I wake up with the remnants of what we didst night still clinging to me. The bed feels colder now, and I roll over to find the spot beside me empty, a slight dip in the mattress where Konstantin should be.


    The man is always the first one out of bed. Does he even sleep?


    Swinging my legs off the bed, I’m still wrapped in one of his oversized T-shirts, the one he gave me to sleep in, and the scent of him clings to my skin.


    Getting to my feet, I grab a pair of shorts from the dresser and quickly slip into them before heading down the stairs.


    As I reach thest step, my eyes catch something: several pieces of luggage sitting at the foot of the stairs.


    Is he going somewhere? An emergency work thing?


    Am I going with him?


    Curiosity spirals in my gut as I head toward the kitchen, making out the soft clink of something, and as I enter, I find Konstantin at the breakfast table pouring himself a cup of coffee. His usualmanding presence fills the room, and when his eyes lift to meet mine, he offers a small, almost imperceptible smile. One that feels both distant and unreadable.


    Maybe I imagined it?


    “Good morning,” he says, the deep rumble of his voice making my stomach flip. “Have a seat.”


    I hesitate for just a second before walking toward him. When I sit down, he rises to pour me a cup of coffee and ces a te in front of me, the food steaming. But his silence only makes my anxiety worse.


    Why is he being so quiet? What’s going on?


    I peer down at the te, then back up at him. “Are you going somewhere?”


    He pauses, his gaze briefly drifting to his te as he chews slowly. When he finally meets my eyes, he says nothing, and the silence stretches between us, making my nerves re even more.


    “No,” he finally answers, his tone t. “We are. I packed for you while you were asleep.”


    The words hit me like a punch to the chest, and I don’t understand why. Maybe it’s because he caught me snooping in the game room and now ns to kill me under the pretense of some trip. Or maybe I’m just overthinking it.


    Come on, Emilia. If he wanted you dead, why bother with the theatrics? He could easily do it right here.


    Then again, Konstantin loves theatrics.


    I force myself to act casual as I take a sip of my coffee. “Where are we going?”


    His eyes narrow, then his lips curl into a sly smile. “On our honeymoon.”


    I freeze, every muscle locking up.


    Honeymoon? This makes no sense. Who goes on a honeymoon at thest minute?


    “Did you think I wasn’t going to treat my wife to one?”


    The stiffness in my chest is suffocating, but I try to push it down. “Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?”


    His mouth winds up. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”


    Well, consider me surprised.


    “And where are we going?”


    “You’ll see.” He picks up his fork, digging into his meal, while my mind spins with doubts and questions.


    But I don’t have a choice but to go, do I?


    “Eat.” Hismand slices through my thoughts. “We leave in two hours.”


    Two hours? Jesus!


    All I can do is grab my fork and stare nkly at the food, fighting the anxiety rising inside me and the nagging feeling that something’s not quite right.<hr>


    The hum of the private ne fades into the background as I look out the window, watching the darkened clouds stretch across the sky beneath us. The flight’s too long, and with every passing hour, a tension grows inside me, gnawing at the edges of my mind.


    Konstantin has barely said a word, and the silence is deafening. I still wonder if he looked through the cameras after our pool table session and saw me snooping. What else could it be?


    I tried to text Riley after breakfast a few times to give her a heads-up about my trip, but each time, there he was, watching me. It was as if he knew I’d try to make a move, like he was waiting for me to slip.


    Now, as his private ne descends into Nice, France, I’m even more afraid of what’s waiting for me.


    The ne touches down smoothly, the engines whining as we roll to a stop. Konstantin’s men shuffle out of their seats, gathering our luggage, while I nce at him beside me. His expression is impassive, and when our eyes meet, he says nothing—just a slight smirk as he rises, gesturing for me to walk ahead of him.


    The cold night air hits me as we step off the ne and into the waiting cars. The faint smell of the Mediterranean lingers in the breeze, but the tension in the air is suffocating. I try to shake it off, but it follows me like a shadow.


    We drive through winding roads, the lights of the city fading into the distance as we approach a sprawling estate, nestled high above the sparkling coastline of Villefranche-sur-Mer with the most stunning view of the south of France, the Mediterranean stretching out in an endless expanse.


    I can’t believe this is real. It’s breathtaking. I try not to stare, but the castle looming ahead is impossible to ignore, surrounded by acres of lush greenery. The staff is already waiting for us, dressed in ck uniforms as they greet us with practiced politeness.


    “Do you own this ce?”


    He turns to me, shing that familiar Konstantin smirk, effortlessly charming. “Yes, and I hope you like it.”


    “I do.” My smile that follows feels forced.


    I don’t know what’s going on inside his head, and I don’t like it.


    We enter the home, the gray marble floors gleaming under the soft glow of chandeliers. His men carry our luggage up the stairs as we follow, the silence between us palpable.


    When his guys open one of the doors and leave our luggage, we move in after them, stepping into a spacious bedroom where a sparkling chandelier hangs from the ceiling, casting soft shadows across the room.


    Walking past therge bed, draped in rich, dark linens, I head for the floor-to-ceiling ss doors, which lead out to a terrace that overlooks the garden and the shimmering waters below.


    The view is insane, but it doesn’t ease the growing anxiety gnawing at me.


    Why are we really here?


    When his hand rests on my shoulder, I flinch, startled by the sudden touch. Clearing my throat, I turn to him, forcing myself to look him in the eye, pretending I’m fine.


    “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low, almost concerned.


    I should be asking you that.


    Instead, I nod quickly, my wordsing out too fast. “I’m just tired.”


    He doesn’t seem convinced, but he doesn’t press the issue. “Then we should get some rest. We have a big day ahead tomorrow.”


    “What do you have nned?” The question slips out, my curiosity getting the better of me.


    A half-grin tugs at his lips. “I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise, malyshka.”


    Oh, please, ruin the surprise. I don’t even like surprises.


    “Can’t wait.”


    I turn my attention back to the view outside, trying not to imagine whether we’ll be lounging by the glistening pool below or if he’s nning to drown me in it. Or maybe toss me off a cliff.


    Though I was kind of hoping to try some French food before I die…


    Eh, maybe there’s still time.