“I signed the agreement, just like you asked, Kolya. Now the entire family business is yours,” Zoya said, handing over a folder tied with a thin leather ribbon.
“Excellent, my dear. You did the right thing. Now sit down. I’m going to say something you might not like—take it with dignity,” he replied without lifting his eyes from the polished surface of the desk.
Nikolai carefully took the documents from his wife’s hands and leafed through them with undisguised satisfaction, methodically checking every signature and stamp. A faint smile touched his thin lips. He rose unhurriedly from the burgundy leather chair and, with measured steps, went to the massive oak cabinet where the important papers—and the secrets of their life together—were kept.
Zoya watched closely as her husband placed the folder in the bottom drawer among other legal documents. She studied his precise movements, feeling an inexplicable but growing unease. Something about his behavior seemed unnatural, as if he were playing a long-rehearsed role.
Nikolai decisively locked the drawer with a small golden key and slowly turned to Zoya. His usually open face suddenly took on a cold, detached expression, as if a mask he had worn for years had finally slipped.
“I’ve filed for divorce,” he said calmly, with a chilling matter-of-factness, returning to the redwood desk.
Zoya froze.
“What? Why? What happened?” she repeated in a trembling voice, hoping she had misheard—or that this was some cruel joke.
“You heard me correctly. We’re getting divorced. It’s not up for discussion,” Nikolai leaned back confidently in his chair, folding his well-kept hands on his knees.
“You… you waited until I transferred my share to you, didn’t you?” Zoya staggered closer to the desk, bracing herself against its edge. “You planned this, Kolya? All this time? All these years?”
“The business should belong to the one who actually runs it,” he answered with an infuriating calm, shrugging carelessly. “I was always the brain of the company. You know that.”
“We started it together!” Zoya burst out. “I put in all my money, all my strength, all of myself! You’re a disgusting liar. A scoundrel!”
“There’s no need to make a scene,” Nikolai deliberately glanced at his watch. “I’m not claiming your apartment on Leningradsky Prospekt. The BMW stays with you, too. Let’s part like civilized adults.”
“Civilized?” Zoya pressed her shaking palms to the cold surface of the desk. “You tricked me out of the work of my life and call that civilized? What have you become, Nikolai?”
“I’m offering you a quick, painless divorce without unnecessary trouble or public scandal,” Nikolai cut her off. “Or would you prefer a long, dirty war you’re sure to lose? I have enough connections and resources to make this very unpleasant for you.”
Zoya slowly straightened, looking at the man she had spent seven years with—whom, it now seemed to her, she had never known at all.
Zoya’s sister listened to the story of her downfall in silence, occasionally nodding and topping off her cup with a hot drink. A gentle autumn rain fell outside, adding a cozy undertone to a painful conversation.
“I was such a fool,” Zoya raked her hands through her dark hair. “How could I sign all those papers? It never even occurred to me something like this could happen. He practically drained the business out of me—everything I built.”
Irina stirred her coffee thoughtfully; the silver spoon tapped quietly against the porcelain. A family heirloom—these cups had belonged to their grandmother, who always said nothing helps in hard times like a heart-to-heart talk over a good drink.
“You know, a quick divorce might not be the worst option,” she said at last, setting the spoon on the saucer. “You’ll be free of a husband who clearly hasn’t respected you for a long time. And as for the financial side…” Irina paused, gazing out at the passing cars, “an apartment on Leningradsky and a BMW—that’s not nothing. Many would leave with less.”
“Are you serious?” Zoya stared at her sister in disbelief. “He took the work of my life! We built this business together, from scratch. I invested not just money but my soul. Every contract, every client—behind all of it were sleepless nights, my ideas, my effort.”
“Listen,” Irina moved closer and gently took her sister’s hand—the same protective touch as in childhood, when she shielded her little sister from bullies in the yard. “The business you effectively renounced when you signed those papers… Mostly it isn’t material assets. It’s intellectual work, contacts, management decisions. Nikolai is right at least in that he was the company’s brain. You always admitted that, remember?”
“So you’re on his side?” Zoya looked at her with hurt in her eyes. The muscles in her jaw flexed—Irina recognized the sign from childhood: her sister was about to explode.
