Page 128 of Konstantin

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 places a plate 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 plate, then back up at him. “Are you going somewhere?”

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

“No,” he finally answers, his tone flat. “Weare. 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 plans 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 ahoneymoon at the last 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.” His command slices through my thoughts. “We leave in two hours.”

Two hours? Jesus!

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

The hum of the private plane 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 plane descends into Nice, France, I’m even more afraid of what’s waiting for me.

The plane touches down smoothly, the engines whining as we rollto a stop. Konstantin’s men shuffle out of their seats, gathering our luggage, while I glance 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 plane 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.