Alina quickly adjusted her beige dress and looked around the restaurant’s banquet hall. Katya’s wedding promised to be loud and extravagant. Her former sister-in-law had always loved doing things on a grand scale, and the groom clearly belonged to the kind of men who did not spare money when it came to making an impression. Bouquets of white roses, candles in crystal holders, live music. Everything was exactly as it should be. Perfect.
“Alinka!” Katya rushed toward her in a cloud of tulle. “You finally made it! I was already starting to think you had changed your mind.”
“Why would I?” Alina carefully hugged the bride, trying not to wrinkle her dress. “I just got stuck in traffic. You know how hard it is to get downtown at this hour.”
“Listen,” her former relative lowered her voice, even though the room was noisy enough. “Ilya will be here soon. I couldn’t not invite him. He is my brother, after all. Is that going to be a problem for you?”
Alina shrugged.
Three years had passed since their divorce — enough time to stop flinching at the mention of his name. Besides, she was grateful to Katya for not choosing sides between her brother and her former sister-in-law. Their friendship had turned out to be stronger than family conflicts.
“It’s fine, Katya. We’re adults.”
“You’re the best,” the bride breathed with relief and hurried off to greet other guests.
Alina took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and looked around. She knew many of the guests from the time she had been married: Ilya’s relatives, their mutual friends. Some nodded at her awkwardly from a distance, while others pretended not to see her at all. That was the usual story after a divorce — people simply did not know how to behave.
She sat down at a far table beside Katya’s colleagues from the bank: young girls who seemed to see her as a mature aunt from the bride’s former life.
“Is it true you were married to Ilya Vyacheslavovich?” one of them, a red-haired girl named Marina, whispered.
“I was,” Alina smiled. “But that was a long time ago, and it almost feels like it never happened.”
“He is so… impressive,” another girl sighed. “And his car is amazing! I’d love to ride in it!”
Alina nodded and took a thoughtful sip of champagne.
After the divorce, she had often heard comments like that about her ex-husband. Women saw a handsome man with an expensive car and a good salary at an IT company. What they did not see was what existed behind that picture: constant dissatisfaction, reproaches, and the need to control every step his wife took.
“And there he is,” Marina whispered admiringly.
Alina turned around.
Ilya entered the hall with a young blonde in a bright pink dress. He looked good: his suit fit him perfectly, his hair was styled, and his smile was just as charming as ever. His companion held onto his arm and looked around with the curiosity of someone entering a new world.
“Anastasia,” Marina explained. “She works as a sales assistant in a shopping mall. Ilya Vyacheslavovich has been taking her everywhere for the past six months.”
Alina watched closely as her ex-husband hugged his sister, greeted the groom, and accepted congratulations from relatives. He clearly enjoyed being the center of attention. Some things never changed.
When his eyes finally landed on Alina, she calmly raised her glass in greeting. Ilya froze for a second, then said something to his companion and walked toward the bar, deliberately turning away.
“That must be awkward,” one of the girls said sympathetically.
“Not at all,” Alina answered sincerely.
And it was true.
Three years ago, such a meeting would have hurt her. Now she felt only mild curiosity and emotional distance, as if she were looking at the life of someone she had known long ago and almost forgotten.
The toastmaster turned out to be a true professional: he entertained the guests without becoming vulgar, made sharp jokes without going too far, and kept the atmosphere light. Alina happily joined the games, danced with Katya’s grandfather, and laughed at the jokes. She almost forgot that her ex-husband was at the wedding.
“How are you, Alina?” a familiar voice made her turn around.
Ilya was standing beside her table, holding a glass of whiskey. There was something unpleasant in his eyes.
“I’m fine,” she replied, trying to keep her tone neutral. “And you?”
“Excellent. Work is going uphill, we launched a new project,” he said, sitting down on the chair next to her without waiting for an invitation. “I sold the apartment, by the way. Bought a three-room place in a new building, with panoramic windows. Had a designer do the interior. Nothing like our old Khrushchev-era apartment.”
Alina nodded.
Their former apartment had indeed been small, but cozy. She remembered how lovingly she had arranged it, buying little things and creating a sense of home. Ilya had always said that none of it mattered, that money was the only important thing.
“I changed the car too,” he continued casually. “Got a BMW, the latest model. Anastasia is thrilled. She says she always dreamed of riding in one.”
At the mention of the girl’s name, something unpleasant pricked inside Alina. She tried to push the feeling away.
“That’s great,” she said. “I’m glad everything is going well for you.”
“Yes, life has worked out,” Ilya took a sip of whiskey and looked at his former wife carefully. “And what about you? Still working at that company? What was it… advertising manager?”
“No, not anymore,” Alina found the conversation unpleasant.
“So where are you now?” His voice carried patronizing curiosity. “Changed jobs again?”