Irina shook her head and calmly sipped the cooling coffee.
“I’m on your side. Always have been, always will be. That’s exactly why I’m saying: agree to the quick divorce. Keep your dignity and what you’ve got left. The apartment, the car, the bank account—it’s something. And then…” Her eyes flashed with something Zoya had never seen in them before, “then we’ll think about what to do with your dear husband.”
Zoya studied her sister for a long moment. A mosaic began to form in her mind. Irina’s strange calm, her confidence… Maybe she had something in mind?
“You’re right,” she said slowly, turning the half-empty cup in her hands. “I’ll agree to the divorce. I’ll take what there is. But you know, Ira—I will not forgive him. What he did… was planned. Cold and calculated. He waited and then struck.”
“Of course you won’t,” Irina smiled, something predatory in the curve of her lips. She set down her cup and leaned forward, lowering her voice almost to a whisper. “I wouldn’t forgive it either. This isn’t just a divorce; it’s pure betrayal. And betrayal shouldn’t be forgiven. It’s a matter not only of justice but of self-respect.”
“I’ll make him pay,” Zoya said firmly, confidence returning to her gaze. The tears had dried; her shoulders were squared. “I don’t know how yet, but he’ll regret deciding to play dirty with me. He thinks I’m broken, that I’ll give up and accept it. He doesn’t know me as well as he thinks.”
Irina nodded approvingly, pride shining in her eyes.
“Revenge is a dish best served cold. And I’ll gladly help you prepare it. Nikolai has no idea who he picked a fight with.”
Outside, the rain intensified, drumming on the glass as if endorsing the sisters’ resolve and sealing their quiet pact against a common enemy.
The courtroom, despite its modern renovation and air-conditioning, felt stuffy and cramped to Zoya. The divorce proceedings went quickly, almost formally—every material issue had been settled in advance. The judge declared the marriage dissolved.
Nikolai, standing two meters away, showed no emotion. As soon as the formalities ended, he pulled out his phone and, ignoring his former wife, dialed a number.
“Hello, Viktor? Yes, it’s done,” Nikolai said, confident and businesslike, as though he had just closed a successful deal rather than crossed out seven years of life together. “Let’s talk about the terms with Alpha-Trade. I think we can raise the rate by ten percent…”
Zoya listened to this as she gathered her papers into her bag. Noticing her glance, Nikolai covered the microphone with his palm.
“Well? Everyone satisfied? You got the apartment and the car, I got the business. Seems fair to me,” he said without a trace of sarcasm, genuinely believing the split was equivalent.
“You’re pleased—I can see that,” Zoya answered dryly, fastening her bag. “I hope you haven’t forgotten I’m due severance pay. I’ve worked at the company since its founding.”
Nikolai hesitated for a second, then shook his head.
“Zoya, you realize you won’t be working for me anymore,” he said softly, almost condescendingly. “Why would I pay you severance? You received more than adequate compensation.”
“By law I’m entitled to it,” Zoya insisted. “I’m not asking for charity. Just what I have a right to.”
“You’re not entitled to anything beyond what you’ve already received,” Nikolai switched to a business tone. “You resigned of your own accord, not due to downsizing. No severance.”
Zoya looked at this man—her husband for seven years—and didn’t recognize him. The black suit, the haircut, the cold calculating gaze. Had she really shared a bed, dreams, and plans with this stranger?
“So that’s it?” she asked quietly.
“That’s right,” Nikolai lifted the phone to his ear again. “Business is business. Nothing personal.”
Zoya spun on her heel and walked out. Each step on the marble floor echoed in her head, a reminder of how easily she had let herself be deceived. Her plan for payback was only beginning to take shape, but she already knew: Nikolai would regret the day he decided to betray her.
Olga Dmitrievna brewed herbal tea, glancing now and then at her daughter. Zoya sat hugging her shoulders, staring out at the rainy Moscow skyline. For a week after the divorce she had barely left the house.
“Have some mint tea,” her mother said gently, setting a steaming cup before her. “It’ll calm your nerves.”
Zoya wrapped her hands around the cup but didn’t take a sip.
