Roman froze in the middle of the living room of their two-story house. Amazement flashed in his eyes, quickly replaced by anger. He hadn’t expected his wife to know about Kristina.
“What nonsense are you talking? What mistress?” he tried to sound indignant, but it came out unconvincing.
Anna slowly turned to him. There wasn’t a single tear in her brown eyes—only icy contempt.
“DON’T, Roman. Just don’t. I’ve known about Kristina for six months. I know about the apartment you’re renting for her. About the gifts. About your ‘business trips’ to Sochi.”
The man flushed crimson. It always infuriated him when his wife turned out to be smarter than he thought. Thirty-eight years old, owner of a chain of car dealerships—he was used to everyone dancing to his tune. Money opened any doors, solved any problems. But not now.
“Fine, LET’S SAY I do have… something on the side,” he ground out through his teeth. “But what do the money have to do with it? I have my own business, I earn my own money!”
Anna smirked. Thirty-five, a housewife—that’s how he introduced her to his friends. A dumb hen who sits at home and spends his money. If only he knew…
“Your business?” She walked over to the bar and poured herself some mineral water. “Remind me, whose money did you use to open your first dealership ten years ago?”
“Your father’s,” Roman admitted reluctantly. “But I paid him back long ago!”
“Paid back?” Anna shook her head. “You repaid the LOAN my dad took out using his company as collateral. And who was the guarantor? Me. And when two years ago you were on the verge of going bust because of your little adventures with gray schemes, who pulled you out?”
“ENOUGH!” Roman roared, slamming his fist on the table. “That’s all in the past! Right now everything’s great, my business is thriving!”
“Thriving?” Anna took a tablet out of her purse. “Want to see the reports? Minus three million last quarter. Debts to suppliers—five million. Loans—seven. That gives us…”
“WHERE did you get this data?!” Roman snatched the tablet from her and threw it onto the couch.
“I’m just a dumb housewife, remember?” Anna said mockingly. “Who’s been doing all the bookkeeping for your companies for ten years. Unofficially, of course. Because officially your buddy Igor works there, the one who only tells debit from credit after his third shot.”
Roman was silent, breathing heavily. It infuriated him that his wife was right. That she knew everything. That without her he would’ve gone under long ago.
“Kristina needs surgery,” he finally forced out. “A serious one. In Germany. Two million rubles.”
“And you want me to give you that money?” Anna laughed. “ON WHAT GROUNDS?”
“Because… because it’s a matter of life and death!”
“Whose death? The one who, six months ago, was posting photos with my husband on Instagram with the caption ‘My love’? The one who called me and said I was an old cow who couldn’t keep a man?”
Roman choked. He hadn’t known Kristina had called his wife.
“She… she was drunk…”
“She was BRAZEN,” Anna cut him off. “Just like you. You both decided I was nothing. Furniture you don’t have to notice. Well then, GET OUT of my life, both of you, to hell!”
The next morning Roman woke up in the guest bedroom with a terrible headache. After last night’s conversation he had gotten drunk and didn’t even remember how he’d made it to bed.
Going down to the kitchen, he found Anna there. She was calmly drinking coffee and reading some documents.
“Good morning,” he threw out dryly, pouring himself some water.
“Morning,” she replied, without lifting her eyes from the papers.
“Listen, Anna… Let’s talk calmly. No shouting, no insults.”
His wife raised her eyes to him. There was a hint of curiosity in them.
“Go on.”
“I admit I was wrong. The thing with Kristina—it’s a mistake. But right now we’re talking about a human life! She has a brain tumor. If she doesn’t have the surgery in the next two weeks…”
“She’ll die,” Anna finished for him. “And?”
Roman couldn’t believe his ears.
“What do you mean, ‘and’? You’re not a monster!”
“I’m not a monster. I’m a woman whose husband betrayed her. Who was humiliated and laughed at. Your Kristina knew you were married. She knew, and she DIDN’T CARE. She wanted money, a pretty life, status. Well, life is a fair thing.”
“You’re just jealous!” Roman exploded. “Jealous that she’s young and pretty and you’re…”
“And I’m what?” Anna stood up from the table. “Old? Ugly? Maybe. But I have something your Kristina doesn’t. MONEY. And power over you.”
“What do you mean?”
Anna walked over to the safe, entered the code, and took out a thick folder.
“These are copies of all the documents for your business. Or rather, for MY business. Because all the companies are registered to me. You yourself asked for that—so that, if anything happened, your creditors couldn’t take them. Remember?”