“I have my own business now.”
“Your own business,” Ilya repeated with a slight smirk. “What does that mean? Freelancing?”
“My own agency,” Alina tried to speak calmly, but she felt her cheeks growing warm.
“An agency,” he stretched out the word as if tasting it. “Well, of course. Do you even have clients?”
“Yes.”
“I see. Well, trying is never a bad thing. The main thing is not to be too disappointed if it doesn’t work out. Not everyone is made for business.”
Under the table, Alina clenched her hands into fists. Ilya had not said anything openly insulting, but every word was soaked with condescension and doubt.
“You know, sometimes I think,” he leaned closer, “maybe if you hadn’t thrown everything away back then in a fit of emotion, we would now be living together in a new apartment. And driving a brand-new BMW.”
“I didn’t throw anything away,” Alina objected quietly.
“Oh really?” Ilya shook his head with displeasure. “I remember very well how hysterical you were. ‘I need freedom, I want to grow.’ And what came of it? Three years have passed, and you’re still exactly the same.”
Alina felt something tighten painfully in her chest. What if he was right? What if she really had achieved nothing?
“Ilyusha!” the blonde in the pink dress approached the table. “Where did you disappear to? I’ve been looking for you!”
“Nastya, meet Alina,” Ilya stood up and wrapped his arm around the girl’s waist. “My ex-wife. Alina, this is Anastasia, my fiancée.”
Anastasia held out a hand with flawless manicured nails. She really was beautiful: young, slim, with a bright smile.
“Very nice to meet you!” she chirped. “Ilyusha has told me so much about you!”
“Hopefully good things,” Alina said, shaking her warm little hand.
“Of course! He said you were very… domestic. And that you worked in an office. I could never sit in one place like that. I need movement, communication. That’s why I work at the mall — there are always new people there.”
“My Nastya is very active,” Ilya said, stroking the girl’s back. “She goes to the gym, takes English courses. She recently got her driver’s license, and now she drives my car.”
“Yes!” Anastasia happily joined in. “I love it so much! It’s so powerful and beautiful. And the interior is gorgeous! Real leather, and the sound system… Although for now I only drive around the city. I’m still afraid of the highway.”
Alina listened to their cheerful chatter and barely held back her tears. Young, beautiful, carefree… everything she had not been for a very long time.
“Well, we should go,” Ilya glanced at his watch. “They’re preparing a toast. Good luck, Alina. I hope your… business… takes off.”
They left, and Alina remained sitting at the table, staring at her hands. Something bitter and painful rose inside her — a mixture of resentment, humiliation, and a sharp awareness of her loneliness.
She stood up and quickly walked out onto the terrace. She needed to be alone, breathe some fresh air, and pull herself together.
The terrace was cool and quiet. Alina leaned against the railing and closed her eyes, trying to hold back the tears. But they still rolled down her cheeks.
“Here, take this.”
Someone beside her held out a clean handkerchief.
Alina turned and saw an elegant man of about fifty in an expensive suit. She took the handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this.”
“Oleg Semyonovich Krutov,” the man introduced himself. “And there is nothing to apologize for. Weddings always bring out many emotions.”
“Alina,” she tried to smile. “Actually, we already know each other. We met at… my ex-husband’s birthday a couple of years ago. Do you remember?”
“Of course I remember,” Oleg Semyonovich nodded. “You worked in advertising, if I’m not mistaken.”
“That’s right,” she agreed, handing back the handkerchief.
“Keep it,” Oleg Semyonovich gently moved her hand away. “If it’s not a secret… what upset you so much?”
Alina hesitated, but the painful need for sympathy won.
“My ex-husband made it clear that I have achieved nothing in life,” she admitted. “And you know… sometimes it feels like he’s right.”
“Allow me to disagree,” the man said, leaning against the railing beside her. “Three years ago, I remember you as a timid housewife. Today, I see a confident woman in front of me.”
“What have you been doing these past three years?” he asked softly.
“I worked. First as a manager in an advertising company, then… I took the risk of opening my own agency.”
“Really?” Oleg Semyonovich looked at her with genuine interest. “And how is it going?”
“Ten employees, an office in the city center, paying clients,” Alina felt her voice becoming steadier. “Last week we won a major tender.”
“Impressive,” the man said, clearly not pretending. “Not many people dare to start from scratch in their thirties. You’ve done very well. That takes courage.”
“Or desperation,” the woman smiled sadly.
“Sometimes those are the same thing,” Oleg Semyonovich agreed. “Tell me, do you have any availability? My company is currently looking for an advertising agency.”
“What company?” Alina’s professional interest immediately awakened.
“Northern Oil. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?” the man took out a business card. “I’m the CEO. We need a large-scale rebranding. Let’s meet on Monday and discuss the details.”
