Part 1. The Crash of Broken Glass in the Kitchen
Evening did not settle over the city in soft twilight. It came down like a hot, suffocating blanket. In the apartment, where cinnamon and calm had only recently lingered in the air, there was now the metallic scent of ozone, the kind that rises before a violent storm.
Albina stood by the window, a glass of dense, dark shiraz in her hand. She was not drinking. She simply breathed in the aroma, trying to steady herself. Nikita sat at the table, lounging back in his chair with lazy confidence. He looked like a man who owned the world, even though in reality he only owned half of this particular life.
“Move out of the apartment? Is that your idea of a joke now? Knock, knock — is there still a brain left in your head?” Albina asked her husband at last, turning to face him. Her voice was level, stripped of any shrillness.
Nikita smirked and tapped his fingers against the tabletop. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound was beginning to scrape against her nerves.
“Albina, let’s skip the melodrama. You’re a smart woman, a sommelier — you understand nuances of flavor, so surely you can understand the nuances of this situation. We’re cramped together. I want a fresh start. And that fresh start needs to happen here. My mother invested in the place, I wore myself out working on the renovations… can’t you see it would just be easier for you to pack your things and go?”
“Your mother contributed exactly as much as my parents did,” Albina shot back coolly. “We bought this apartment while we were married. Every inch of it belongs to both of us. And now you expect me to vanish into thin air and leave everything to you? That isn’t confidence, Nikita. That’s a medical condition.”
“Well, I’m the man,” he said with a shrug, as though that argument outweighed the constitution, the courts, and basic law. “I need the space. And you… you’ll find someone else. With your kind of job, pouring drinks for rich men can’t be all that difficult.”
Albina set the glass on the windowsill. The wine swayed, leaving slow, oily legs against the crystal. She studied her husband in silence. Six years of marriage. Six years of believing he was her solid ground, her dependable shelter, even if he was only an ordinary patrol officer meant to protect the peace. As it turned out, the only thing he had ever protected was his own ego.
Just then, his phone buzzed on the table.
Nikita jolted toward it, but the screen had already lit up, revealing a payment confirmation. Albina, standing closer, saw the icon and the text before he could hide it. It was not a car parts order. Not a utility bill.
It was a premium subscription to an adult website.
“Seriously?” she asked, disgust thick in her voice as she nodded toward the phone. “You’re throwing your wife out of the house, talking about your ‘new beginning,’ and at the same time spending our family money on virtual prostitutes?”
Nikita reddened, but instead of shame he chose attack. He sprang up so fast he knocked the chair over.
“Don’t you dare touch my phone! Those are my needs! If you had been a normal wife, I wouldn’t have to look for release online! You’re always tired, always running off to your tastings and your wine events. I’m sick of it. Get out, Albina. I’m asking nicely.”
The anger that rose in her was not fire. It was colder than that — more like liquid nitrogen, freezing everything human inside her until only logic remained.
“All right,” she said quietly. “I’ll go. But remember this moment, Nikita. You opened Pandora’s box yourself.”
She walked out of the kitchen, leaving the unfinished wine behind.
Packing took little time. Only the essentials. She had no intention of gifting him so much as a fork, but for now strategic retreat mattered more than sentiment.
Part 2. A Wine Bar with the Taste of Revenge
Half a year passed like one long gray afternoon.
The divorce was finalized. The division of property happened in the driest, most formal way possible. The court awarded each of them a one-half share in the apartment. Nikita flatly refused to sell the place as a whole. He had no money to buy Albina out, yet he refused to sell his share either, still imagining the apartment as his future ancestral stronghold.
Albina now worked at an upscale wine bar in the city center. Dim lighting, rows of polished glasses, quiet music — the whole place carried an air of polished exclusivity. She was behind the counter, drying a decanter, when the door opened and Nikita walked in.
He was not alone.
A young woman with bright red hair clung to his arm, giggling, her sharp eyes glittering like those of a bird of prey spotting something shiny.
“Well, look at this,” Nikita announced loudly as he approached the bar. He looked sleek, smug, practically shining with self-satisfaction. “Lara, meet my ex-wife. Albina, pour us something expensive. We’re celebrating — the renovations are finally finished.”
Lara gave Albina a long, chilly once-over, pausing on her elegant uniform.
“So this is you,” she said slowly. “Nikita told me you were a little… old-fashioned. Can you at least choose decent wine? Or do you only know how to read labels?”
Albina raised her eyes with deliberate calm.
“Good evening,” she said, her tone cool and polished. “I could offer you a Pinot Noir. It has complexity and depth, though I’m afraid it may be wasted on you. Perhaps a semi-sweet table wine would suit you better. Simple. Easy to understand.”
Nikita laughed, completely missing the insult.
“Bring us the best — I’m paying! By the way, the place turned out amazing. I took out a couple of loans, but it was worth it. We knocked down walls, opened up the kitchen into the living room, installed a jacuzzi. Now it’s a true bachelor pad… well, almost,” he added, pinching Lara at the waist.