Roman remembered. Three years ago, when he’d had serious trouble with his debts, he’d transferred everything to his wife. Later, when things got better, he meant to take it all back, but somehow never got around to it. And Anna never reminded him.
“So what? Tomorrow we’ll go to the notary and fix everything!”
“NO,” Anna cut him off. “We won’t go. And we won’t fix anything. You see, darling, while you were having fun with Kristina, I wasn’t wasting my time. All your companies have been re-registered. New founding documents. New official seals. And your name doesn’t even appear there as an employee.”
“YOU COULDN’T HAVE DONE THAT!” Roman bellowed. “You need my signature for that!”
“Signature?” Anna took out another folder. “Here are your signatures. On all the documents. You never read what you sign. ‘Anya, there are papers on the table, sign them for me.’ Remember? Well, I did have them signed. Only not instead of you—you signed them yourself. Just not the papers you thought.”
Roman grabbed the documents and started flipping through them. His face grew paler and paler.
“This… this is FRAUD!”
“Prove it,” Anna shrugged. “An expert will confirm that the signatures are genuine. Witnesses will confirm that you were of sound mind and clear memory. By the way, your friend Igor will confirm it too. I gave him a bonus. A big one.”
“Bitch…” Roman hissed. “You planned all of this!”
“Not all,” Anna admitted. “Kristina and her tumor, I didn’t plan. That’s just… a bonus. Karma, if you like.”
“I’ll sue you! I’ll prove you tricked me!”
“Go ahead. Just bear in mind—while the trial is going on, all the company accounts will be frozen. There’ll be no money to pay salaries. Suppliers will demand their debts be settled immediately. In a month, there’ll be nothing left of your empire but debts. Which, by the way, are also on you. Personal guarantees, remember?”
Roman was pacing around his office. A week had passed since that conversation. Kristina called him ten times a day, crying, begging him to get the money. The doctors gave her at most a month without the surgery.
He tried to find the money elsewhere. The banks refused—there was no collateral left, all the property was in Anna’s name. His friends spread their hands—no one had that kind of money. Sell part of the business? But the business wasn’t his anymore.
Humiliation choked him. All his life he had considered himself in control. A successful businessman, a handsome man everyone envied. And it turned out he was a puppet in his wife’s hands. The same wife he despised for her “petty bourgeois mindset” and “narrow horizons.”
The phone rang again. Kristina.
“Romochka, well? Any news? The doctors say we have to go urgently, they just had a spot open up…”
“Kristina, I… I still can’t get the money.”
“What do you mean, you CAN’T?! You said you had a multimillion business! What kind of man are you if you can’t help the woman you love?!”
“Don’t yell at me!” Roman snapped. “I’m doing everything I can!”
“Not enough! You’re doing NOT ENOUGH! Your wife is probably walking around in fur coats while I’m here dying! You know what? If you don’t get the money, I’ll tell her everything! About us, about the apartment, about everything!”
“She already knows,” Roman said wearily.
“What? And she… she didn’t throw you out?”
“No. It’s more profitable for her to keep me on a short leash.”
“Then… then I’ll tell all your partners! I’ll post our photos online! I’ll make such a scandal your reputation—”
“SHUT UP!” Roman barked. “Just shut up! You think you’re the only smart one? You think you’ll get anything with blackmail?”
“I’m dying, Roma! DYING! And you don’t care!”
“I do care, but I’m not a magician! There IS no money!”
“Then let your wifey pay! She’s rich, right, since she’s got you on a leash! Ask her, beg her, get on your knees!”
Roman hung up. Get on his knees in front of Anna? NEVER. He’d rather die.
That evening he came home completely shattered. Anna was sitting in the living room watching some talk show.
“You look awful,” she remarked without turning around.
“What do you care?”
“None at all. Just an observation. By the way, Kristina called. On the landline.”
Roman flinched.
“And what did she want?”
“Money, of course. Said you promised but aren’t delivering. Called you a rag and a nobody. And me—an old toad sitting on a pile of cash.”
“Anna, listen…”
“NO, you listen,” she turned off the TV and faced him. “Your girl offered me a deal. I give the money for the surgery, and she disappears from your life forever. Moves to another city and never shows up again.”
Roman’s heart skipped a beat.
“And… and what did you say?”
“What do you think?” Anna smiled. “Of course I agreed.”
“Really?!” Roman couldn’t believe his ears. “You’ll give the money?”
“I will. But under certain conditions.”
Here it comes. Roman knew nothing came free.
“What conditions?”
“First—you sign a property division agreement. Everything that’s in my name stays mine. You get your personal belongings and a car. One. Not the most expensive one.”