Alina swallowed. Everyone in the city knew Northern Oil.
“Of course,” she took the card with trembling fingers. “I’d be delighted.”
“Excellent. And now let’s go back inside,” the man offered gallantly. “We mustn’t miss the cake.”
They returned just in time for the cutting of the wedding cake. Oleg Semyonovich pulled out a chair for Alina and sat beside her, continuing the conversation. He turned out to be an interesting companion: intelligent, well-read, and gifted with a subtle sense of humor.
“Where in Italy did you go?” he asked after Alina told him about her vacation the previous year.
“Tuscany. Alone,” she added. “I enjoy traveling by myself.”
“A brave woman,” Oleg Semyonovich nodded approvingly. “Although sometimes one wants to share impressions with someone close.”
Something warm flashed in his eyes, and Alina felt herself blush.
From the nearby table, Ilya was watching them closely. The glass of whiskey in his hand was no longer his first; his face had reddened, and his movements had become sharper. Anastasia was happily telling something to her girlfriends, but he was not listening. His gaze was fixed on Alina and her new companion.
“Another whiskey,” he snapped at a passing waiter, without taking his eyes off their table.
Oleg Semyonovich leaned toward Alina and said something into her ear. She laughed — sincerely and brightly. Ilya clenched his fists and threw back another shot of alcohol.
“Darling, are you listening to me?” Anastasia touched his arm.
“Yes, of course,” he turned away from the neighboring table, but a minute later he was looking there again.
Alina seemed to blossom before his eyes. In Oleg Semyonovich’s company, she looked completely different: confident, feminine, interesting. And that enraged Ilya beyond measure.
“May I ask you for a dance?” Oleg Semyonovich held out his hand to Alina when a slow melody began to play.
“With pleasure,” she rose, feeling a light flutter of excitement.
On the dance floor, he turned out to be a wonderful partner. He led confidently, but not forcefully, and kept just the right distance. Alina had not danced with a man in a long time and had almost forgotten how pleasant it was — to feel strong hands, protection, attention.
“You dance beautifully,” Oleg Semyonovich whispered near her ear.
“Thank you,” she smiled, noticing from the corner of her eye how Ilya was glaring at them from the other side of the hall.
“Would Monday at two o’clock suit you?” he asked, turning her gently in the waltz. “At my office.”
“Of course.”
“Then it’s settled,” the man said and kissed her hand when the music ended.
Alina returned to the table. It had been a long time since she had felt so desired and interesting to a man. She glanced toward Ilya. He was gloomily drinking yet another whiskey, ignoring Anastasia’s chatter.
“Excuse me, I need to fix my makeup,” she told Oleg Semyonovich and headed toward the exit from the hall.
The restroom was at the end of a long corridor. Alina stopped in front of the mirror, touched up her lipstick, and fixed her hair. She really did look good: her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were shining. It was as if she had come back to life after a long sleep.
“Well, what a show you’re putting on,” an angry voice made her turn around.
Ilya was standing in the corridor. His face was red, his eyes bloodshot.
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Alina said, trying to walk past her ex-husband.
“Oh, don’t you?” he blocked her way. “Playing the businesswoman, while wagging your tail in front of a rich old man.”
“Ilya, you’re drunk. Move aside.”
“I’m sober as glass!” he took a step closer. “And I see everything perfectly. Three years ago you left me, supposedly for freedom. But what are you doing now? Hunting for wallets.”
“What nonsense are you talking about?” the woman tried to pull away, but he grabbed her arm.
“I’m talking about what I see! You painted your lashes, put on a tight dress, curled your hair… An old witch trying to catch herself a sponsor!”
“Let go of me,” Alina’s voice trembled with outrage.
“Why should I?” Ilya pressed her against the wall. “Do you think Oleg Semyonovich is going to marry you? He’ll have his fun with you and throw you away like an old rag. Who needs you at thirty-five? A dried-up old maid with delusions of grandeur!”
“You… you’re vile,” Alina whispered, feeling tears welling in her eyes.
“Vile?” the man laughed mockingly. “And which one of us ruined the other’s life three years ago? Who walked out of the family to play entrepreneur? And now you’re grabbing onto any man with money. Cheap woman!”
“I didn’t ruin anything!” Alina burst out. “I just didn’t want to live with you anymore!”
“You didn’t want to?” Ilya grabbed her shoulders, squeezing painfully. “Was I a bad husband? I brought money home, I didn’t drink, I didn’t cheat. But that was never enough for you!”
“You humiliated me! Constantly!” the woman cried. “You said I was useless, that I would never achieve anything! That I was nobody and nothing!”
“And I was right! Look at yourself! A pathetic imitation of a businesswoman, crawling toward another man for freebies!”