“You renovated the entire apartment?” Albina asked, reaching for a bottle.
“Of course. I live there, don’t I? Your share can just sit there on paper. Someday I’ll buy you out. It’s not like you ever show up.”
Albina eased the cork free with a soft pop.
And in that exact moment, the final piece clicked into place.
He had been so sure of himself, so convinced of his own invincibility, that he had poured borrowed money into property he did not fully own. Greed and stupidity — a lethal blend.
“For pennies, right?” she said as she filled the glasses. “Enjoy your evening.”
When they left without tipping, Albina took out her phone. In her contacts was the number of a man she had met in an acting class she had joined to cope with stress.
“Gleb?” she said when he answered. “The offer still stands. Let’s meet at the notary tomorrow.”
Part 3. The Renovated Living Room and the Unwanted Guest
The apartment really had been transformed.
Light-colored walls. Stylish furniture. An enormous flat-screen television mounted on the wall.
Nikita lay stretched across the new sofa, enjoying a Friday evening. Lara spun in front of the mirror in the hallway.
“Baby, we need to order sushi. I’m starving,” she chirped.
Then the doorbell rang.
Not politely. Not once. It rang with persistence, with entitlement.
“Who the hell is that?” Nikita muttered, getting to his feet. “Maybe some delivery guy got the wrong place.”
He yanked the door open.
Standing there was a man of uncertain age wearing a mesh tank top, sweatpants with sagging knees, and flip-flops on bare feet. In one hand he carried a huge plaid duffel bag, and in the other a cage with a hamster inside. He smelled of stale tobacco and something sour.
“Evening, neighbors!” the stranger boomed in a bass voice. “Come on, let me in. Don’t just stand there — there’s a draft.”
Nikita stared at him in disbelief and threw out an arm to block the way.
“Hey, man, who are you? You’ve got the wrong door.”
The man — Gleb — casually moved him aside with one shoulder, as though Nikita were made of cardboard, and stepped into the hallway.
“What wrong door? The address is correct. Apartment thirty-four? That’s the one. I’m your new tenant.” He shoved a paper in front of Nikita’s face. “Lease agreement for one-half share of the property. Signed by the owner, Albina Viktorovna. Notarized too.”
Lara darted into the hall and froze at the sight of the filthy duffel scraping over the new laminate floor.
“Nikita! What is this freak?”
“The freak is the one in your mirror, sweetheart,” Gleb shot back cheerfully, placing the hamster cage on the little table by the keys. “Me, I’m Gleb. We’ll all live together just fine. I call the room with the balcony. The hamster likes air.”
“That’s our bedroom!” Lara shrieked.
Nikita practically exploded.
“Get out! I’m calling the police!”
“Go ahead, colleague,” Gleb said with a grin. “I know my rights. I have a contract. I paid six months upfront. And if the court never assigned which room belongs to whom, that’s your problem, not mine. We’ll share everything. Kitchen is common space. Bathroom too. By the way, I like singing in the shower in the mornings. Hope the acoustics are good.”
Nikita snatched the papers from him. The seal was real. Albina’s signature was unmistakable — bold and sharp.
“I’ll kill her,” he hissed. “I’ll destroy her.”
But Gleb had already wandered into the living room, dropped onto the new beige sofa, and switched on the television.
“Oh, football. Nice. You got any beer? No? Wow, not very hospitable. Good thing I brought my own.”
He opened the duffel bag, pulled out dried fish, and began cleaning it right there over the coffee table, sending scales all over the fluffy rug.
Part 4. The Square by the Old Fountain
Three days later, Nikita looked half-dead.
He had deep bags under his eyes, a twitch in one eyelid, and the hollow expression of a man being slowly driven insane. Lara had been hysterical for days. Gleb had turned out to be the roommate from hell. He snored hard enough to rattle the walls, invited questionable people over who spent hours in the kitchen discussing conspiracy theories, and worst of all, he seemed to be everywhere all the time.
Nikita finally tracked Albina down in a small square near her work. She was sitting on a bench, reading a book, looking as calm and untouchable as a statue.
“You!” he burst out, rushing toward her. “What have you done? Who is that animal? Get rid of him right now!”
Albina closed the book, keeping her place with one finger.
“Good afternoon, Nikita. You mean Gleb? He’s lovely. Pays on time. Very quiet too… according to him.”
“Quiet?!” Nikita nearly shouted. “He’s eaten my food, his hamster chewed through the internet cables, and he walks around the apartment in his underwear — sometimes in less than that! Lara’s having breakdowns. She says she’s going to leave!”
“That sounds like your problem,” Albina said calmly. “You wanted to live in that apartment. So live there. My property should generate income. You refused to buy out my share, so I found a tenant. Everything is perfectly legal.”
