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A few minutes later, I step back into the bedroom feeling much more awake.

I gather my hair into a messy bun, walk over to the closet to find something to wear. My gaze drifts toward Roman's side of the closet, and lands on one of his neatly folded white dress shirts. Before I can overthink it, I pull it on. It nearly reaches the middle of my thighs and the sleeves swallow my hands.

The shirt smells like him. Clean linen, cedar, and that distinctly Roman scent I've somehow already come to recognize.

I steal one last glance toward his sleeping form before slipping out of the room, and head downstairs to get breakfast.

The rich scent of freshly brewed coffee reaches me before I even step into the kitchen. Morning sunlight spills through the tall windows, bathing the marble countertops in a warm golden glow. Sofía is already there, humming softly to herself as she flips pancakes. She looks up when she hears my footsteps and offers me the same warm smile she always does.

"Good morning, Mrs. Sokolov," she says. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did." I return her smile as I walk farther into the kitchen. "Could I have some coffee, please?"

"Of course."

I hesitate before adding, "Actually... could you make it two cups?"

Sofía pauses in the middle of reaching for a mug. "Two?"

"One for me and one for Roman." I smile without thinking about it. "He's still asleep upstairs. I thought I'd bring him breakfast in bed."

For a second, she simply stares at me. The expression on her face is so unexpected that I begin wondering if I've said something strange.

"Roman..." she repeats slowly. "He's still upstairs?"

"Yes."

"And... he slept in your room?"

I let out a small laugh, unable to understand why that seems to surprise her so much.

"Well, yes." I shrug. "He's my husband. Isn't that where he's supposed to sleep?"

Sofía's lips part as though she's about to answer, but no words come out. Instead, she quietly turns back toward the coffee maker. I study her in silence for a few moments. Ever since I arrived at this estate, I've had the unsettling feeling that everyone knows something I don't. Every conversation seems to stop just as I walk into a room.

I step closer to the island. "Sofía."

She glances at me while placing slices of toast onto a plate. "Yes?"

"What aren't you telling me?"

She doesn't answer. Instead, she focuses on arranging the breakfast with unnecessary precision before finally saying, "I'm not keeping anything from you, Mrs. Sokolov."

I shake my head. "Yes, you are. I can see it every time I ask about Roman. You know something."

A quiet sigh escapes her. "As I told you before, if there is something you believe you should know, your husband is the one you should ask."

I can't help letting out a frustrated laugh. "And you know exactly how impossible that is. Talking to Roman is like pulling teeth. He doesn't tell me anything."

For the briefest moment, I think I see sympathy flicker across her face.

I soften my voice. "I'm not asking you to betray him, Sofía. I'm only trying to understand my husband."

She lowers her gaze to the plate in front of her, carefully wiping an imaginary smear from the rim.

"I know you're hiding something," I say quietly. "Please... if you can't tell me everything, then tell me this. Why were you so surprised that Roman spent the night with me?"

Sofía slowly finishes plating the breakfast before pouring coffee into two porcelain cups. She places everything neatly onto a serving tray, then rests both hands against the edge of the counter. When she finally lifts her head, her expression is torn, as though she's fighting a battle with herself.