“Mom, I can’t stop thinking about how he tricked me. It was all planned. He waited until I transferred my share of the business and then… like a knife to the heart.”
Her mother sat beside her.
“You know, life brings all sorts of things. Betrayals, disappointments. After I divorced your father, I thought the world had ended…”
“This is different, Mom,” Zoya turned sharply. “Dad didn’t steal your business. For months Nikolai insisted I re-register the documents, talked about tax optimization and protection from raiders, promised it was just a formality. And then, once he got what he wanted…” Zoya clenched her fists. “I never suspected a thing. Seven years together, seven years I trusted him…”
“You’re young, beautiful, smart. You’ll start over. Life doesn’t end here.”
“That’s not the point,” Zoya persisted stubbornly. “I can’t forgive the meanness. He took what we created together. He took part of my life—my soul.”
“Have you thought that revenge will only prolong your pain?” her mother asked softly. “Every time you plan to get back at him, you’ll live through the trauma again.”
Zoya lowered her head, her dark hair falling to hide her face.
“I have to restore justice.”
“Justice and revenge are different, dear. One heals, the other maims. Let it go. Forget him. Start anew. You still have your apartment and car—many can only dream of such a start.”
“You sound just like Irina,” Zoya said with a bitter smile.
“Your sister has always been practical,” her mother nodded. “And in this case I agree with her. To take revenge is to poison yourself. To forget and move on—that’s the real victory.”
Zoya said nothing, stirring the tea. But deep down she already knew: forgetting and forgiving weren’t for her. Betrayal like that could not go unpunished.
Three months passed. It was a surprisingly warm September morning. Zoya had just finished her shower when the phone rang. She glanced at the screen and grimaced—Nikolai. The third call that week.
“What do you want?” she asked coldly, answering the call.
“Good morning,” Nikolai’s voice was businesslike, as if there had been no betrayal or divorce. “I wanted to discuss the car.”
“What car? The BMW stays with me per the court’s ruling,” Zoya shot back.
“You see, I’ve reconsidered the financial side of our divorce,” he said, slipping into a managerial tone. “The car was purchased during the marriage with shared funds. I’m entitled to compensation for half its value.”
Zoya was so stunned she sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Are you insane? We discussed everything before court. You got the business, I got the apartment and the car. You insisted on it!”
“Circumstances change,” Nikolai said calmly. “I consulted with lawyers. They believe I’m entitled to compensation.”
“Your lawyers can believe whatever they like. The court has already ruled. You waived any claims to the car and apartment.”
“There are ways to have decisions reviewed. I’m proposing an amicable solution. Transfer me half the BMW’s market value and we’ll close the matter.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Zoya hissed. “First you trick me out of the business, and now you want the car? Forget it. And don’t call me again.”
She hung up. The pain had only just started to recede—and here he was again, forcing his way into her life with new demands.
Two days later the phone rang again as Zoya was coming back from an interview.
“I think you’re being unreasonable,” Nikolai began without a greeting. “If this goes to review, you’ll have to hire an attorney—time, nerves. Wouldn’t it be easier to settle it nicely?”
“‘Nicely’?” Zoya laughed. “Was it ‘nice’ when you took my business? Stop calling me. I don’t want to talk to you.”
The calls became frighteningly regular—two, sometimes three times a week. Nikolai methodically demanded compensation, threatened lawsuits, reminded her of his connections.
And then his mother joined the siege.
“Zoya, dear, it’s Veronika Artyomovna,” came the honeyed voice. “Let’s talk about how you treated my son.”
“Are you joking? Your son tricked me out of my business and threw me out.”
“Don’t exaggerate, darling,” the woman drawled. “What ‘threw out’? You have a lovely apartment and an expensive car. Very cleverly done, snatching the choicest pieces. And my poor Kolya was left with just those papers—some incomprehensible business…”
The cynicism was staggering—mother and son seemed to live in an alternate reality where they were the victims, not the hunters.
“You know what,” Zoya said at last, barely restraining herself, “tell your ‘poor boy’ that if he calls me again demanding money, I’ll go to the police and report extortion.”
