Page 5 of Mr. and Mrs. Novak

Her voice sends a chill down my spine. This isn’t the gentle Sophia I know. The woman beside me is a stranger, her gaze sharp as steel.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, my heartbeat turning erratic.

"Don’t insult my intelligence. I heard everything. You and your precious Natasha. So answer me."

The words lodge in my throat. A cold sweat trickles down my back as realization dawns. She knows everything. The woman staring at me with such detached composure is nothing like the timid girl I manipulated.

"How long?" she repeats, each syllable cracking like a whip.

My mouth is dry. My hands, usually so steady, tremble slightly.

"I don’t know… Six months? Maybe a year?"

"Six months," she states, her voice devoid of emotion. "In six months, we’ll separate. Until then, I’ll play the role of your alibi to keep you alive—but on my terms."

A shiver runs down my spine. Who is this woman? Where is the quiet country girl who used to blush under my gaze?

"You will never touch me again," she continues. "You’ll let me live my life, and I won’t interfere in yours. We’ll be married on paper only. You can fuck all the whores you want."

I hear myself protest.

"Natasha is not a whore."

A cold smile curves her lips. I immediately regret my words, which sound too much like a defense of my mistress.

"If you say so. You can fuck Natasha as much as you want. Just make sure not to get caught again. Because that's exactly what this is about, isn't it? You were stupid enough to almost get caught by a dangerous man capable of making you disappear with a snap of his fingers."

Every word lands like a slap. The ease with which she talks about death and violence completely unsettles me. This isn’t the same woman who, just hours ago, beamed with happiness at the altar.

"I’ll play the role of the loving wife to save your sorry asses," she concludes. "And in six months, we’ll be done."

I stare at her, searching for any crack in her armor, any trace of the Sophia I know. But her gaze remains cold, emptied of all warmth.

For the first time in my life, I feel utterly powerless.

Of course, I had considered the possibility that she might find out the truth. I had imagined tears, anger, accusations. But nothing, absolutely nothing, had prepared me for this.

The emptiness.

The cutting indifference.

I never saw it coming.

The car stops in front of our building. Sophia doesn’t wait for me to open the door for her. She steps out of the limousine with a fluid motion and heads toward the entrance, her wedding dress rustling lightly over the marble floor of the lobby. I follow her to the elevator, where her reflection in the mirrors shows me the image of a stranger with a regal posture.

The ride to the top floor feels endless, the silence broken only by the mechanical hum of the cabin. She keeps her eyes fixed on the glowing numbers as they change, as if staring at them could erase my presence.

As soon as the penthouse door opens, she strides confidently toward the guest bedroom. She knows the place well—she visited before the wedding. The door closes behind her with a sharp click.

I walk into my bedroom, the one that should have become ours, and strip down before stepping under a scalding shower, hoping the water will wash away the tension of the day. I never imagined I’d spend my wedding night alone. Reality is far from my fantasies.

The memory of our first time suddenly crashes over me. I nearly lost control the moment I entered her, overwhelmed by the sensations. We made love slowly, taking our time to explore each other. And that’s when she completely took me by surprise. In the intimacy of our bedroom, her usual reserve had given way to a consuming passion. She had been generous, fierce, her voice whispering my name with a sensuality that still haunts me.

And now, she’s my wife. Legally mine. Except there’s a wall between us.

4. Putting on My Armor

SOPHIA