“Just sign the papers and let’s get divorced without going to court!” My husband and mother-in-law have already decided how to split up my apartments.
Alice turned her key in the lock more quietly than usual. She didn’t want to make noise. The laptop bag weighed down her shoulder, her head buzzed from a nine-hour investor meeting—she wanted nothing more than to take off her shoes, pour some cold water, and collapse face-first onto the bed. The contract for designing the new residential complex was signed, her bonus promised, but she was completely drained.
The hallway smelled burnt. Onion pie, Alice guessed. Her mother-in-law must have stopped by again. Galina Petrovna had a habit of showing up unannounced, taking over the kitchen for her cooking and baking marathons, all while driving her son crazy. Mark always turned into a wax figure during those times, just nodding along until his mom finally left.
Alice took off her coat and hung it up. The kitchen door was ajar, voices drifting out. She wasn’t trying to eavesdrop—she just paused to catch her breath, but the words hit her like nails.
“You’re not a real man,” Galina Petrovna snapped. “You married someone with no family ties, and she still keeps all her lairs in her name. Two apartments, Mark! Two! One’s a studio by Krasnye Vorota, the other—our three-room place downtown. And you haven’t claimed a single one. They’re yours by law! Half of the marital property.”
Alice stood frozen, barely breathing. Her heart pounded in her throat. Mark mumbled something, too quiet for her to catch.
“Don’t start about love,” her mother-in-law cut him off. “I’ve already found a realtor. Enough stalling. Either she signs the deed over to you, or you get divorced and we sue for half. And don’t look at me like that. Who are you? My son. You need to think about the future. Our future. And her… she’s never going to have kids. It’s been a year and a half, and not one pregnancy has worked out. Empty. Why does she need apartments? For her cats?”
The last word was spat out with such contempt that Alice felt something break inside. She had no cats. All she had was an aching emptiness in her belly and the scar on her soul from the miscarriage she still couldn’t talk about. Mark knew. Mark had seen her crying in the bathroom at night, clutching those single-lined test strips. And now, he was silent.
The silence stretched on.
“Mom, Alice isn’t like that,” Mark finally managed. “She loves me. We’ll get through this.”
“Loves you?” Galina snorted. “Love means sharing everything. She keeps everything for herself. You’re just convenient for her, like a lapdog. Don’t you see? She doesn’t respect you.”
Alice swallowed hard. She felt the chill seep through her body—not from the things Galina said, but from her husband’s silence. He didn’t tell his mother to stop, didn’t say, “This is between us,” didn’t stand up for her. He just made excuses, like a guilty schoolboy.
Her legs wobbled. Alice stepped toward the kitchen and threw the door open.
“Did I interrupt something?” she said, her voice steady even as she trembled inside. “Or is this the perfect time to discuss my assets without me?”
Her mother-in-law sat at the table with a cup of tea close by. Mark stood by the window, hands in his pockets. Both froze.
Alice looked from one to the other. Galina’s face held not the slightest trace of regret—only annoyance at being caught. Mark stared at the floor.
“Well then,” Alice continued, forcing a smile that felt like a foreign mask on her face, “since you’re here, maybe we should decide right now who gets my apartments? Or should we wait for the realtor?”
She looked at her husband. He looked away.
A heavy, sticky silence settled over the kitchen.
Alice didn’t sleep that night. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, listening to Mark toss and turn beside her. He never apologized. He didn’t say a word after Galina Petrovna said her parting “think about it, dear” and left. He just crawled under the blanket and pretended to sleep.
Her mind spun in circles. Two apartments. A studio and a three-room place. She’d bought the studio two years after graduation, working herself to the bone, taking any job, sleeping four hours a night, eating buckwheat with ketchup. It had been her first real achievement—hers alone, paid for with sweat and sleepless nights. The three-room came later, after she married. The money was from a big project, plus a bonus, a mortgage she paid off in three years, while Mark drifted between jobs: designer, manager, sometimes just at home “looking for inspiration.”
Now his inspiration was just his mother, who had already divvied up her life.
Alice rolled over and looked at her sleeping husband. Handsome, fair hair and soft features. He could be gentle when he wanted. He knew how to say the right words. But now, she saw, those words meant nothing.
In the morning, when Mark left saying he had a job interview, Alice sat at her laptop and logged into the database. She was an architect, but had access to some programs. She found info on their marriage and documents. No prenup—she had insisted on it before the wedding, but Mark got offended, called it humiliating, so she backed down to spare his feelings. Now that decision felt like a noose around her neck.
She called Lera—a friend at a law firm, the one person who wouldn’t shame her.
“Lera, I need help,” Alice’s voice cracked. “My mother-in-law wants my apartments. Mark is playing along.”
There was a pause on the line.
“I warned you,” Lera finally said. “You’re too generous. Let me guess: no prenup? Of course. Alice, you silly girl. Sorry. Just come over. Six p.m. today. Tell me everything—and don’t you dare sign anything.”
Alice exhaled, “I’ll come.”
She hung up and looked around. The apartment she’d decorated with so much love now felt foreign, like the stage for a show where she was no longer the lead.
That evening, in Lera’s office, Alice spilled it all: the kitchen conversation, her husband’s silence, her mother-in-law’s threats.
“They want you to sign the deed over or divorce and give up half,” Lera said, leaning back, one leg crossed over the other. “And you know what? Legally, they actually have a chance. The apartments were bought during the marriage, and you, my trusting soul, didn’t formalize separate ownership. The studio was yours before the wedding, but the three-room—that’s considered shared unless you have real proof you paid for it alone. And, if I understand right, you never gathered any proof.”