“Oh, now you’re threatening us!” the ex-mother-in-law flared up. “We wanted to settle this amicably…”
Zoya hung up. An hour later the woman called again from another number. Zoya blocked that one too. By evening she had blocked three more unknown numbers—each time the persistent ex-mother-in-law.
The siege went on week after week. Calls in the morning and late at night. If Zoya didn’t answer, messages arrived—threats, wheedling, direct demands for money. She couldn’t tell if Nikolai and his mother were driven by greed or by the need to keep controlling her even after the divorce.
“They want a war?” she whispered into the empty apartment. “They’ll get one.”
Zoya opened her laptop and texted her sister: “Irina, remember the talk about revenge served cold? I’m ready. When do we meet?”
The reply came almost instantly: “Tomorrow, 7 p.m., my place. I knew this day would come. It’ll be all right, sis. They’ll regret messing with us.”
The victim phase was over. It was her turn to act.
Two months later, when the psychological attacks from her ex-husband and his mother had become constant, Zoya got a call from Timur. In their student years he had been Nikolai’s best friend, but he’d kept good relations with Zoya after the divorce.
“Have you heard the news?” he asked after they exchanged greetings.
“What news?”
“Kolya’s getting married. This Friday at the Griboedovsky Registry Office.”
Something clenched inside her. Not jealousy—more like surprise and outrage. Three months after the divorce and he was already getting married?
“To whom?” she managed.
“To Galina. They work together, I think. Or worked—I’m not exactly sure…”
“Galina?” Zoya frowned. “Never heard of her. Did he start seeing her right after our divorce?”
Timur was silent for a few seconds.
“I don’t want to upset you, but… from what I’ve seen, they’ve been together about a year. Maybe a bit less.”
Zoya slowly straightened in her chair. A year? So while she was still married, Nikolai was already…
“Are you sure?”
“Not exactly. I just saw them together a couple of times last fall. They behaved… well, not like colleagues.”
So while she labored over their business, her husband not only planned to take it but was also carrying on an affair.
“Are you there?” Timur asked anxiously.
“Yes,” she said at last. “Thanks for the info, Tim. I wish Nikolai happiness in his personal life.”
“Really?” he sounded surprised. “I thought you’d…”
“Be angry? I’ve been angry this whole time since the divorce. I have no emotions left for him now.”
“That’s good,” he said with relief. “If you want, you can congratulate him yourself. The ceremony is Friday, three o’clock. They’ve booked a white limo—very flashy. Veronika Artyomovna organized it like he’s a prince.”
“Maybe I will congratulate him,” Zoya said thoughtfully. “That would be civilized, wouldn’t it?”
After the call, she sat for a long time, staring into space. Then she decisively dialed her sister.
“Ira, I think it’s time for the cold dish.”
On Friday the Griboedovsky Civil Registry Office on Bukhvostova Street was decked out in bright decorations. A white limousine and several luxury cars with golden rings on their hoods lined up at the entrance. Guests in festive outfits crowded on the steps—friends of the couple, relatives, colleagues. Center stage, of course, was Veronika Artyomovna in a lilac dress with an elaborate hat adorned with artificial flowers.
Zoya watched from a taxi parked across the street. She smoothed her dark hair and ran her fingers over the form-fitting sapphire dress.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Irina asked beside her. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”
“Do I want to show Nikolai how badly he miscalculated when he decided to play games with me? Yes. Very much,” Zoya took a deep breath. “He won’t forget this lesson.”
“Then do it,” Irina squeezed her hand. “I’ll be close by.”
Zoya paid the driver, stepped out, and squared her shoulders as she headed toward the registry office. She walked slowly, gracefully, as if bearing some precious cargo. A few guests turned to look at her—she was not on the invite list, that much was clear.
Nikolai stood on the steps surrounded by friends, laughing at someone’s joke. He looked elegant in a light-gray suit with a boutonniere. Beside him stood a petite blonde in a white dress—Galina, evidently.
They didn’t notice Zoya at once. The first to see her was Veronika Artyomovna, who paled and clutched at her heart, whispering to the ladies beside her. Then Nikolai turned. A range of emotions crossed his face—from surprise to thinly veiled contempt.
“Zoya?” he said as she approached. “Why are you here?”
