— I’ve found someone else. Pack your things and get out of my apartment,” Svyatoslav stood in the middle of the living room with his hands shoved in his trouser pockets. Triumph was written across his face.
Zlata slowly raised her eyes from the book she’d been reading, curled up in an armchair. She squinted, as if examining some curious insect.
“Your apartment?” she echoed, drawing out the words. “Svyatoslav Arkadyevich, darling, are you quite sure you remember whose apartment this is?”
“Don’t play dumb,” he jerked his shoulder irritably. “I’ve been paying the mortgage all these years. Transferred the money every month. I’ve got all the receipts.”
“You paid,” Zlata agreed, setting the book on the coffee table. “Only you weren’t paying for this apartment.”
Svyatoslav frowned. A flicker of unease crossed his eyes, but he quickly pulled himself together.
“Enough wriggling. You have a week to find a place. Vitalina moves in in ten days.”
“Vitalina?” Zlata rose from the chair and smoothed the folds of her dress. “The very same Vitalina from your sales department? With the eyelash extensions and the silicone size-three chest?”
“None of your business,” Svyatoslav snapped. “And don’t you dare insult her.”
“Insult her?” Zlata laughed. “God forbid. I’m just clarifying. I want to understand who you traded me for after twelve years of marriage.”
“Vitalina is young, beautiful, and doesn’t nag me about everything,” Svyatoslav straightened up, clearly pleased with the effect. “With her I feel like a man again.”
“How touching,” Zlata walked to the window and looked out over the evening city. “And how long has this romance been going on?”
“Half a year.”
“Half a year,” she repeated thoughtfully. “Right about when you started staying late at work because of ‘an important contract with the Chinese.’”
“What difference does it make? The point is it’s over now. I’ll file for divorce, the apartment will stay with me, and you…”
“And I what?” Zlata turned to him.
“And you can go back to your mommy in the suburbs. Or rent a studio. Your interior designer salary can handle it.”
“You’ve thought of everything,” Zlata nodded. “Positively sweet. It’s just a pity there’s one tiny detail.”
“What detail?”
Zlata went to the secretaire and pulled a folder of documents from a drawer.
“Remember three years ago when I asked you to sign some papers? I said they were for the tax office to get a deduction.”
“So what?” Svyatoslav began to get nervous.
“So that was a deed of gift. You gave me this apartment, darling. Gratuitously and irrevocably.”
“What nonsense?” He snatched the folder from her and began flipping through the documents. “That can’t be!”
“It can. You were drunk after the corporate party and signed without looking. I told you it was a contract for the bathroom renovation. You waved your hand—‘do whatever you want.’”
Svyatoslav’s face went pale. He reread the document over and over, not believing his eyes.
“You… you set me up?”
“Set you up?” Zlata shook her head. “No, dear. I just insured myself. You see, your fondness for perky little secretaries didn’t start with Vitalina. Remember Karina from accounting? And Milena from HR?”
“How do you…”
“Women always know everything, Slava. Sometimes we just pretend not to notice. We give men a chance to come to their senses.”
Svyatoslav collapsed onto the sofa, clutching his head in his hands.
“This is illegal. I’ll challenge it in court!”
“Do try. The deed is flawless. I consulted three attorneys. Besides, there’s a video recording of you signing the papers. Sober, of sound mind and memory.”
“A video? But I was drunk!”
“It doesn’t show that on the video. You sit at the table, read the document—well, for a couple of seconds—and sign. All very proper and respectable.”
“You witch!” Svyatoslav leapt up from the sofa. “You’ve been planning this all along!”
“Not all along. Only for the last three years. Ever since I caught you with Karina in your office. Remember you said she was just helping with reports?”
“I’ll ruin you! I’ll sue you for every last kopek!”
“On what grounds?” Zlata sat calmly back in the armchair. “The apartment is mine by every document. Speaking of documents—do you know where you’ve been sending money for the last three years?”
Svyatoslav was silent, staring at her with hatred.
“To your beloved mother-in-law’s account. My mother’s. She’s been saving for a little house in Crimea. Thank you ever so much for your generosity.”
“What?!”
“You never checked the banking details. I said I’d changed banks and gave you new information. You didn’t even look to see whose name the account was in.”
“But… but I can prove I transferred the money!”
“Of course you can. To my mother. She’ll confirm you supported her financially every month out of pure altruism and love for your mother-in-law. What a good boy you are!”
Svyatoslav grabbed his phone and started dialing.
“Who are you calling?” Zlata inquired.
“My lawyer!”