“That’s robbery!”
“That’s justice. Second—a divorce. No scandals, no claims. We quietly go our separate ways and live our own lives.”
“But what about the business? There are people working there!”
“The business will stay. I’ll hire a proper manager. I might even keep you. On a salary. If you behave.”
Roman clenched his teeth. From owner to employee of his own wife—that was worse than death.
“Do I have a choice?”
“There’s always a choice,” Anna said philosophically. “You can refuse. Then Kristina dies, you’re left with nothing, and I’ll still file for divorce. Only through the courts this time, with the division of debts. And you have, let me remind you, twelve million in debts.”
They set the signing for the next day. Roman didn’t sleep all night, trying to think of a way out. But there wasn’t one. Anna had cornered him the way a chess player corners the opponent’s king.
In the morning the notary arrived—expensive, trusted, the one who’d been working with their family for many years. An elderly man.
“Good afternoon, Anna Sergeevna, Roman Viktorovich. Nice to see you. So, the property division agreement?”
“Yes, Semyon Petrovich,” Anna nodded. “My husband and I decided to put our property matters in order.”
“Commendable, commendable. Very sensible in this day and age.”
Roman sat as if on needles. Sign a death sentence to his own prosperity? But he had no choice. Kristina was waiting.
“Roman Viktorovich, have you read the document?” asked the notary.
“Yes,” he squeezed out.
“Are you signing voluntarily, without coercion?”
Roman looked at Anna. She was calmly drinking tea, as if they were discussing the purchase of a washing machine.
“Voluntarily,” he lied.
Signatures, stamps, “I wish you happiness and prosperity.” The notary left, having handed them copies of the documents.
“Now the money,” Roman demanded.
“Of course,” Anna took out her phone. “I’ll transfer it now. To the clinic’s account or to Kristina’s?”
“The clinic’s. I’ll give you the details.”
Five minutes later the transfer was made. Two million rubles went to the account of the German clinic.
“That’s it,” Anna said. “Your girl is going to live. You can go to her.”
“She flies out tomorrow.”
“Excellent. That means you’ve got time to pack your things. I expect you to move out by the end of the week.”
“MOVE OUT?! You’re kicking me out of my own house?!”
“Out of MY house,” Anna corrected him. “You signed the documents. The house is mine now. Like everything else.”
Roman jumped up, knocking over his chair.
“You can’t do this! This is our house! We built it together!”
“We built it with my money. More precisely, with my father’s money. And it’s registered to me. So—come on, get packing. I’ll leave you the studio apartment on Rechnaya. Remember, we used to rent it out? Now you’ll live there.”
“A studio? Thirty square meters?!”
“What, that’s perfect for a bachelor. Unless you’d rather live on the street?”
Roman understood—she was serious. She could call security and have him thrown out. And the law would be on her side.
“You’ll pay for this,” he hissed. “I swear, you’ll pay!”
“Is that a threat?” Anna took out her phone. “I can record it and send it to the police. Threats are a criminal offense.”
Roman clenched his fists but kept quiet. Any careless word now could cost him what little freedom he had left.
The next day he packed the bare essentials and left. Kristina flew to Germany without even saying goodbye—she just sent a short “thanks” in a messenger.
The apartment on Rechnaya turned out to be a shabby hole with peeling walls and a leaking faucet. After the three-story mansion it was like moving from a palace into a chicken coop.
Roman pulled out the whiskey—the only expensive thing he had taken with him. He poured himself half a glass and downed it in one gulp.
His phone vibrated. A message from an unknown number.
“Hi, loser. How’s the new life?”
“Who the hell is this?”
Another message. A photo. Kristina hugging some man. The caption: “Thanks for the money. The surgery went great. By the way, meet my husband Oleg. He’s grateful too.”
Roman couldn’t believe his eyes. Husband?!
The phone rang. Unknown number.
“Hello!”
“Hey, Romchik,” a mocking male voice said. “This is Oleg. Kristina’s husband. Wanted to thank you for paying for her surgery. We’ve been married a year, but we didn’t have the money for treatment. And then you came along, so generous. Sure, you had your fun with my wife for six months, but that’s nothing. The important thing is she’s healthy now and we can live our lives. We’re planning kids, can you imagine?”
“You… you used me! You tricked me!”
“And what did you think—that a beauty like Kristina could really fall in love with a pot-bellied forty-year-old uncle? Don’t make me laugh. You were a wallet, Romchik. A walking ATM. And thanks for withdrawing the right amount right on time. Bye!”
The beeps. Roman hurled the phone at the wall. It shattered into pieces.