“I’m not crawling toward anyone! He himself…”
“He himself?” Ilya gave a disgusting laugh. “Of course, he himself. Men always come to women like you. Hungry and desperate. He sees it — a lonely woman without a husband, without children, with a failed business. Easy prey for a little entertainment!”
For several seconds, Alina froze. What if he was right? What if Oleg Semyonovich really only wanted…
“Well, dear friend, I had no idea you had sunk this low.”
The calm voice behind them made Ilya spin around sharply. At the end of the corridor stood Oleg Semyonovich. His face was cold as ice.
Ilya turned pale and released Alina.
“Oleg Semyonovich…” he muttered. “I didn’t think…”
“That is exactly the problem,” the man said, slowly approaching. “You didn’t think.”
“Oleg Semyonovich,” Ilya tried to pull himself together, “these are just family disagreements. Nothing serious…”
“Family disagreements?” Oleg Semyonovich looked at him with disgust. “Is that what you call humiliating a woman?”
“You misunderstood! Alina is my ex-wife. There are unresolved issues between us…”
“The only unresolved issue here is your upbringing,” Oleg Semyonovich interrupted coldly. “Now leave, and do not dare come near Alina again. Do you understand me?”
“Oleg Semyonovich, wait! Let’s forget this unpleasant situation. I was wrong! We are business partners, after all. We have a signed contract…”
“What contract?” Oleg Semyonovich asked in surprise.
“Come on!” Panic crept into Ilya’s voice. “The management system automation project for Northern Oil. We spent six months preparing it. Last week we signed a contract worth twenty million.”
Alina stood leaning against the wall, watching Oleg Semyonovich’s face turn to stone.
“So, you are the one my partner was dealing with…” he said slowly. “I must admit, I did not expect such behavior from our contractor.”
“Oleg Semyonovich, please!” Ilya tried to smile, but it looked miserable. “Business relationships and personal life are different things!”
“Not for me,” Oleg Semyonovich cut him off. “I do not work with people who allow themselves to behave like this. Tomorrow my legal department will find grounds to terminate the contract.”
“You can’t do that!” Ilya went pale. “Everything is honest and legal! There were no violations!”
“We’ll find them,” Oleg Semyonovich replied calmly. “There are always grounds. You understand that very well.”
“But we’ve already invested money! We took out a loan, hired people!” Ilya’s voice broke into a shrill cry.
“That is your problem. Now apologize to Alina and get out.”
Ilya’s eyes darted between his former wife and Oleg Semyonovich. Desperation and confusion were written all over his face. Twenty million… it had been the deal of the year for his company.
“Alina,” he turned to his ex-wife pitifully, “say something to him. Explain that I didn’t do anything bad to you…”
“No, Ilya,” Alina straightened and looked him in the eye. “You chose how to behave. Now you can answer for it yourself.”
“My God! What are you doing? Because of one little argument, you’re leaving me without a major project!”
“This wasn’t one little argument,” the woman said quietly. “This is who you really are.”
Oleg Semyonovich took her gently by the arm.
“Let’s go, Alina Andreevna. We have nothing more to do here.”
They walked toward the exit, leaving Ilya alone. He stood with his head lowered, staring at the floor in confusion. Alina almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
The wedding continued in the hall. The newlyweds were cutting the cake, guests were dancing, and waiters were serving champagne. Oleg Semyonovich escorted Alina back to their table.
“I’m sorry for that unpleasant scene,” he said, helping her sit down.
“I should be the one apologizing,” Alina shook her head. “Because of me, you lost a contractor.”
“Lost? On the contrary, I protected myself from working with unstable people. You know, in business it is important not only to do the job well, but also to be a decent human being.”
“What about your project?”
“We’ll find another contractor. And by the way,” he leaned closer, “if your agency is willing to handle not only advertising but also PR support, your workload may increase considerably.”
Alina felt her heart begin to beat faster. PR support on such a scale could take her agency to an entirely new level.
“I would be very interested in that,” she admitted.
“Then on Monday we will discuss not only the advertising campaign, but also a longer-term partnership.”
From the nearby table, Anastasia was watching them in confusion. Ilya had disappeared, probably having left the celebration. The girl clearly did not understand what was happening or why her companion had suddenly vanished.
“Alina!” Katya came up to their table. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” Alina smiled. “More than fine.”
And it was true. At that moment, she felt as if life had finally turned toward her: new opportunities, an interesting man beside her, and respect for everything she had achieved.
“Katya,” she added, looking at her friend’s happy face, “thank you for inviting me. This evening turned out to be very… important for me.”
Oleg Semyonovich gently squeezed her hand under the table. Alina felt something warm and bright beginning to bloom inside her. Justice had triumphed because she had finally believed in herself — and in the fact that she deserved better.