Victoria noticed how her mother’s hand trembled while setting plates for Sunday lunch. It was their tradition—to gather together once a week, although it became increasingly difficult to force a smile. Especially when her stepfather turned every meeting into a silent battle.
“Dear,” Andrei theatrically adjusted the very tie, “please pass the salt. You know, that white thing that costs less than your morning coffee.”
Victoria silently handed him the salt shaker, watching as he deliberately took it with the tips of his fingers, as if afraid to get dirty. Three years ago, this man seemed the perfect husband for her mother—gallant, successful, with a sincere smile. Who knew the smile would turn out to be a mask hiding a petty tyrant?
“Mom, the salad is amazing,” Victoria tried to lighten the mood.
“Of course,” Andrei snorted, “at least your mother can cook. Unlike some business ladies who can only run around offices.”
Olga nervously adjusted a stray hair strand, and Victoria noticed a mark on her wrist—barely visible, yellowish, as if someone had squeezed too hard. Something inside her trembled.
After lunch, Victoria helped her mother with the dishes while Andrei watched football in the living room. The sound of the match could not drown out their quiet conversation.
“Mom, what’s happening?” Victoria nodded at her mother’s wrist.
“Nothing, dear. Just bumped it on the cupboard door,” Olga averted her gaze, scrubbing a clean plate too vigorously.
“On a cupboard door shaped like fingers?”
“Vika, please…”
Footsteps made them fall silent. Andrei appeared in the kitchen doorway, leaning casually against the frame.
“What are you whispering about, my dears?”
“About work,” Olga quickly replied.
“Ah, yes. Our Vika is now a big boss. How is it up there in the upper echelons? Isn’t the air too thin?”
Victoria felt her stomach clench with anger. But she just smiled:
“Fine. By the way, how’s your project? The one you’re overseeing at the company?”
His face contorted momentarily.
“None of your business.”
“Just asked. We’re one family, aren’t we?”
Andrei stepped forward, and Victoria noticed how her mother instinctively stepped back.
“Listen to me carefully,” his voice became quiet and threatening, “just because you’re pretending to be a successful career woman doesn’t give you the right to meddle in my affairs. Here,” he gestured around the kitchen, “I’m the boss. And you’d better remember that.”
He turned and left, leaving behind a heavy silence. Olga quietly sobbed.
“Mom,” Victoria hugged her shoulders, “it can’t go on like this.”
“He’s just tired. Work, stress…”
“No. It’s not tiredness. It’s…” she paused, looking out the window at the setting sun. A plan began to form in her mind. “You know what? Everything will change. I promise.”
She didn’t know exactly how, but she felt an opportunity would present itself. She just needed to wait for the right moment. Meanwhile, she would smile and endure, harboring a cold rage inside.
“Victoria Andreyevna, congratulations on your appointment.”
“Thank you. And, Mikhail Petrovich… make sure all personal employee files are on my desk by morning.”
The new office smelled of fresh paint and ambition. Victoria ran her hand over the glossy surface of the desk—her desk—and barely suppressed a smile. The list of department employees was already in front of her, and one name made her heart beat faster. Andrei Stepanovich Kotov, senior project manager. Now—her subordinate.
She remembered his words: “I’m the boss here.” Well, times change.
The general meeting hall buzzed like a beehive. News of the management change had spread fast, but few knew the details. Victoria intentionally arrived a couple of minutes late—let them be nervous.
“There’s our new boss!” someone whispered as she entered.
Victoria scanned the faces. Curiosity, wariness, suppressed hope among those who suffered under the old management. And shock—pure, undisguised shock on Andrei’s face, sitting in the far corner.
“Good morning, colleagues,” her voice was confident and calm. “I think formal introductions are unnecessary. Most of you know me.”
She turned on the projector and started the presentation. Numbers, charts, development plans—all sharp and to the point. From the corner of her eye, she saw Andrei squirming in his seat, now pale, now flushed.
“And lastly,” Victoria highlighted a troubled project in red, “the ‘Fortuna’ project is significantly behind schedule. Andrei Stepanovich, this is your project, right?”
He flinched as if struck:
“Y-yes, but…”
“I expect a full report on the reasons for the delay. On my desk, by nine tomorrow. And a work schedule to normalize the situation.”
“But that’s impossible! It requires analyzing…”
“By nine, Andrei Stepanovich. Or is this task too difficult for you?”
A barely audible chuckle rolled through the room. Some of the young specialists, whom Andrei regularly humiliated at meetings, didn’t even try to hide their satisfaction.
After the meeting, he burst into her office without knocking. Victoria didn’t even look up from her documents:
“Learn to knock, Andrei Stepanovich. It’s basic corporate etiquette.”
“You… you set this up on purpose?”
“What exactly? – she finally looked at him. – My appointment? I’m afraid you overestimate my capabilities. It was the board of directors’ decision.”
“I won’t work under you!”
“You’re free to leave. You can write your resignation right now.” She pulled open a drawer. “I even have a form.”
Andrei froze. They both knew—now was not the best time to look for a job. Especially with his reputation.
“Think you’re so smart? – his voice trembled with rage. – Think you can command me?”
