Page 73 of Mr. and Mrs. Novak

I'm not being very nice by mocking him. I know it's not his fault, and that he feels terrible about it. This vulnerability in his gaze, so rare for him, touches me more than I want to admit. So, to make it up to him, to let him know that nothing is broken between us, I pull him close and kiss him, with all the force of my love, with all the intensity of what we just shared on the mat—that violent dance that was just another form of our passion.

“I love you, Ruslan.”

The next day, I’m in the middle of a video call with my team of analysts when my phone vibrates. A message from my brother.

“Hey, Sophia, Dad didn’t get a chance to say it, but he wanted to thank you for the concert tickets.”

I frown. Concert tickets? What tickets?

A creeping fear coils in my chest, and my fingers tighten around the phone. I glance at Ruslan, sitting a bit farther away, fully focused on his conversation with Akim and Nicolas.

My heart starts racing.

This can’t be happening.

We never talked about a concert.

So then who…

Stanford.

Short of breath, I excuse myself from my team and discreetly leave the room, my legs wobbling under the surge of adrenaline. I call Raphaël. He picks up immediately.

"Hi, Sophia, the tickets were an awesome idea. Thanks! The kids were overjoyed!"

"Raphaël, it wasn’t us."

A silence. Almost imperceptible. Yet I know he understands. Raphaël has been trained for danger; he knows exactly what my words imply.

"Damn, Sophia... What are you mixed up in?"

I hear him running, grabbing the house keys, and the front door slamming.

"Shit! They’re already gone," he says. "The car isn’t there anymore."

"I’m begging you, you have to find them."

"Don’t worry, I’ll handle it. I’ll call my guys for backup. I’ll keep you posted."

The call ends.

I remain frozen for a moment, my head against the hallway wall, struggling to control my breathing. It feels like minutes stretch into hours. Ruslan joins me, his expression questioning. I explain, and he doesn’t need more details to understand how serious this is.

The wait is endless. Ruslan stays close, his presence a quiet source of comfort. Our security team remains in the background, but I sense their concern. They, too, have loved ones who could be in danger one day.

Each vibration of my phone makes me jump. Then finally, a call. I answer immediately.

"Everything’s fine. I found them. They’re safe. I think it was just an intimidation tactic—to show you they can reach your loved ones. But don’t worry, I’ll be careful. I’ve got three of my guys keeping an eye on them."

"However… you owe the kids tickets to the next Roi Soleil concert."

"Thank you! Thank you!" I say, on the verge of tears.

"You’re welcome. That’s what I’m here for. Take care of yourself too."

"I promise."

That’s the advantage of having a brother in special forces. No questions I can’t answer. No lies to invent. Just absolute, silent trust.