“I can’t live like this! I’m still paying loans for the renovation! I dumped so much money into that place!” Nikita was almost yelling now, drawing the attention of passersby. People turned to look, but he no longer cared.
“I have a proposal,” Albina said dryly. “Either you pay me half the amount I’m making from renting to Gleb, and then you deal with him yourself. Or you adapt. Though you should know — Gleb has a large family. His third cousin from the village may be arriving soon. With an accordion.”
“That’s blackmail!”
“No. It’s business, Nikita. Nothing personal. Entirely legal. You created this situation yourself the moment you decided I should simply disappear. I didn’t disappear. I evolved into a problem.”
Nikita clutched his head.
“All right! I’ll buy out your share! Just not right now — give me time…”
“You don’t have time. And you don’t have money either. I know about the loans.”
At that exact moment, his phone rang. It was the elderly neighbor, Aunt Zina.
“Nikitka!” she screeched so loudly that even Albina could hear every word. “Get home now! There’s some kind of orgy going on at your place! Your redhead and that new tenant of yours turned the music up and are laughing like lunatics! Shameless!”
Nikita’s face drained of color. He looked at Albina, then at the phone.
“That can’t be true… Lara loves me…”
“Go check,” Albina said with perfect indifference. “From what I hear, Gleb is very charismatic. The kind of man who could talk almost any woman into bed.”
Nikita bolted.
He ran without feeling his legs, choking on humiliation and panic. When he burst into the apartment and reached the living room doorway, he stopped dead.
It was a painting in motion: Lara, tousled and flushed with laughter, sitting on Gleb’s lap while he told some filthy joke. Between them, they were drinking the exact bottle of wine Nikita had been saving for a special occasion.
“Oh, look who finally showed up,” Gleb roared. “We were just getting acquainted. Your Lara’s got fire in her, buddy. No wonder she got tired of being pushed around!”
Lara jumped up and tried to smooth her dress, but there was no shame in her eyes — only drunken insolence.
“You’re always at work, Nikita! Gleb is actually fun! And besides, you said yourself he has rights here too!”
Something inside Nikita gave way.
The fragile house of cards he had built out of vanity collapsed all at once. The apartment he had poured himself into had betrayed him. The woman for whom he had thrown away his wife had betrayed him. And there he stood, in the middle of his expensive renovation, feeling smaller and more pathetic than he had ever imagined possible.
Part 5. The Landing Outside the Closed Door
Everything was settled within two days.
Nikita was broken. He wanted only one thing: to get rid of the nightmare. To stop seeing Gleb. To erase Lara, whom he had thrown out that same evening — though not before she smashed the television in retaliation. In the end, he agreed to sell his share of the apartment to Albina for a laughably small amount, just enough to pay off the renovation loans.
He walked away with nothing.
No apartment.
No wife.
No mistress.
The key handover took place at the notary’s office. Albina looked immaculate. She held out the final transfer documents for him to sign.
“Congratulations,” Nikita said hoarsely as he handed over the keyring. “You got what you wanted. Choke on that apartment. It probably still reeks of that freak.”
“Thank you for the kind wishes,” Albina said, taking the keys. “But you’re mistaken.”
She pulled out her phone and dialed.
“Gleb? It’s done. Come downstairs. I’ll pay your fee.”
Nikita froze.
The building door opened, and Gleb came out.
But this was not the same Gleb.
He was wearing a respectable suit. He was clean-shaven. No smell of onions, no trace of grime. In one hand he carried the same awful duffel bag, which now looked very obviously like stage prop material.
“Good afternoon, Albina Viktorovna,” Gleb said in a polished, theatrical voice. “Glad I could help. I hope my performance was convincing.”
Nikita stared from Albina to the so-called tenant, unable to process what he was seeing.
“You… you hired him? He’s an actor?”
“A stage actor,” Albina corrected. “And a very talented one. As for Lara… let’s just say she naturally gravitated toward someone more suited to her level. Gleb only gave her a little push, and she did the rest herself.”
“But the lease… the contract…”
“A fiction for you. A one-man performance.” Albina tucked the documents and keys neatly into her handbag. “Did you really think you could wipe your feet on me and I would simply endure it? Anger, Nikita, is not hysteria. Anger is fuel. You paid for the renovation of my apartment, cleared the space for me, and then sold your share for next to nothing.”
His grand plan, his male certainty, his smug little worldview — all of it had shattered against the cold precision of the woman he had mistaken for weak.
“You’re a monster,” he whispered.
“No, darling,” Albina said softly. “I’m a sommelier. I know how to wait for wine to mature so I can enjoy the taste of victory. And you… you’re just the cork that popped out and turned out to be useless.”
She gave Gleb a nod, and together they walked toward the car.
Nikita remained standing outside the building that was no longer his home, clutching a meaningless certificate showing his loan had been paid off. He was free now.
Completely, terribly, hopelessly free of everything he had once had.
