside the château to answer the call.

"Stanislas."

"Ruslan, my friend," he replies in a jovial voice. "My best wishes for your wedding. I'm truly sorry I couldn't make it. But business, you know how it is."

"Yes," I reply. "I completely understand."

"We need to meet when I return. I want to expand our collaboration."

He goes on about it for a few more minutes before I cut him off.

"Yes, we'll discuss all that at my office. I need to go dance with my wife."

"Yes, yes, of course. What am I thinking? My best wishes to… Mrs. Novak."

I hang up, even more irritated. As if he actually gave a damn about our happiness! He doesn’t even remember Sophia’s name. A few guests who stepped outside to smoke glance at me with curiosity. I put on a polite smile before slipping back into the grand hall. I climb the stairs and lose myself in the château’s hallways, searching for a refuge away from the chaos. A secluded room catches my eye—a small lounge with double doors that promise some quiet.

I barely have time to savor my solitude before the door creaks open. Natasha steps inside, closing it behind her with a slow, deliberate motion. Her mischievous smile lights up her face—the same smile that has been the downfall of so many men. The heady scent of her perfume fills the confined space.

"Finally alone…" she whispers, walking toward me with her sensual stride.

"You're crazy. Your husband has probably sent one of his men to follow you. He never lets you out of his sight."

"Don't worry, a friend of mine is taking care of him," she says. "He's going to have a very good time, trust me… And so will we."

Her body presses against mine, teasing. She knows exactly the effect she has. But today, as Sophia’s delicate scent still lingers on the fabric of my suit, I realize something has changed. Natasha’s presence, once irresistible, no longer awakens the same desire in me.

"You're incorrigible…" I reply anyway, wrapping my arms around her waist.