Page 45 of Mr. and Mrs. Novak

23. Natasha

RUSLAN

Natasha pulls me into a secluded alcove hidden behind heavy drapes. The cloying scent of her overpriced perfume makes my stomach turn. I want nothing more than to get back to Sophia.

"Ruslan, I’ve missed you so much," she murmurs, pressing against me, her hands already roaming greedily over my chest.

"Natasha, your husband—"

"He’s not here tonight," she cuts me off with that predatory smile. "We have the whole night."

"No. Absolutely not," I say firmly. "My wife is waiting for me. I’m spending the evening with her."

The flawless mask of beauty she wears cracks, revealing the venomous woman beneath.

"Your wife?" she spits. "That insignificant little thing? Don’t tell me you actually care what she thinks. I know exactly why you married her."

I force myself to hide my disgust as I take her in. She truly believes she’s superior to Sophia—this woman who cares for nothing and no one. A woman who married her husband for his bank account and collects lovers like others collect stamps. Pathetic. I only ever got close to her for one reason. Stanislas. It’s time she proved useful.

"Not tonight, but maybe later this week…" I suggest.

"Thursday night. He’ll still be away on business."

Her phone rings, making both of us jump. Natasha glances at the screen, and I see fear flash across her face.

"Good evening, darling," she answers, trying for a light tone, but there’s a tremor in her voice. "I’m at the gala… I just felt like going out for a bit."

She suddenly freezes, listening intently to the voice on the other end. Her face drains of color.

"What…? No, I don’t know anyone by that name. Why?"

Another silence. Longer. Heavier. Her fingers tremble so violently she nearly drops her phone.

"Okay. I’m coming right now."

She hangs up with a shaking hand. The seductress act has completely crumbled, replaced by raw terror she desperately tries to mask behind a strained smile.

"I have to go," she blurts before rushing off, her heels echoing sharply against the marble floor.

I watch her disappear, more unsettled than I want to admit. What if her husband has found out something? A chill runs down my spine. If that’s the case, we’re all in danger. Stanislas isn’t known for his mercy. The men who dare plot behind his back usually end up in pieces—scattered across dumpster sites.

It was by chance that I had discovered their scheme. One evening, while checking the transport records, I had noticed that several of our containers were making unscheduled stops at secondary ports. Each time, the same reasons were given: 'urgent technical repairs,' 'unexpected transshipment,' 'additional customs inspection.'

These systematic detours had intrigued me. Every time we were transporting goods for Zenith Axis, these unplanned stops appeared. At first, I thought it was a coincidence, but as I dug deeper into the records, I discovered that this pattern repeated every single time, without exception. It wasn’t just a random occurrence. Then, by cross-referencing the information, a darker reality began to unfold: Zenith Axis, this seemingly harmless company, was one of the many businesses Stanford had put us in touch with. The connection seemed too obvious to ignore.

Curious, I pushed my research further, discovering that Stanford, through its company Nexora Trade, held significant stakes in Zenith Axis. It was one of those subtle but crucial links that had escaped me until then. Nexora Trade, which on the surface seemed unrelated to our operations, actually had decision-making power behind companies that we thought were independent. Every movement, every diverted shipment now seemed connected to an invisible chain that led straight back to Stanford.

More troubling still, the declared weights of these containers varied significantly between departure and arrival.

I had immediately summoned Akim and Nicolas. My two closest friends, the only ones in whom I had absolute trust. Akim, with his sharp legal mind, had scrutinized every document linked to Stanford. Nicolas, our security expert, had begun discreetly monitoring certain staff members.

The picture that was emerging was disturbing. Stanford likely had accomplices at all levels, in the ports, on the roads, and even among my own teams. It was Akim who had made the connection with our initial loans. Those exorbitant interest rates were just a facade: they wanted a legitimate business for their trafficking.

The deeper we dug, the larger the case became. I needed to discover the extent of his network, to understand how they operated at each step.

My objective was clear: dismantle their organization and clean up my company. But I had to act with caution. These people weren't amateurs, and a single mistake could compromise everything. I needed solid, indisputable evidence before going to the authorities.

I had to discover how far the corruption extended in my own company before I could eradicate it.