Page 46 of Mr. and Mrs. Novak

I return to the main hall, scanning the crowd for Sophia. No trace of her near the buffet or on the dance floor. My gaze methodically sweeps every corner of the room, in vain.

That's when I notice, in the gardens, a man hurrying back toward the reception. His attitude puts me on alert. Too furtive, too tense. An alarm sounds in my mind, fueling a visceral jealousy. Without hesitation, I head in the direction from which he came.

And there, I find her, leaning on a marble balustrade. Her breath is still short, her cheeks flushed, and stray locks have escaped from her chignon. A wave of rage overwhelms me as I imagine what could have put her in this state.

"What are you doing here?" I say in a voice sharper than intended.

"Ruslan."

She straightens immediately, resuming that icy posture that drives me crazy.

"You didn't answer my question," I persist.

Her green eyes transform into sharp blades.

"You dare make a scene after sneaking off with your mistress?"

"I haven't slept with her for a long time."

"Really? Wasn't she the one you were kissing on the very day of our wedding? Aren't those her photos that you cherish in your wallet?"

Her anger is legitimate and I want to tell her that I don't care about Natasha, that those photos are just to keep her away from Stanford's trail, but I can't. Instead, I simply look at her.

She's magnificent in her fury. Seeing her like this, with flushed cheeks and parted lips, awakens in me a wild desire mixed with possessiveness. My wife, yet so inaccessible - this contradiction tortures me. In a thoughtless impulse, I pull her against me and capture her lips. They are soft, burning... For a moment, I feel her melt against my body.

The counterattack is devastating. Her movement, with disconcerting fluidity, takes me by surprise. In a fraction of a second, she pivots and wraps her arm around mine in an unbeatable hold. My arm immobilized, I am forced to bend.

"Don't touch me!"

Her voice is sharp despite a slight tremor. I try to break free but her grip remains firm. I had no idea she practiced combat sports. One more mystery.

"Who taught you that?" I ask, suspicious.

A mocking expression on her face, she taunts me.

"The great Ruslan subdued by a woman? How shameful! Don't worry, darling, this will be our little secret."

Damn, what a woman! I love her biting irony. She's nothing like the shy young girl I married. I'm torn between concern and admiration. And her armlock... it's frighteningly effective! I also note that she didn't answer my question. The mystery deepens, but I'll eventually discover everything she's hiding from me.

24. Two million

RUSLAN

Despite her formidable escape move, Sophia seems to have lost all her fight on the way back. Sitting beside me, her mind is completely elsewhere. If I didn’t know her better, I might have mistaken it for anger or jealousy, but that’s not it. Her body is tense, on high alert. Her posture betrays a nervousness she didn’t have earlier. Her fingers tense up at times, then relax, as if she’s trying to hide her tension. Every now and then, she steals quick glances at the rearview mirrors, scanning the traffic with heightened vigilance. Not just a casual look. No. She’s searching for something. With every car that passes us, she studies the passengers warily. She has the reflexes of prey being hunted.

— You’ll tell me if some—

But she cuts me off, her voice sharp:

— No, Ruslan.

Fuck! My hands tighten on the steering wheel. Her tone is firm, but it reeks of anxiety, of fear. She wants to keep me at a distance. And I get it. My secrets led us here. Sophia doesn’t trust me anymore, even though danger might be closing in on her.

Her face is expressionless, but her silence speaks volumes.

I don’t push. Once we’re back at the penthouse, she locks herself in her room. Left alone in the living room, I pour myself a drink from the minibar and sink into an armchair before calling Nicolas.

"Anything new about Sophia?"