“To congratulate you, Kolya,” she replied calmly, smiling as politely as he once had in his redwood office. “Can’t an ex-wife wish her former husband happiness in a new marriage?”
Nikolai looked unsettled. His gaze slid over Zoya and stopped at her rounded belly. His eyes widened in shock.
“You… you…” he couldn’t finish.
“Pregnant? Yes,” Zoya rested a hand on her stomach. “It’s noticeable already, isn’t it? Funny how we’re both starting a new life.”
“But how… when?” Nikolai turned pale.
“Does it matter?” she smiled, savoring his confusion. “What’s important is that the baby will be here soon. And of course you’ll have to pay child support. Not a small sum, given the size of your business. Our former business, I should say.”
She saw the muscle twitch in his cheek. He stepped toward her, but Zoya had already turned to the bride.
“And you must be Galina. Nice to meet you,” Zoya offered her hand to the stunned young woman. “I hope you make Nikolai happy.”
Galina shook her hand mechanically, her eyes darting between Zoya’s belly and Nikolai’s face.
Zoya leaned closer and, making sure Nikolai half a meter away was preoccupied with panic, murmured:
“The baby’s almost five months along. Imagine—quite a surprise for both of us.”
Galina’s eyes went round. She could do the math—five months ago Zoya and Nikolai were already divorced. Which meant her fiancé after the divorce…
“What did you tell her?” Nikolai snapped, stepping closer.
“I just wished her happiness,” Zoya smiled innocently. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to ruin your celebration. I only wanted you to know. My lawyers will contact you about support.”
Galina stepped back, her face twisted with hurt and disappointment.
“Kolya, we need to… talk. Now,” she hissed.
“Galya, this is… some misunderstanding,” Nikolai stammered, looking frantically from the bride to his former wife.
“I won’t get in your way,” Zoya said sweetly. “I wish you a happy married life. And, Nikolai, don’t forget the child support. Whether you like it or not, you’re going to be a father.”
Zoya walked down the street without looking back, feeling with every nerve the chaos she left behind. The wind tugged at her hair, and the sun flashed in her satisfied smile. The noise by the registry office swelled—voices grew louder, more hysterical.
“So all that talk of fidelity and family values was a lie?” Galina was shouting. “You cheated on me with your ex-wife?”
“Galya, listen—it’s nothing, a misunderstanding,” Nikolai tried to take her hand, but she jerked it away as if burned. “She made it up, it’s revenge!”
“Revenge?” Galina laughed bitterly. “She’s visibly pregnant, Kolya! Or do you think I’m a complete idiot?”
“I swear—after the divorce there was nothing with her!” Nikolai looked utterly lost; his confident façade was crumbling.
“I don’t want to hear your excuses!” Galina tore off her veil and threw it to the ground. “There will be no wedding. Not today, not ever.”
“Galya, listen…” He took a step toward her, but she was already hurrying down the steps, awkwardly gathering up her puffy white dress.
She stopped by the white limousine, turned, and announced loudly to the assembled guests:
“Forgive me, everyone, but I will not be a wife today. There are things that cannot be forgiven.”
She said something quickly to the driver, and a minute later she was in the back seat. The limousine pulled away, carrying the would-be bride off.
Veronika Artyomovna, who had stood stunned until then, rushed to her son.
“Kolya, do something! Stop her!”
But it was too late. The limo melted into traffic, leaving Nikolai on the steps amid the guests’ stares and whispers. His mother fussed, trying to salvage the situation, but even she understood—the wedding was off.
Evening settled over Moscow, bringing coolness and shadow. In her apartment on Kutuzovsky Prospekt, Veronika Artyomovna paced the living room. Nikolai sat in an armchair, arms on the rests, nursing a half-empty glass.
“Explain to me, Kolya, how you let your ex ruin your wedding?” his mother finally exploded. “How could you miscalculate so badly?”
“I didn’t miscalculate. She came uninvited, without warning. What was I supposed to do, throw her out?”
“You should have!” his mother shouted. “Look what happened! She turned up with that—” the woman waved at her own belly, “and in five minutes wrecked everything we planned so carefully!”
