That was the objective—to gather enough evidence to pin a crime on him and ensure he would spend the rest of his life behind bars.
Being inside his house again would provide that golden opportunity.
But it also came with risk.
Risk of emotional manipulation. Risk of surveillance against me. Risk of losing objectivity.
“Elena... please,” he said again.
The plea was quieter now.
Stripped of authority and dominance.
It sounded almost human.
I let silence stretch between us. Long enough to make him uncomfortable.
Long enough to make him believe I was weighing emotional attachment.
Long enough to disguise the fact that my decision had already formed through strategy.
Finally, I spoke. “I’ll draft the divorce papers tonight.”
His expression tightened immediately.
“You sign them tomorrow. No delays. No lawyers stalling. No paperwork disappearing.”
My gaze hardened.
“In return, I’ll come stay at the estate for a while.”
His eyes flickered — surprise.
Relief.
Control regained.
I continued before he could respond.
“Only because of Yannis.”
I pointed slightly toward him.
“Not you. Not us. Him.”
The boundary was explicit. The terms were clear.
I was agreeing to temporary cohabitation.
Not reconciliation. Not emotional reunion. Not restoration of marriage.
This was a strategic infiltration under the guise of parental involvement.
Ruslan studied me carefully.
Trying to determine whether I was acting out of guilt.
Or calculation. Or both.