“Mstislav Borisovich? Excellent choice. Only one snag—he’s my lawyer now. I hired him a month ago. Conflict of interest, you understand?”
“I’ll find another!”
“You will. But keep in mind—I have more. Photos, chats, even a couple of videos. Your boss won’t be thrilled to learn you’re sleeping with his niece.”
“With who?” The phone slipped from Svyatoslav’s hand.
“With Vitalina. Also known as Vitalina Sergeyevna Krymova. Niece of Anton Vladimirovich Krymov, your company’s CEO. He got her in through connections and asked that someone keep an eye on her. And you…”
“She said the last name was a coincidence!”
“And you believed her? God, Slava, you can’t be that naive. Or are you a lovestruck fool after all?”
Svyatoslav paced the room like an animal in a cage.
“What do you want? Money? I’ll pay!”
“I don’t want anything. Just take your things and go. I’m giving you three days.”
“But… where am I supposed to go?”
“To Vitalina’s, of course. She loves you, doesn’t she? Or to your mother’s. Though I doubt Yelena Petrovna will be delighted to hear about the divorce.”
“You wouldn’t dare tell her!”
“I don’t need to. She’ll find out on her own. By the way, I’ll tell her about your escapades too. With evidence. I wonder what she’ll say about Karina? After all, she was the one who recommended her to you. Her friend’s daughter.”
Svyatoslav sank back onto the sofa, trembling.
“Zlata, let’s talk calmly. We’ve been together so many years…”
“Twelve years. And at least four of those you were cheating on me.”
“I was a fool. Forgive me. Let’s try to fix this.”
“Too late, Slava. You made the decision yourself. ‘I’ve found someone else,’ remember? Then go to her.”
“But I love you!”
“No. You love a convenient life. A downtown apartment, cozy home, good food, perfect order. You’re used to me handling all the everyday things while you just work and have fun.”
“That’s not true!”
“When was my last birthday?”
Svyatoslav faltered.
“August?”
“October. What’s my favorite color?”
“Blue?”
“Green. What’s my best friend’s name?”
“I… I don’t remember.”
“Exactly. You don’t know anything about me. To you I’m just a function—a wife who provides comfort. And now that function is no longer available to you.”
The doorbell rang. Zlata stood up and went to answer it.
“Who is it?” Svyatoslav jumped up to follow.
Two men in uniform stood on the threshold.
“Good evening. We’re from the Federal Bailiff Service. Does Svyatoslav Arkadyevich Volkonsky live at this address?”
“What do you want?” Svyatoslav tried to push forward.
“We have a writ of execution to collect a debt of three million rubles from you in favor of Zlata Igorevna Volkonskaya.”
“What debt?!”
Zlata smiled innocently.
“Remember borrowing money from me for the car? With a promissory note. Five years ago. The repayment deadline expired two years ago.”
“But we’re family! What promissory note?!”
“This one,” the bailiff showed the document. “All official. A loan of three million rubles at ten percent per annum. Including interest and late penalties, the amount comes to four million two hundred thousand.”
“I don’t have that kind of money!”
“Then we’re placing a levy on your property. The car, accounts, and your business stake…”
“What stake? I don’t have a business!”
“How can you not?” Zlata feigned surprise. “What about LLC ‘SvyatoSlav’? You’re a founder. Fifty percent of the shares.”
“That’s a shell company! It doesn’t operate!”
“Yet it’s valued at two million at the last appraisal. I bought the other half and revalued the assets. There are some interesting patents there.”
“What patents?!”
“The ones I purchased and contributed to the charter capital. You signed the minutes of the founders’ meeting. Again—without reading.”
The bailiffs busily filled out paperwork.
“We’re also seizing the BMW X5, license plate…”
“That’s a company car!”
“On paper it’s registered to you.”
“But the company paid for it!”
“That’s your problem with the company. Sort it out. For now the car is seized.”
Svyatoslav pulled out his phone and started calling someone.
“Anton Vladimirovich? It’s Volkonsky. I’ve got a problem… What? You already know? But I can explain… Fired? But… Hello? Hello!”
He lowered the phone, staring into space.
“What happened?” Zlata asked sympathetically.
“Krymov… he fired me. Said I disgraced his family.”
“Oh right, I forgot to mention. An hour ago I sent Vitalina our intimate photos. The ones you took on vacation in Thailand. She got upset and ran to cry to her uncle.”
“You destroyed my life!”
“No, Slava. You destroyed it yourself. I merely assisted the process.”
The bailiffs finished the paperwork.
“Mr. Volkonsky, you must pay the debt within five days or we will begin liquidating the seized property. You’re also prohibited from leaving the country until the debt is fully paid.”