“I don’t know whose child it is,” Nikolai said dully. “Though maybe…”
“And you didn’t tell me? Oh, Kolya, you’ve always been a clever boy, but sometimes…” She shook her head. “How are you going to wriggle out of this? The banquet hall, photographers, videographers, cars… That’s hundreds of thousands of rubles!”
“One and a half million, to be precise,” Nikolai said grimly. “Plus a loan for the same amount for the honeymoon and gifts for Galina.”
“My God!” Veronika sank onto the sofa. “So what now? The money’s gone?”
“I don’t know, Mom,” Nikolai finished his whiskey and set the glass down with a thud.
Something—instinct or simple fear—told him this wasn’t going to be simple.
He poured another drink. No need to hurry. There was nowhere to go—Galina had surely collected her things by now. As for the wedding losses… one and a half million was a lot, but not fatal.
He tried to calm down and think rationally, as he did in business. He needed a plan.
He looked at his phone and dialed Galina. The line rang into emptiness—she didn’t answer. Well, that was to be expected. He would try again tomorrow. Or the day after. Or in a week. They’d been together nearly a year—surely she would give him a chance to explain?
Nikolai closed his eyes and realized he had lost control. He, who prided himself on thinking several moves ahead, was at a loss. And deep down he understood—this was exactly how it had been designed. Zoya had struck where he was most vulnerable: his certainty in his own infallibility.
Next morning, the doorbell rang—insistent and sharp. Zoya, who had just made coffee, flinched. Irina, sitting at the kitchen table, looked at her questioningly.
“Who shows up on a Sunday at nine?” Irina whispered.
Zoya peeked through the peephole and barely stifled a gasp.
“Veronika Artyomovna in person,” she whispered back. “Quick, give me the throw pillow from the sofa!”
Irina sprang up and handed her the decorative tasselled cushion seconds later.
“I’ll be in the bedroom,” she murmured. “Shout if you need me.”
Zoya slipped the pillow under her silk blouse to mimic a rounded belly and only then opened the door.
“Good morning, Veronika Artyomovna,” she said with feigned surprise. “What an unexpected visit. To what do I owe the honor so early?”
Her ex-mother-in-law gave Zoya a cold once-over, lingering on her “belly.”
“May I come in?”
“Of course,” Zoya stepped aside. “Coffee? Or tea?”
“No niceties,” the woman snapped, marching into the living room. She stayed standing in the center of the room, neither taking off her coat nor sitting down. “I came to talk about your stunt yesterday.”
“If you mean my visit to the registry office, I only came to congratulate Nikolai on his new marriage. Is there anything wrong with that?”
“Don’t play dumb! You came to ruin everything! Deliberately, to wreck Kolya’s wedding!”
“I don’t understand your indignation,” Zoya kept her expression calm, though memories of the woman’s late-night calls made her simmer inside. “An expectant mother has the right to inform the father about a pregnancy. Or do you think Nikolai shouldn’t know he’s going to be a father?”
“Oh, spare me! You could have called, written a letter, arranged a meeting! Why barge into the wedding? You knew perfectly well you’d ruin it!”
“Interesting to hear about propriety from someone who hounded me for months demanding money for a car that legally belongs to me. You tormented me day and night, threatened me. And now you talk about propriety?”
For a moment Veronika faltered but quickly regained composure.
“I was defending Kolya’s legal interests.”
“Legal?” Zoya gave a bitter smile. “After your son tricked me out of the business we built together? After he coolly threw me out of his life once he got what he wanted?”
Something flickered in the older woman’s eyes—perhaps a fleeting pang of guilt—but she crushed it at once.
“I do understand your feelings,” she said suddenly, adopting an almost sympathetic tone. “Divorce is always painful. Especially when the other party initiates it. But that’s no reason to destroy Kolya’s new life.”
“How touching,” Zoya said sarcastically. “Where was that understanding when you were calling me at night for money? Where was it when your son took the work of my life?”
“Look,” Veronika unexpectedly sat down across from her. “Let’s put emotions aside. Nikolai wouldn’t refuse child support if you had told him privately. Why the spectacle?”
Zoya watched her in silence, not about to ease her conscience with a confession.
