Page 43 of Mr. and Mrs. Novak

"Ruslan, you scared me!" Her voice is shaky; she looks deeply unsettled.

What the hell happened to put her in this state? I step closer, tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and cradle her face in my hands. She closes her eyes and leans into my touch for a fleeting second, allowing herself a moment of weakness. Then she straightens, pulling herself together, all her defenses back in place.

"I'm ready, we can go," she says.

Her remark invites me to examine her. She is breathtaking! The red silk dress embraces each of her curves like a liquid caress. The plunging neckline reveals the delicate connection of her collarbones and hints at treasures barely concealed. Her hair falls in silky waves over her bare shoulders, framing her face.

"You're magnificent, Sophia."

The words leave my mouth in an almost inaudible breath. A delicate blush colors her cheeks, and she turns away before passing in front of me to move toward the exit. A subtle perfume lingers in her wake.

In the confined space of the car, the air seems to thin between us. The silence thickens, charged with unspoken words. I cannot take my eyes off her, hypnotized by each movement, each breath that lifts her chest.

I have only one desire: to stop this charade, this social evening awaiting us, to draw her to me, taste her lips and make love to her there, in the back seat, until she cries out my name.

As if she could read my thoughts, she crosses her legs nervously. Her gaze avoids mine in the rearview mirror, but her breathing has quickened, betraying her unease. A smirk stretches my lips as I notice her hardened nipples under the thin fabric of her dress. The tension between us becomes almost palpable. I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white, trying to control the desire that threatens to overwhelm my reason.

As I park in front of the townhouse hosting the reception, Sophia and I take out our Venetian masks. Even though it’s a networking evening, it’s also a masquerade ball, and I have no intention of leaving without dancing with my charming wife.

While she adjusts her mask, which hides the upper part of her face and intensifies the aura of mystery surrounding her, I realize Sophia embodies everything I’ve ever wanted. No matter the secrets that lie between us—Sophia is mine, and I am hers. It will take time, but I will earn back her trust.

Inside the reception hall, the hum of conversation surrounds us. I greet acquaintances I manage to recognize despite their masks and introduce them to my wife. Sophia greets them with grace, though she remains reserved.

"Ruslan!" exclaims Stéphane Chen as he approaches, his face still easily identifiable behind his black mask. "Good to see you."

"Stéphane, this is my wife, Sophia."

After the usual pleasantries, he continues,

"Are you worried about the situation at the Suez Canal? Delays are getting longer by the day."

"We’ve redirected part of the fleet around the Cape of Good Hope," I reply distractedly, more focused on the woman on my arm than maritime routes. "The extra costs will be offset by the new contracts with Dubai."

"Excellent. By the way, Li Jing is eager to speak with you about the new free-trade zone in Shenzhen. He has some interesting contacts there."

"I’d be glad to."

I take every chance to brush against Sophia. My hand always finds a reason to touch her: her arm when I introduce her to someone, her waist as we weave through the crowd, her nape when I lean in to whisper something in her ear. Every touch is a victory and a defeat. Her body responds in spite of her, but her mind remains distant, hidden behind impenetrable walls.

This is what I’ve been reduced to: trying to seduce my own wife in public because she won’t let me near her in private. Pathetic. But the enigma she’s become fascinates me even more than the timid young woman I once used to save my own skin. This new Sophia—with her fiery spirit and her secrets—stirs something primal in me, almost violent. I want to break down her defenses, melt that armor, make her moan my name like she used to. I want to see that look of adoration in her eyes again.

She bends down to pick up a glass of champagne, and the motion reveals a patch of bare skin on her back. I have to summon all my self-control not to pull her into a dark corner, press my lips to her neck, and slide my hands beneath that dress that's driving me insane.

"Dance with me, Sophia."

She hesitates for a moment before nodding. I slide a hand onto her back to guide her to the dance floor. The feel of her bare skin beneath my fingers is sheer delight, and I barely manage to restrain myself. Our first steps are a bit awkward, but soon we find our rhythm, our own tempo.

My gaze locked onto hers despite the barrier of our masks, I try to show her what I feel. Every step, every movement, is a silent confession. Because, yes, even if I can’t say it in this murky situation we’re in—I care for her. More than my life. I just regret not realizing it sooner… and dragging her into the ugliness of my world.

Sophia falters under the intensity of my gaze, and I catch that lovely flush coloring her cheeks. She lowers her eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by emotion, before lifting them back to me with a mix of shyness and hope that makes my heart stumble.

Alas, I know our happy bubble has burst when I see Natasha walking toward us.

22. The Phoenix Protocol

SOPHIA

Ruslan’s arm wraps around me more tightly, both firm and insistent, as if he refuses to let me go. The intensity of his gaze makes me shiver despite myself, and I hate how my body responds to his presence—how my skin ignites under his fingers, how my heart pounds inside its cage. I don’t understand this seduction game he’s playing. What is he trying to tell me? I’m afraid to know...