“What?! I have tickets to Dubai in a week!”
“Cancel them,” the bailiff advised. “Or postpone. For about five years, until you pay up.”
The bailiffs left. Svyatoslav stood in the middle of the living room, staring at Zlata.
“Why? Why did you do this?”
“You wanted to throw me out on the street after twelve years of marriage. You wanted to bring another woman into my home. Did you think I’d quietly pack my things and leave?”
“I’ve changed my mind! Let’s forget everything! Stay!”
“In my OWN apartment? How magnanimous. No, Slava. Pack your things.”
“But I have nowhere to go! Vitalina hung up on me, my mother won’t answer…”
“There are hostels. Or shelters. Your choice.”
“Zlata, please!”
“Three days, Slava. In three days I’m changing the locks.”
She turned and headed for the bedroom.
“Wait!” he shouted after her. “What about our wedding? Our vows? You promised to be with me in sorrow and in joy!”
Zlata stopped in the bedroom doorway.
“I kept my promise. I was with you in joy—when you built your career, bought a car, went on vacations. And now I’m with you in sorrow. Not for long, though. In three days you’ll be sorrowing without me.”
“You heartless woman!”
“Perhaps. But a woman with an apartment. And you—a romantic with no lodging. By the way, don’t forget your suitcase from the closet. I’ve already packed it.”
Zlata disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Svyatoslav alone.
He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts. Karina—blocked. Milena—unavailable. Vitalina—rejecting calls.
He dialed his mother.
“Mom? It’s me. I have problems… What? Zlata already called? What did she tell you? What?! Mom, that’s not true! Mom, wait! Don’t hang up!”
Beep.
He took the keys to the apartment out of his pocket and turned them in his hands. Keys to someone else’s apartment now.
From the bedroom came Zlata’s voice. She was on the phone with someone.
“Yes, Varusha, everything went according to plan. He’s in shock. No, I don’t feel sorry at all. I put up with his cheating for twelve years. Enough. Tomorrow? Of course, come over. We’ll celebrate my liberation. Champagne’s on me!”
She laughed. Light, ringing.
Svyatoslav stood up and went to the hall. A packed suitcase stood in the corner. His suitcase. The very one he took on ‘business trips’ to his mistresses.
He took the suitcase and opened the front door. He turned back and looked over the apartment. His apartment. His former apartment.
On the hall table lay a note. Zlata’s handwriting.
“Slava, forgot to mention. I blocked your cards an hour ago. Joint accounts too. They’re mine now. Don’t thank me for the suitcase—that’s my parting gift. —Z.”
He crumpled the note and threw it on the floor. He stepped out onto the landing and shut the door behind him.
He went downstairs and out into the street. A fine drizzle had started. The BMW was parked outside, but a sticker reading “Seized” was plastered across the windshield.
Svyatoslav pulled out his phone and opened the banking app. All accounts blocked. Balance—zero.
He reached for his wallet. Three thousand in cash. All he had left.
His phone rang. An unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Is this Svyatoslav Arkadyevich? This is Gennady Palych, your head of security. Management orders—return your pass and the company laptop.”
“But tomorrow I…”
“Today. Now. I’m waiting for you at the office entrance.”
“It’s the middle of the night!”
“Management’s orders. If you don’t come within an hour, I’m calling the police. There’s corporate information on that laptop.”
Click.
Svyatoslav called a taxi. He glanced at the meter—he only had enough for a one-way trip.
On the way, he tried calling friends. No one picked up. He was already removed from the corporate chat. On social media—dozens of angry messages from Vitalina.
A guard awaited him at the office. In silence, he took the pass, the laptop, and the corporate SIM card.
“You’ll collect your personal things from the office tomorrow through the service entrance. From ten to ten-thirty.”
“Half an hour to pack?”
“Management’s order.”
The guard turned and left.
Svyatoslav stood in the rain. His suit was soaked through. His phone vibrated in his pocket. A text from the bank:
“Your credit limit has been canceled.”
Another text:
“This is a reminder of your loan payment. Amount 47,000 rubles. Five days remaining.”
And another:
“Your mortgage application has been declined.”
Svyatoslav turned off his phone. The suitcase grew heavier with the rain. He had no money left for a taxi.
He started walking toward the metro. The last train had left an hour ago.
He remembered he had a friend, Maksim. Lived nearby—maybe he could spend the night.
He switched on his phone and dialed the number.
“Max? It’s Slava. Listen, can I crash at your place? What? Zlata already called you? No, wait, she twisted everything! Max? Hello?”