“And anyway,” Veronika narrowed her eyes, “how do we know the child is Kolya’s? You could have gotten pregnant by anyone after the divorce.”
Zoya hadn’t expected that. Did the woman truly believe she was carrying another man’s child and trying to pin it on Nikolai?
“A DNA test will settle it,” Zoya replied coolly. “But you needn’t doubt: the father is Nikolai. I’ll prove it if necessary.”
“Good Lord,” the woman muttered. “What a mess. Kolya was just starting a new life, and now you show up… with this.”
Zoya stood.
“I see there’s no point talking to you. You’re bitter and bent on revenge. But keep in mind…”
She didn’t finish, sprang up, and headed to the door. When it slammed behind her, Zoya exhaled and sank into the chair. Only now did she realize how hard her heart was pounding.
Irina peeked from the bedroom.
“She gone?” she whispered, though there was no longer any need.
“Yes,” Zoya nodded, pulling the pillow from under her blouse. “And I think I’ve just guaranteed myself a few more months of phone terror.”
Irina came out and sat beside her.
“Maybe you went too far?” she asked carefully, watching Zoya toss the pillow aside. “I mean… keeping up this lie about the pregnancy…”
“Honestly? I don’t even know anymore. But the anger at Nikolai hasn’t gone anywhere. He’s a bastard, Ira. A real bastard. And it’s not my fault he’s so stupid he forgot how to count—when he last shared a bed with me.”
“And what about Galina? Don’t you feel sorry for her?”
Zoya laughed, but there was no joy in the sound.
“Galina? She punished herself. The funniest part? She projected onto me what she herself was doing—having an affair with a married man—then got offended when she thought he was cheating on her with me. Imagine: she already feels like a wronged wife without ever becoming one!”
Half a year later.
The frosty December air stung her face, but Zoya didn’t hurry to put on her scarf. After the stuffy mall, the crisp cold felt like a blessing. She walked unhurriedly along a snowy path, savoring the quiet and the beauty of the winter park, when a familiar profile flickered ahead.
Nikolai didn’t notice her at first. He stood by an iced-over fountain, staring into the distance, and only when Zoya was a couple of meters away did he start and turn.
“Zoya?”
“Hello, Nikolai,” she answered calmly, stopping at a safe distance.
They studied each other in silence.
“How are you… how are you both…” he gestured vaguely, avoiding looking at her belly under the loose coat.
“If you mean my nonexistent pregnancy, you can be direct,” Zoya smiled with mild irony.
He frowned, then asked bluntly:
“Did you already give birth?”
“How’s your lover Galina?” Zoya countered. “Did you postpone the wedding or cancel it for good?”
Nikolai grimaced.
“Galina got married a week ago,” he said after a pause. “Not to me.”
“Did she now? Her passion cooled quickly. So there wasn’t any love to begin with?”
He gave her a heavy look.
“Don’t gloat. After that scene at the registry office, she wouldn’t see me. I tried to explain, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“What a tragedy,” Zoya shook her head without a trace of pity. “But I’m not gloating, Kolya. I honestly don’t care.”
He shifted from foot to foot, shivering.
“So… was it a boy or a girl?”
Zoya regarded him for a long moment. In his eyes she read anxiety and genuine curiosity. “Interesting,” she thought. “Does he really believe I had his child, or is he playing dumb?”
“I didn’t give birth,” she said at last.
He blinked.
“What happened? Miscarriage?”
“Nothing happened,” Zoya shrugged. “I wasn’t pregnant.”
For several seconds Nikolai stood as if petrified. Then his face twisted with rage.
“What?!” he practically shouted, making a passing couple turn their heads. “You… you made it all up? On purpose? You… you…”
“Lied to you?” Zoya finished calmly. “Yes, Kolya. I lied. Do you think you’re the only one who can play these games?”
“You ruined my wedding! Do you have any idea what you did?”
Zoya laughed—bright and genuine, with almost childlike glee.
“Look who’s talking about deception! You were married and had a lover, while cajoling me to transfer my share of the business. You talked about our future, and were already planning divorce. And the moment you got the papers, you filed! So brazenly, so shamelessly.”
“That’s different,” Nikolai ground out.