A month passed. Roman got a job as a sales manager at a dealership—not his, somebody else’s. Anna kept her word about her own companies—she didn’t hire him. Said she’d changed her mind. Let him start from scratch, like everyone else.
His manager’s salary barely covered food and utilities. His former luxurious life was now just a dream.
One evening, there was a knock on the door. Roman opened it. Anna was standing there. But not the Anna he remembered. An expensive dress, professional makeup, styled hair. She’d lost weight, looked ten years younger.
“Hi,” she said. “Can I come in?”
“Why are you here? To admire my downfall?”
“No. I came to tell you something. And to make an offer.”
Reluctantly, Roman let her in. Anna looked around and grimaced.
“How can you live like this?”
“What do you care? You’re the one who shoved me in here.”
“You shoved yourself,” she corrected him. “With your greed, laziness, and arrogance. But that’s not the point. Remember you said I was jealous of Kristina? That she’s young and pretty?”
“So what?”
“So, Kristina is me.”
Roman didn’t understand.
“What do you mean?”
Anna took out her phone and opened a photo. Kristina was on the screen—but… something was off.
“Look closer,” Anna suggested.
Roman took the phone, zoomed in—and gasped. It was Anna. In a wig, with different makeup, colored contacts. But it was her.
“HOW?!”
“Theater club in my youth. Plus a good makeup artist and a bit of acting. Changing your voice is harder, but you never heard us at the same time, did you?”
“But… but we… we slept together!”
“In the dark. You always turned off the light, remember? And you were always drunk. And in the morning I ‘left for work.’ In reality, I went home and turned back into the boring wife.”
Roman slid down the wall to the floor.
“Why? WHY did you do this?”
“I wanted to check. If you’re capable of real feelings. Or if all that matters to you is the packaging. Youth, beauty, passion. Turns out it’s just the packaging. Not once did you show any interest in my—I mean Kristina’s—thoughts, dreams, plans. Just sex and expensive gifts.”
“And the illness? The surgery?”
“There was no illness. I sent the money to charity. To a children’s hospice. In your name, by the way. You can be proud—you saved three kids.”
“You… you’re a MONSTER!”
“No. I’m a woman who put up with humiliation for ten years. Who you treated like furniture. Who you cheated on left and right, thinking I was an idiot who noticed nothing. I just paid you back. With interest.”
“And the man in the photo? Oleg?”
“My cousin. An actor. I asked him to play a role. He loved it—said he hadn’t had that much fun in years.”
Roman looked at his wife—no, his ex-wife—and didn’t recognize her. This was a completely different woman. Smart, cunning, ruthless.
“What do you want from me?” he asked tiredly.
“Nothing. I just thought you should know the truth. And also—I have an offer.”
“What offer?”
“Come back. Not as a husband—as a partner. You’ll run the dealerships. I see the reports—without you, sales are down twelve percent. You’re a good salesman, Roma. A bad husband, but a good salesman.”
“And why should I work for you?”
“Do you have any other options?” Anna shrugged. “You’ll get a percentage of the profits.”
Roman was silent, digesting her words. His pride was shouting, “Tell her to go to hell!” His reason was calmly calculating: rent, food, loans—his current salary barely covered survival.
“Think about it,” Anna headed for the door. “The offer stands for a week.”
“Wait,” Roman stopped her. “And if I… if I agree… Will we ever be able to…”
“No,” she cut him off sharply. “Never. You killed everything that was between us. But I’m not vindictive. Just smart. I need a competent manager, not a husband.”
The door closed. Roman was left alone in the cramped apartment where even the walls seemed to press in on him mockingly.
He poured himself the remaining whiskey and raised the glass.
“Damn bitch,” he muttered, but without his former rage. There was almost a tired admiration in his voice. “She outplayed me completely.”
And yet… Somewhere deep down, under the layers of humiliation and wounded pride, a strange gratitude flickered. Anna could have crushed him completely. But she’d given him a chance. A last one.
He picked up his broken phone, turned on his laptop. He had to answer. Before the week was up.
Anna was driving her new Mercedes, smiling. A cheerful song was playing on the radio. The lights of the evening city—her city—flashed by outside the window.
For ten years she had been a shadow. Now she was the mistress of her own life.
Her phone vibrated. A message from her brother: “You deserve an Oscar, sis. Brilliant performance.”
Anna laughed. Yes, she’d played her part. And she’d won. Her freedom, her self-respect, herself.
And Roman… Whether he came back or not didn’t matter anymore. She no longer depended on his choice.
Ahead lay a new life. Finally, her own.