Busy tone.
Svyatoslav trudged through the night city, dragging his suitcase. Cars splashed him with water from puddles. Shop windows were lit, but everything was closed.
He found a 24-hour diner and went in to warm up. He ordered tea—the cheapest item on the menu. He sat by the window, watching the rain.
His phone kept exploding with calls. Creditors, banks, debt collectors. How had they found out so fast?
He opened the suitcase to get his charger. Inside lay his neatly folded things. And an envelope.
He opened it. Inside—a photo of their wedding. He and Zlata, young, happy, laughing. On the back, her handwriting:
“Remember who you were. And who you became. That’s your choice, not mine.”
And another paper. The results of a medical exam. Diagnosis—infertility. His infertility. Dated five years ago.
Zlata had known all this time. Known they wouldn’t have children because of him. And she kept silent. Never reproached him once.
Yet he had blamed her. Said she was a careerist who didn’t want to have kids. Demanded she get tested. Threatened divorce.
Svyatoslav dropped his head into his hands. The diner smelled of overused oil and the dampness from his soaked clothes.
His phone rang again. Mom.
“Slava, is it true? Everything Zlata said?”
“Mom, I…”
“I don’t want to hear it. You’ve disappointed me. And your father. He wouldn’t have survived such disgrace.”
“Mom, can I come—”
“No. I’m ashamed in front of the neighbors. Everyone already knows. Zlata sent a letter with proof of your antics to all the relatives.”
“She had no right!”
“And you had the right to humiliate her for years? Don’t call me until you come to your senses.”
Click.
Svyatoslav finished his cold tea. The bartender kept casting him sideways glances—the only customer left.
“Buddy, we’re closing.”
“But you’re 24-hour!”
“Technical break. Two hours.”
He had to go back out into the rain. The suitcase was water-logged and impossible to carry. One wheel snapped off at the first manhole cover.
Svyatoslav dragged it along, leaving a wet trail on the asphalt. Like a snail, he thought. A homeless snail with all his possessions on his back.
He found a bus stop and sat on the bench under the shelter. He pulled out his phone—five percent battery.
One last try. He dialed Vitalina.
“What do you want, scumbag?”
“Vita, let me explain…”
“Explain what? That you’re married? That you lied to me for six months? That my uncle won’t speak to me because of you?”
“I’ll get a divorce! We’ll be together!”
“You’re a broke, jobless loser. You’ve got no apartment, no car, no money. I don’t need you.”
“But you said you loved me!”
“I loved a successful manager with a downtown apartment. Not a bum with a suitcase. Don’t call me again.”
His phone died for good.
Svyatoslav sat at the bus stop, listening to the rain. Occasionally night buses rumbled by, but he didn’t have money for the fare.
He found a crumpled business card in his pocket. The realtor who’d helped buy the apartment. The very apartment that now belonged to Zlata.
He laughed. Hysterically, raggedly. A passerby quickened his pace, giving him a wide berth.
By morning the rain had stopped. Svyatoslav dozed off on the bench, clutching his suitcase.
A street cleaner prodded him with a broom.
“Hey, man, you can’t sleep here. I’ll call the police.”
Svyatoslav stood, grabbed his suitcase, and shuffled away.
He caught sight of his reflection in a shop window. Rumpled suit, unshaven face, red eyes. In one night he had turned into what he’d always feared becoming. A failure.
A month later, Svyatoslav got a job as a loader at a warehouse. The work was hard, the pay miserable, but he had no choice. He rented a bunk in a dorm and scrimped on everything. He didn’t call anyone anymore—he understood everyone had turned away from him for good.
With his first paycheck he bought a modest bouquet of chrysanthemums and sent it to Zlata. No note, no signature. Just because. Not in hope of forgiveness—he knew that wouldn’t come. He simply wanted to say thank you for the lesson. For opening his eyes to himself.
He now faced a long climb out of the pit he’d dug for himself. But he would climb out. He would.
Zlata received the bouquet and smirked. She guessed who it was from. She put the flowers in a vase—they were beautiful and guilty of nothing.
That same day she sent the last boxes of her ex-husband’s things to his mother. There was nothing left in the apartment to remind her of the past.
Zlata spread furniture catalogs, wallpaper samples, and remodeling plans across the table. She had long dreamed of turning Svyatoslav’s office into a creative studio. Now she could bring all her ideas to life.
She was happy. Truly happy for the first time in many years. After learning of her husband’s first affair, she had spent years preparing for this day. And she hadn’t miscalculated. Now she had her own fortress, financial independence, and, above all, the freedom to be herself.