“Of course it’s different!” Zoya’s eyes flashed. “You planned your fraud for years. I… I just came to the registry office and told the truth about your infidelity. The only thing I lied about was the pregnancy. But if you had half a brain, you’d have realized I couldn’t be pregnant. We last slept together seven months ago! Or have you already confused me with your lover and lost track?”
Nikolai flushed dark with fury.
“You destroyed my wedding! Do you know how much I lost? A million and a half for the canceled banquet! And the same again for the scrapped honeymoon!”
“And do you know how much I lost when you took my business?” Zoya asked quietly. “Not just money—part of my life, my future, my independence. Everything that truly mattered to me.”
“It was our joint business, and I was always its brain,” he repeated his old argument by reflex.
“And I was its heart and soul,” Zoya retorted. “And you know what? A business can’t live without a heart. It dies—slowly but surely.”
She turned to leave, then stopped and added:
“You’re a nothing, Nikolai. Not because you deceived me—people deceive each other all the time. But because you still don’t understand what you did wrong.”
She walked away without looking back, leaving him standing by the frozen fountain. Only when she disappeared around a bend did Nikolai come to his senses and slam his fist against the stone rim. Pain sobered him but brought no relief.
As if on cue, his phone rang. The screen showed his secretary’s name.
“Yes, Marina? What is it?” he asked wearily.
“Nikolai Petrovich, Ruslan Novikov and Alina Morozova came by,” she said, flustered. “They… they submitted their resignations.”
Nikolai closed his eyes.
“Did they give a reason?”
“Novikov said he’d been offered better terms. Morozova… she said she no longer believes in the company’s future.”
He hung up without goodbye. They were the twentieth and twenty-first employees to leave in the last six months. There had once been fifty; now there were fewer than thirty. And every month it got worse.
He remembered a chart Zoya had once made—the “point of no return,” she called it—the point at which the company would inevitably fail and need tens of millions to revive. He had laughed then at her “amateur projections.” Now each day proved her right—the company was sliding steadily toward that point.
“Bitch!” he cursed into the cold air. “Damn bitch! She’s doing this on purpose, destroying my business!”
But deep down he knew Zoya was doing nothing—she had simply stopped holding together what had survived for years on her enthusiasm, her relationships with partners and staff. She knew the business from the inside; she felt it. And Nikolai, for all his analytical mind, lacked that understanding.
“How was the meeting with your ex?” Irina handed her sister a paper cup of hot mulled wine.
They strolled down pre-holiday Arbat, enjoying the festive displays and twinkling lights.
“He looks terrible,” Zoya took a small sip of the fragrant drink. “The business is probably collapsing faster than I expected.”
“And you don’t feel sorry for him?” Irina asked cautiously.
Zoya thought for a moment.
“You know, I thought seeing him suffer would satisfy me. But in fact… I don’t feel anything. No joy, no pity. Just… emptiness.”
“That’s a good sign,” Irina squeezed her hand. “It means you’ve truly let him go. All those feelings—anger, hurt, the thirst for revenge—kept you tied to the past. Now you’re free.”
Zoya’s phone vibrated. She pulled it from her pocket and smiled at the name on the screen.
“Sergey!” she answered, her voice warming. “Hi!”
“Hi, Zoya,” came a man’s voice. “I was thinking… I’ve got tickets for a new movie, evening show. Will you join me?”
“I’m not alone right now,” she said, glancing at her sister.
“Bring your sister too!” Sergey suggested. “There are still seats—I booked an entire row just in case.”
Zoya laughed.
“You spendthrift! All right, we’ll come. What time does it start?”
“Seven. But better be there by half past— I’ll wait for you at the entrance.”
Zoya hung up and smiled at Irina.
“We’ve been invited to the movies. Shall we?”
“And who is Sergey?” Irina asked, eyes twinkling. “You haven’t told me about him.”
“The one from our company, remember I mentioned him? Head of IT. He left in the second week after I quit and took half the tech team with him.”
“Oh, your joint conspiracy against Nikolai!” Irina winked.
“Not a conspiracy,” Zoya said. “Just people who valued me and drew the right conclusions.”
They quickened their pace—there wasn’t much time left before the show.