I always believed that love is trust. That if two people decide to tie their lives together, then what awaits them is not only passion and tenderness, but also honesty. Especially when it comes to marriage.
But it turned out that my trust was just a convenient bridge for someone to reach my money.
His name was Mikhail. We dated for two years. He was handsome, charming, intelligent—seemed perfect. He supported me in my work, came to dinners with my parents, paid me compliments, brought flowers not only on holidays but just because. I believed I was lucky.
When he proposed—at sunset, on the seashore, on one knee, with a ring in a velvet box—I didn’t hesitate for a 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 was thinking of selling my apartment so we could buy a house “for our future family.”
I grew wary, but I wrote it off as concern. After all, we were planning to get married.
Only… my suspicions didn’t go away. They settled like dust on a mirror—at first invisible, and then making it harder and harder to see clearly.
Sometimes he said things as if he already controlled my property.
“You’re not going to keep your money under the mattress, right? We’ll invest it wisely,” he would say, looking me straight in the eye. And in his eyes I saw not care, but calculation.
I started noticing odd things.
Once he “casually” mentioned that his friend bought a new apartment with his wife’s money.
“Now that’s a smart move,” Mikhail said. “A real man knows how to use opportunities.”
I felt uncomfortable. But I didn’t want to believe it. I couldn’t believe that all this time he’d just been playing me.
And then something happened that turned everything upside down.
It was an ordinary evening. We were staying at my place—he often slept 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 wedding details.”
I was happy: finally they were showing some interest. But inside something was tightening, as if warning me: “Don’t trust them.”
Before taking a shower, I put my phone on the kitchen table to charge, as usual. I’d forgotten that the night before I had turned on a voice recording app—I’d been testing it for work. It was running in the background, and the little icon was barely noticeable.
I went to the bathroom, leaving the door slightly open—it was just more convenient, since it was only the two of us at home anyway.
I didn’t hurry. I lathered my hair, thought about the dress, about how my mother had cried when I showed her the ring.
And then I heard Mikhail’s voice. He was on the phone—speaking quietly, but clearly enough.
“Yes, everything is going according to plan,” he said. “She doesn’t suspect a thing. The naive fool thinks I fell in love with her. And yet everything I started this wedding for is her money. The apartment, and the inheritance from her late 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 the prenup in my favor. Everything’s ready. And then… then we can ‘get divorced.’ The main thing is that she doesn’t change her mind before the wedding. Although… if she starts to resist, I’ve got something in reserve. You remember what I told you about the sleeping pills in the coffee? Works flawlessly. Just imagine: an accident. She slips in the bathroom. Or poisoning. Funny, isn’t it? But who’s going to look for evidence if she herself has already signed everything over to me?”
I turned off the water. My hands were shaking. I slowly walked out of the shower, wrapped myself in a towel and leaned against the wall. My head was buzzing.
This wasn’t the man I was about to spend my life with. This was a predator. Someone who saw me not as a woman, but as a wallet.
Artyom continued speaking:
“The main thing is not to give her time to think. A woman in love is blind. And she especially—after her husband’s death she’s starving for affection… Easy prey. In a week it’ll all be done. The wedding, the signature, the death. And I’ll be free, with her seven million.”
Seven million. My money. The money my late husband had left me—the man who truly loved me.
And this… parasite knew about the inheritance? So he’d been hunting for me all this time? Watching? Planning?
I quietly crept up to my phone and stopped the recording. Then I made a backup in the cloud, sent the file to my own email and to my mother. Just in case.
When I went back into the room, Mikhail was lying on the couch, scrolling through his feed on his phone. He smiled.
“Well, beauty, all clean? Tomorrow is an important day. I hope your parents don’t mind that we go straight to the registry office after lunch? I’ve already arranged it—we can apply as early as tomorrow.”
I smiled back. But 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 next to him and thought:
“What would have happened if I hadn’t turned on that app? What would have happened if I hadn’t heard?”
I would have married him.
I would have signed the prenup—he was already preparing it, I had seen the documents on his laptop when he “accidentally” left it open. I would have written a will in his favor—he’d been hinting at it more and more often. “Everything I have will be yours,” Mikhail would say.
And then… what? An “accident.” Sleeping pills in my coffee. Slipping in the bathtub. Poisoning.
I’d be gone. And he would have gotten everything—the apartment, the inheritance, the savings. And no one would have suspected a thing. We were the “loving couple.” Who looks for something sinister under a wedding dress?
I remembered how my late husband used to say: “If someone tries too hard to be perfect—run.”
I laughed at that back then. Now… now I understood the value of those words.
In the morning I behaved as usual. I made breakfast, put on the dress he liked, put on the ring. He was pleased. He even kissed my forehead.
“You’re the best,” he said. “I’m so happy.”
“You’re happy because your victim is walking to the slaughter,” I thought.
We drove to his parents’ house. On the way he chatted about how he was going to fix up “our house,” 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 was startled.
“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. Everything. You thought my phone was just a gadget? It recorded everything you said last night. And now I have proof of your little plot. Sleeping pills in my coffee? An accident in the bathroom? Are you serious?”
You only need one platform.
To monetize a blog, you only need one platform and just a few minutes of your time.
His face went pale. He started glancing around nervously.
“You… you’re lying! This is a setup!”
“No, Misha. It’s the truth. And if you don’t get out of the car right now and disappear from my life forever, I’ll hand this recording over to the police. And to my lawyer. I hope you enjoy explaining why you were planning to commit murder for an inheritance.”
He tried to take my hand, but I pulled it away.
“I’m not joking. Get out. Now.”
He looked at me with hatred. There wasn’t a hint of remorse in his eyes—only rage over a failed plan.
“You’re an idiot,” he hissed. “You could have lived like a queen. Now you’ll stay alone with your money. For how long, I wonder?”
“Longer than you thought,” I replied. “Go. And if you ever try to contact me again—I’ll sue. Not only for the threats, but also for fraud, psychological abuse, and attempted murder.”
He got out. Slammed the door so hard the car shook.
I drove home. On the way I called my mother. I told her everything. She cried and begged me to be careful. I promised I would.
A month has passed since then. Misha has disappeared. No calls, no messages. I changed the locks, upgraded the alarm system, hired a lawyer—and transferred all my property into a trust in my mother’s name.
Sometimes I still wake up at night in a cold sweat, imagining how it all could have turned out if not for that recording. If I hadn’t heard…
But I did hear. And I saved my own life.
Now I know: love is not blind faith. Love is common sense, caution, and the ability to see a person for who they really are—without rose-colored glasses. Especially when it comes to money, inheritance, and trust.
And my fiancé? He didn’t get a wedding.
He got a recording that could send him to prison.
And let him know this: I’m not a victim. I’m the one who listened, understood… and survived.