“I don’t think, Andrei Stepanovich. I already am commanding. And by the way, about commands—don’t forget the report by tomorrow morning. Time is running.”
He turned and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the glasses trembled. Victoria leaned back in her chair, allowing herself, at last, to smile. Later her phone buzzed on the desk—a message from her mother:
“Andrei is acting strange today. Everything okay? He’s sending me weird messages”
“Everything’s fine, mom. Just some minor changes at work.”
The following weeks turned into a graceful game of chess. Victoria was flawless—professional, correct, demanding equally from everyone. But “equally” for Andrei meant the end of his accustomed life.
No more tardiness—strict reprimand for violating work discipline. No long smoke breaks—note in the personal file. The “Fortuna” project required overtime? Well, he’d have to stay, unpaid—he himself had brought the situation to a critical point.
“Victoria Andreyevna,” Marina, a young HR employee, approached her one day, “is it true that you know Andrei Stepanovich outside of work?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Just… he used to be so…,” she hesitated, “arrogant. And now he’s quiet as a mouse. Even says hello in the mornings.”
Victoria smiled:
“People change, Marina. Especially when priorities are correctly set.”
That evening she stayed late, sorting through documents. In the empty office, footsteps sounded especially loud. Passing by the break room, she heard Andrei’s muffled voice:
“Yes, dear, I’ll be late today… No, that bitch piled on work again… What do you mean ‘it’s my fault’? Whose side are you on?!”
Victoria quietly walked past. At home, his wife would greet him with a cold dinner and silent reproach. Another little stone in the foundation of his personal hell.
Victoria fumbled for the keys in her purse, wearily sank into the driver’s seat. Catching her reflection in the mirror, she froze. When did that appear—that unfamiliar, steely expression? A wrinkle between her eyebrows, slightly pursed lips, a dangerous glint in her eyes. For a moment, she felt uneasy—she seemed to see in the reflection a shadow of Andrei. The same coldness, the same assertiveness… Victoria shook her head, driving away the unbidden thought. No, she was different. She lacked his petty cruelty, his desire to humiliate simply for pleasure. She had a reason. And until her mother was safe, until that man disappeared from their lives—she wouldn’t deviate from her chosen path.
The phone buzzed again. This time the message was from the HR director:
“Tomorrow at 3:00 PM – evaluation of key employees. Andrei Stepanovich is first on the list.”
Victoria smiled. The game continued, and the next move was hers.
Two months of daily humiliations at work finally broke Andrei. Victoria saw it in his trembling hands at meetings, in his glassy eyes, in the smell of alcohol he tried to mask with chewing gum. She methodically destroyed his career but didn’t expect the end to come so suddenly.
Her mother’s call caught her in the elevator after work:
“Vika…” her voice broke with sobs, “he… he’s gone mad…”
“What happened?”
“He came home drunk… smashed all the photos… said it’s all your fault…”
Noise on the other end of the line. A scream.
Victoria never drove so fast.
The front door was ajar. Andrei’s voice came from the living room—he was ranting incoherently about a conspiracy, about how everyone had betrayed him. The sound of broken glass. Her mother’s sob.
“Shut up! It’s all you! You and your damn daughter! Thought you were the smartest?!”
Victoria burst into the room and froze. Shards of family photos crunched underfoot. Her mother, curled up, sat in the corner of the couch. A bruise was forming on her cheek.
“Step away from her.”
Andrei turned around. Madness splashed in his eyes:
“Ah, there she is! The main bitch herself!”
“I said—step away.”
“Or what?” he staggered toward her. “What will you do to me? Fire me?” hysterical laughter. “I already quit myself! Just today! So now…”
“Now you’re an unemployed alcoholic who raised his hand to my mother.”
She pulled out her phone. On the screen—a draft email, ready to send. Andrei squinted, trying to focus on the text.
“It’s a job reference,” Victoria explained calmly. “I’ve sent it to twenty major companies in the city. With a detailed description of your ‘professional qualities’. Think anyone will want to hire you?”
“You… you can’t…”
“Already did. Now guess what happens if I add information about domestic violence to the email? With photos of bruises and a medical report?”
He lunged at her, swinging, but stumbled over a coffee table. Heavily settled on the floor.
“Bastard… you’re just as much a bastard as I am…”
“Maybe. But the difference is, I won. You have five minutes to pack your things. Then I’m calling the police.”
He looked up at her from below, hatred mingling with fear in his gaze. Then he turned to Olga:
“Dear… you won’t let her…”
“Leave,” she said quietly, looking away. “Just leave.”
The morning turned out surprisingly sunny. They sat in the kitchen, like in the old good days. Coffee steamed in cups, pancakes cooled on the table.
“I filed for divorce,” Olga smoothed invisible folds on the tablecloth. “Think I did the right thing?”
“I think you did it too late. But better late than never.”
Her mother looked up at her:
“You’ve changed, daughter.”
“I know.”
“Sometimes you scare me. There, at work… you deliberately pushed him?”
Victoria sipped her coffee. Hot, strong, without sugar—like her revenge. “I just showed him what it’s like to be weak. To feel like a victim. Only unlike him, I never crossed the line.”
