Page 31 of Mr. and Mrs. Novak

Her eyes widen. She looks at me with an emotion she can’t quite hide.

"What are you playing at, Ruslan?"

"I’m not playing. And I know I should keep my distance…"

I sense her hesitation, that invisible barrier she’s still trying to keep between us. I should stop there.

I don’t give her time to react. I pull her against me. I know I’m taking a risk by crossing this line, but my body moves before my reason can catch up. One hand at her slim waist, the other beneath her delicate chin, I claim her lips. Gently at first, then with growing intensity.

She stiffens at first, and I’m ready to pull back at the slightest sign—but her resistance slowly melts away. Her lips part, her supple body yielding against mine. Her breathing quickens, her heart pounding wildly against my chest as I deepen the kiss. Our breaths mingle, her hands gripping my shoulders as if to keep her balance. I tilt her head for a better angle, savoring her subtle taste mixed with hints of cognac. I love everything about her: her floral scent, her intoxicating warmth, the soft moan she tries to suppress and that makes me lose all control.

Nothing exists anymore beyond this woman trembling in my arms.

The kiss ends, but I refuse to let her go. Not yet. I know this moment is fragile—maybe even a mistake—and that’s precisely why I cling to it.

I bury my face in her neck, my lips brushing her silky skin.

"It feels so good," I murmur against her ear, my voice rough with desire.

I feel her shiver, her body subtly arching. Then she gently pushes me away, her hands trembling against my chest. I step back immediately, respecting her choice.

She returns to the living room with hesitant steps, leaving me alone on the terrace with the burning memory of her presence.

Sophia remains silent for the rest of the evening. Lost in thought, she feels unreachable, and her silence worries me. I realize I may have gone too far, too fast. I probably shouldn’t have kissed her—not like that, not now—when I’m about to hurt her again, so deeply.

I know it’s to protect her, but the thought of hurting her even more is unbearable. I wish I could tell her everything, explain it all. But I won’t. I refuse to put her life in even greater danger. Being my wife already exposes her more than enough. I wish I could turn back time, to the moment I decided to pull her into my twisted plan—but it’s too late.

Fuck. I hate Stanislas. Because of him, I’m forced to lie to and hurt my own wife, one of the kindest, purest souls I’ve ever known.

Despite everything I’ve put her through, she agrees to keep playing this role to protect me. I don’t deserve her. From now on, I’ll do everything in my power to keep her out of harm’s reach—even if it means crushing my own heart. Because the idea of living in a world where she’s no longer there is simply inconceivable.

And if, when all of this is over, she decides to leave, I’ll have to accept it.

Even though that thought alone is killing me.

16. The Escape

SOPHIA

After our guests leave, I escape to my room. Heart pounding, I run away for the first time in my life. I run from Ruslan, from his touches and kisses that bring me as much turmoil as they do pleasure. I never knew love could hurt this much. If only I hadn’t believed in his love, the betrayal wouldn’t have cut so deep. I wish I could rip this love out of me like unwanted brambles, but the roots are too deep, the rhizomes too invasive. No matter how hard I tear at the woody stems, they always grow back—sharper, more curved, more vicious.

For years, I was content to love him from a distance. I should have stayed that way.

Why doesn’t he keep his distance? I don’t understand this game he’s been playing since our wedding. Why keep up the charade when I already know the truth, when I agreed to be his alibi? Why is he trying to break through my defenses? Doesn’t he realize he’s twisting the knife in the wound? What does he want? A convenient fuck, available at home every night? A backup plan while he waits to see Natasha again, to screw her however he pleases?

God, it hurts. I don’t know if I’ll ever recover from this.

Dressed in workout clothes, I leave my room and head to the penthouse gym. My hands shake as I wrap the bandages around them, positioning myself in front of the punching bag. Then, I throw punch after punch, kick after kick. I try to drive out the pain, the anguish. I hit until I can’t feel my hands, my arms, or my legs. I want to purge my mind of the images of Ruslan with another woman. I want to stop thinking, stop feeling. And when I finally collapse onto the floor, all I want is for the darkness to take over.

Strong arms lift me, carrying me away from the gym. I know it’s him before his familiar, woody scent even surrounds me. A part of me wonders what he’s doing here in the middle of the night. And as he carries me back to my room and lays me between the sheets, I’m once again thrown off by his actions. Why is he being so gentle? Why does he act like I matter to him?

Sometimes, like right now, I wish I had never caught him with Natasha. Then I could pretend my heart isn’t shattered, that I’m still whole, that he truly loves me.

I remember our first night together—every thrust, every movement punctuated by fevered kisses. Our embrace lasted for hours, his body exploring mine in every possible way, just as I had explored his. I can still taste him on my tongue, see the way his eyes shut when pleasure overtakes him, feel his arms tightening around me as if he’d never let go.

Back then, my entire world was the space between his arms.

I had never loved like this—so fiercely, so recklessly, so completely. He was my everything.