Page 8 of Mr. and Mrs. Novak

She gets up and disappears into the bathroom. I hear the water running, and the urge to join her grips me, but I’ve lost that right.

Sophia has always been my weakness, ever since we were kids. That truth hit me the day I saw the girl I once knew turn into a woman. I tried to keep my distance, until everything changed.

It was the night before my eighteenth birthday.

Like every Friday, I’d gone out in town with Raphaël. The night had been wild, the drinks plenty, and the girls even more so, all eager to please us. Raphaël didn’t come home, but I had decided to. Sophia was waiting for me on the doorstep, furious, her eyes blazing.

Damn, she was stunning like that, wrapped in her anger.

"You’ve had enough of hanging around with your sluts yet?" she snapped, her voice shaking with rage.

I should have ignored her instead of provoking her, but the alcohol clouded my judgment.

"What’s wrong, little Sophia? Are you jealous?" I taunted.

"Jealous of you? Not a chance. You reek of cheap perfume. If you’re going to pick a girl, at least choose one with class."

"Someone like you?"

"Why are you bringing me into this?"

"Stop lying. I know you’re crazy about me… You want to know what it feels like? You want to taste my kiss?"

I stepped closer, a predator closing in on its prey. The more she backed away, the more I advanced. It was intoxicating to see desire and distress warring in her eyes.

When she was trapped against the wall, I caged her in with my arms and, slowly, so slowly she could feel her heartbeat quicken. I leaned in.

Her lips were soft, untouched. I knew no other boy had kissed them before, and it was exhilarating to be her first. I deepened the kiss, my tongue stroking hers with a tenderness that surprised even me. She was so pure, so sweet, so utterly mesmerizing. The floral scent of her perfume clouded my senses, and I wanted more, so much more. My body reacted violently to her proximity.

Then reality hit me like a punch to the gut. What the hell was I doing?

She was only fifteen.

I was about to turn eighteen.

Shit, I had to stop this.

I shoved her away and nearly ran.

After that night, I avoided her as much as possible, too aware of the desire she ignited in me. I sought solace in other women, but I could never erase the taste of her kiss or the way she had surrendered to me.

As the years passed, every time we met, she seemed to retreat further behind an invisible wall. Her once warm voice became measured, her movements calculated. It was as if her vibrant personality was slowly fading, replaced by a smoother, nearly hollow version of herself. The laughter that once lit up her face had become rare. If not for our shared childhood memories, I might have thought I had imagined that lively, spirited girl.

Too absorbed in building my empire, I never stopped to question the reasons behind her transformation. Yet she remained one of the few people I trusted completely to watch my back. I knew she would always be there if I needed her.

These past three months, I had glimpsed traces of my old Sophia, the woman who was strong, passionate, and deeply sensitive whenever she let her guard down. In those moments, her dark eyes regained their former spark, her voice its authentic inflections. Our first night together had revealed a lover so generous and intense that it had shaken me. It was as if all the barriers between us had finally crumbled. Her body trembled against mine with breathtaking intensity. Those moments of absolute surrender awakened something primal in me, an almost terrifying possessiveness. I wanted to be the only one to see her like this—vulnerable and passionate. The only one to know the softness of her skin, the taste of her lips. That fire I saw flickering in her gaze, that unique blend of desire and tenderness. I wanted it at all costs.

For the first time in my life, I felt as if I was holding not just a desirable body, but a soul that resonated with mine.

Sophia steps out of the shower, and I hear the faint rustle of fabric as she gets dressed in silence. A part of me burns to open my eyes and watch her. After all, isn’t she my wife? The desire I feel for her is justified, despite everything that has happened. But I keep my eyes shut, knowing that the slightest misstep could shatter this fragile moment.

The image of her, broken, shivering under the freezing shower, her face devastated by my betrayal, will haunt me for the rest of my life.

For the first time since I set this reckless plan into motion, doubt grips me. Was any of this really worth it? Could Sophia’s suffering ever be justified?

No. A thousand times, no.

But it’s too late now. The damage is done, and there’s no turning back. The stakes grew tenfold the moment she became my wife.