“I always believed that love was trust. That if two people decide to tie their lives together, what lies ahead isn’t just passion and tenderness, but honesty too—especially when it comes to marriage. But it turned out my trust was simply a convenient bridge for someone to get to my money.
His name was Mikhail. We dated for two years. He was handsome, charming, smart—seemed perfect. He supported me in my work, went to dinners with my parents, paid me compliments, brought flowers not only on holidays but just because. I believed I’d gotten lucky. When he proposed—at sunset, by the sea, down on one knee, with a ring in a velvet box—I didn’t hesitate for a single second. I said yes.
But in the last few months something changed. He started asking more and more questions about my inheritance. About how much I had in my accounts, how I managed my money, whether I’d thought about selling my apartment to buy a house “for our future family.” I got wary, but I chalked it up to concern. After all, we were going to get married.
Only… the suspicions didn’t go away. They settled like dust on a mirror—at first invisible, and then everything started to look blurry. Sometimes he said things as if he already controlled my property. “You’re not going to keep money under your pillow, are you? We’ll invest it wisely,” he’d say, looking me straight in the eyes. And in his eyes I saw not care, but calculation.
I began noticing oddities. Once he “casually” mentioned that his friend bought a new apartment with his wife’s money. “Now that’s a smart approach,” Mikhail said. “A real man knows how to use opportunities.” I felt uneasy. But I didn’t want to believe it. I couldn’t believe he’d been playing me all this time.
And then something happened that turned everything upside down.
It was an ordinary evening. We were at my place—he often stayed over, especially before important events. The next day we were supposed to go to his parents’ house—they were expecting us for lunch to “discuss the wedding details.” I was happy: finally, they were showing interest. But inside, something tightened, as if warning me: Don’t believe it.
Before my shower, out of habit, I put my phone on charge on the kitchen table. I’d forgotten that the day before I’d turned on an audio recording app—I was testing it for work. It was running in the background, and the icon wasn’t noticeable. I went into the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar—it was more convenient, since we were alone anyway.
I wasn’t in a hurry. I shampooed my hair, thought about my dress, about how my mother cried when I showed her the ring. And then I heard Mikhail’s voice. He was on the phone—quietly, but clearly.
“Yes, everything is going according to plan,” he said. “She doesn’t suspect a thing. The naïve idiot thinks I fell in love. But everything I started this wedding for is her money. Her apartment, and the inheritance from her dead husband! I’m taking care of her—like a hen that lays golden eggs.”
I froze under the stream of water. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would burst out of my chest. I could barely breathe.
“Yes, of course I’ll marry her. Let her sign a prenup in my favor. Everything is prepared. And then… then we can ‘get divorced.’ The main thing is she doesn’t change her mind before the wedding. Though… if she starts resisting, I’ve got something in reserve. Remember what I told you about sleeping pills in coffee? Works flawlessly. Just imagine: an accident. She slipped in the bathroom. Or poisoning. Funny, right? But who’s going to look for evidence if she’s signed everything over to me herself?”
I turned off the water. My hands were shaking. I slowly stepped out of the shower, wrapped myself in a towel, and leaned against the wall. My head was roaring. This wasn’t the man I was going to spend my life with. This was a predator—someone who saw in me not a woman, but a wallet.
Artyom kept talking:
“The key is not to give her time to rethink. A woman in love is blind. And she especially—after her husband’s death she’s so starved for care… Easy prey. In a week it’ll all be decided. Wedding, signature, death. And I’m free with her seven million.”
Seven million. My money. The money my late husband left me—the man who truly loved me. And this… this parasite knew about the inheritance? So he’d been hunting for me all this time? Watching me? Planning?
I quietly crept up to the phone and stopped the recording. Then I made a backup to the cloud, emailed the file to myself and to my mom—just in case.
When I came back into the room, Mikhail was lying on the couch, scrolling through his phone. He smiled.
“So, beautiful, all washed up? Tomorrow’s an important day. I hope your parents won’t mind that right after lunch we’ll go straight to the registry office? I’ve already arranged it—we can file the application tomorrow.”
I smiled back. It wasn’t a real smile—just a mask.
“Of course, Mikhail. Why not? Let’s do everything quickly.”
He hugged me. He smelled like my shampoo. Disgusting.
That night I didn’t sleep. I lay beside him and thought: What would have happened if I hadn’t turned that app on? What if I hadn’t heard?
I would have gotten married. I would have signed the contract—he was already preparing it; I’d seen the documents on his laptop when he’d “accidentally” left it open. I would have written a will in his favor—he’d been hinting at it more and more. “And then everything I have will be yours,” Mikhail would say. And then… what? “An accident.” Sleeping pills in coffee. A slip in the bathroom. Poisoning.
I would be gone. And he would get everything—the apartment, the inheritance, the savings. And no one would suspect. We were such a “loving couple.” Who looks for a trap in a wedding dress?
I remembered what my late husband used to say: “If someone tries too hard to be perfect—run.” I laughed then. Now… now I understood the price of those words.
In the morning I acted as usual. I made breakfast, got dressed in the dress he liked, put on my ring. He was pleased. He even kissed me on the forehead.
“You’re the best,” he said. “I’m so happy.”
You’re happy your victim is walking to the slaughter, I thought.
We drove to his parents’ place. On the way he chatted about how he’d set up “our home,” what plans he had for my money. He already saw himself as the owner of everything. He spoke so confidently, as if my fate had already been sealed.
When we pulled up to their house, I suddenly stopped the car.
“Mikhail,” I said calmly. “Get out.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“I said: get out. And don’t come back.”
He laughed—nervously, uncertainly.
“Are you kidding? We’re going to my parents!”
“No,” I replied. “We’re not going anywhere. I heard everything. All of it. You thought my phone was just a gadget? It recorded everything you said last night. And now I have proof of your conspiracy. Sleeping pills in coffee? An accident in the bathroom? Are you serious?”
His face went white. He started looking around frantically.
“You… you’re lying! This is a setup!”
“No, Misha. It’s the truth. And if you don’t get out of this car right now and disappear from my life forever, I’ll hand that recording over to the police. And to my lawyer. I hope you enjoy explaining why you were planning a murder for an inheritance.”
He tried to grab my hand, but I pulled away.
“I’m not joking. Get out. Now.”
He looked at me with hatred. There wasn’t a drop of remorse in his eyes—only rage that his plan had failed.
“You’re an idiot,” he hissed. “You could’ve lived like a queen. And now you’ll be alone with your money. For how long?”
“Longer than you thought,” I answered. “Go. And if you even try to contact me once—I’ll sue. Not only for threats, but for fraud, psychological pressure, and attempted murder.”
He got out. He slammed the door so hard the car shook.
I drove home. On the way I called my mom and told her everything. She cried and begged me to be careful. I promised.
A month has passed since then. Misha disappeared. No calls, no messages. I changed the locks, upgraded the alarm system, hired a lawyer—and put all my property into a trust under my mother’s name.
Sometimes I still wake up at night in a cold sweat, imagining how everything could have gone if not for that recording. If I hadn’t heard.
But I did hear. And I saved my life.
Now I know: love isn’t blind faith. Love is common sense, caution, and the ability to see a person for who they are—without rose-colored glasses. Especially when money, inheritance, and trust are involved.
And my fiancé? He didn’t get a wedding. He got a recording that can send him behind bars. Let him know: I’m not a victim. I’m the one who heard, understood… and survived.”