“And still,” Olga shook her head, “there’s something terrifying about it. As if darkness defeated darkness.”
“No, mom. Justice defeated cowardice. Yours—to be afraid to leave. Mine—to be afraid to interfere. His—to be afraid to show his true face to the management.”
She stood up, walked to the window. The first spring flowers were blooming in the yard. Strange—she hadn’t noticed how winter passed.
“You know what’s the funniest thing?” Victoria turned to her mother. “He taught me that there can only be one master in this house. He was right. He just got the wrong candidate.”
Olga smiled—for the first time in a long time, sincerely and calmly:
“You understand that I don’t approve of your methods?”
“I understand. But you understand that I would do it again?”
They were silent. Outside, birds chirped, the wind rustled the curtains, and the air smelled of freedom. A bit bitter, like cooled coffee, but still—freedom.
“Mom,” Victoria sat back at the table, “let’s go somewhere? Just the two of us, like before?”
“Let’s,” Olga squeezed her hand. “Just first help me get rid of these damn roses he used to bring me. Can’t stand the thorns.”
Victoria laughed. Something inside her finally let go. She had become different—stronger, tougher, more cold-blooded. But now, looking at her smiling mother, she knew: it was worth it.
Want to get into Andrei’s head? The next part of the story is about his feelings during all that happened. From the very beginning of the story.
Andrei watched as Olga bustled about the kitchen, preparing Sunday lunch. So submissive, so… correct. Not like her daughter. Just thinking about Victoria twisted his stomach with anger. Upstart. Thinks just because she wears expensive suits and drives a new car, she’s become someone special?
He remembered the first time he saw her—at Olga’s birthday party. Funny, then Victoria seemed like a sweet girl. A bit wary, but shouldn’t a daughter worry about her mother’s happiness? He was in his best suit, talking about work, about plans for the future. Smiling. He knows how to smile when needed.
The first year of their marriage was… tolerable. Olga tried, really tried to be a good wife. But Victoria… With each month, she irritated him more. Her success at the company, her independence, that eternal challenge in her eyes. As if she saw right through him.
“Nothing,” he thought, deliberately loudly commenting on her new suit at the Sunday table, “I’ll show you your place.”
But she didn’t break. Only looked at him with those cold eyes, sending shivers down his skin. And with each day, the anger inside grew, demanding an outlet. Good thing Olga understood—sometimes a man needs to let off steam. Bruises heal quickly, and a wife’s submission is proper, as it should be.
The news of her appointment hit him like a blow to the stomach. He sat in the toilet cubicle, staring at the wall, shaking. How? How did that girl dare? It was supposed to be his position. He had worked here for years, knew all the ins and outs, knew how to deal with the right people…
The first meeting became a real nightmare. He remembered how she entered—confident, composed, with a barely noticeable smile. His new boss. Stepdaughter. Beast.
“Andrei Stepanovich, this is your project, right?”
Even now, remembering that moment, he felt his ears burn. Humiliation. Pure, unclouded humiliation. And those chuckles… He knew colleagues quietly rejoiced at his downfall. Especially the youngsters, whom he kept in iron gloves. Just as it should be—let them know their place.
But now his own place turned out to be at the foot of the ladder.
A bottle helped. First one, then more. Olga was silent, just watching with that hunted look. But now something new appeared in it. Something akin to… contempt? No, his wife cannot, must not!
“What are you staring at?” he growled in the evenings. “Think you’re better than me?”
She didn’t answer. Only sobbed sometimes at night, when she thought he was asleep.
Work turned into torture. Every morning—like going to the scaffold. Victoria was impeccable, damn professional. He couldn’t find fault, couldn’t complain. Just watched as everything he had built for years crumbled. His authority. His power. His life.
“Report on the table by nine, Andrei Stepanovich.”
“Being four minutes late—that’s a violation of work discipline, Andrei Stepanovich.”
“Are you sure you can handle the project, Andrei Stepanovich?”
Andrei. Stepanovich. Each time like a slap.
And then something broke. Maybe it happened when he saw how Olga laughed, talking to her daughter on the phone—laughing in a way she hadn’t with him for a long time. Or when the secretary, who used to be afraid of him like fire, “accidentally” spilled coffee on his new shirt and didn’t even apologize. Or when he caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror—crumpled, with red eyes, pathetic.
The bottle no longer helped. He felt control slipping away, reality fraying at the edges. The screams at Olga became louder, meaner. But now she didn’t cry—just looked with that new gaze. Like Victoria.
As if they knew something he didn’t.
The last day he remembered poorly. Only remembered the rage that clouded his eyes. The noise of smashed photos. Olga’s scream. And then she appeared—Victoria. Cold, calm, with a phone in her hand. And he understood.
All this time he thought he was playing his game. That he was the hunter. But he turned out to be the prey.
“You have five minutes to pack your things.”
Standing on the street with a suitcase in his hand, he looked at their house windows for the last time. There, upstairs, the light was on. They were together—mother and daughter. And he… he became no one.
Andrei adjusted his tie—the last gesture of dignity—and trudged into the deepening twilight. Somewhere in the city, there was another bottle for him. The last consolation for a fallen king.