Alice bowed her head… Continued below in the first comment
Alyssa turned the key in the lock two notches quieter than usual, not wanting to make a sound. The laptop bag weighed down her shoulder, her head buzzing after a nine-hour investor meeting. All she wanted was to kick off her heels, pour some cold water, and collapse face-first into her pillow. The contract for the new residential complex was signed, a bonus was promised, but she had no energy left.
The hallway smelled of something burnt. Onion pie, Alyssa guessed. That meant her mother-in-law had been here again. Galina Petrovna liked to show up unannounced, take over the kitchen, cook, bake, and fry, all while giving her son an earful. In those moments, Mark turned into a wax statue, nodding just to make his mom leave faster.
Alyssa took off her coat and hung it on the hook. The kitchen door was ajar, and voices drifted out. She wasn’t trying to eavesdrop—she just paused to catch her breath, but the words hit her like nails.
“You’re spineless, not a real man,” Galina Petrovna cut in sharply. “You married a nobody, and she’s still got all her dens registered to herself. Two apartments, Mark! Two! One is a studio by Krasnye Vorota, the other is ours, a three-room in the center. And you haven’t put either in your name. By law, that’s yours! Half the family assets.”
Alyssa stood frozen, barely breathing. Her heart pounded in her throat. Mark mumbled something in response, but she couldn’t make it out.
“Don’t talk to me about love,” her mother-in-law cut him off. “I’ve already found a realtor. Enough stalling. Either she signs a deed over to you, or it’s divorce and we’ll sue for half. And don’t look at me like that. Who are you? My son. You need to think about your future. Our future. And her… she’ll never have kids anyway. It’s been a year and a half, not a single pregnancy has worked out. She’s empty. Why does she need these apartments? For her cats?”
That last word was said with such contempt that Alyssa felt something snap inside. She didn’t even have cats. All she had was an aching, empty stomach and a scar on her soul from a miscarriage she still couldn’t talk about. Mark knew. Mark saw her cry in the bathroom late at night, clutching that single-lined white strip. And now he said nothing.
A tense silence hung in the air.
“Mom, Alyssa isn’t like that,” Mark finally managed. “She loves me. We’ll get through this.”
“Loves you?” Galina scoffed. “Love means sharing everything. But she keeps everything to herself. You’re just convenient to her, like a pet dog. Don’t you see? She doesn’t respect you.”
Alyssa swallowed, feeling a coldness spreading through her body—not from her mother-in-law’s words, but from her husband’s silence. He didn’t say, “Stop,” or “This is our business.” He didn’t defend her. He just kept explaining himself, like a guilty child.
Her legs felt like jelly. Alyssa took a step towards the kitchen and flung the door open.
“Am I interrupting?” Her voice was steady, even though she was trembling inside. “Or is this the perfect moment to discuss my property without me?”
Her mother-in-law sat at the table with a cup of tea drawn close. Mark was by the window, hands in his pockets. Both froze in place.
Alisa glanced at them. Galina’s face showed not a hint of regret—just irritation at being caught. Mark looked down at the floor.
“Well then,” Alisa continued, feeling a smile stretch across her face like a borrowed mask. “Since you’re here, should we just go ahead and discuss who owns my apartments? Or shall we wait for the realtor?”
She looked at her husband. He turned his gaze away.
Silence hung thick and heavy in the kitchen, sticky like cooled grease.
Alisa didn’t sleep all night. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, listening to Mark tossing next to her. He didn’t apologize. In fact, he didn’t say a single word after Galina Petrovna, tossing a quick “think about it, dear” as a parting shot, packed up and left. Mark just crawled under the blanket and pretended to be asleep.
Her thoughts spun in circles. Two apartments. A studio and a three-room flat. She bought the studio two years after graduating, working herself to exhaustion, taking any commissions she could, barely sleeping four hours and eating buckwheat with ketchup. It was her first victory—hers alone, paid for with sweat and sleepless nights. Later, after she got married, came the three-room apartment. Money from a big project, a bonus, and a mortgage she paid off in three years, while Mark was supposedly “finding himself.” He drifted from being a designer, to a manager, to just sitting at home, unable to “find inspiration.”
Now, his newfound inspiration looked a lot like his mother, who had already decided how to divide up Alisa’s life.
Alisa turned on her side and looked at her sleeping husband. Handsome, light hair, gentle features. He could be tender when he wanted to. He knew how to say the right things. But as it turned out, there was nothing behind those words.
In the morning, after Mark left saying he had an interview, Alisa sat down at her laptop and opened her database. She was an architect and had access to certain programs. She found information about their marriage, their documents. There was no prenup—she had insisted on one before the wedding, but Mark was offended, said it was humiliating. She’d backed down so as not to hurt him. Now that concession felt like a noose around her neck.
She dialed Lera’s number. Her friend from a law firm—the only person who wouldn’t judge her.
“Lera, I have a problem,” Alisa said, her voice breaking. “My mother-in-law wants to take my apartments. Mark is backing her up.”
There was a pause on the line.
“I warned you,” Lera finally said. “You’re too kind. Let me guess: no prenup? Of course. Alisa, you idiot, sorry. Okay, come to my place. Six o’clock today. Tell me everything. And don’t you dare sign anything.”
Alisa exhaled.
“I’ll come.”
She hung up and looked around. The apartment she’d lovingly decorated suddenly felt foreign. Like a stage for a play where she was no longer the lead.
That evening, in Lera’s office, Alisa told her everything: about the kitchen conversation, her husband’s cold silence, and her mother-in-law’s threats.
“They want you to either sign over the apartment or get a divorce and give them half,” Lera said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs. “You know what’s most disgusting? Legally, they’ve got a shot. The apartments were bought during your marriage, and you, my sweet naive, never arranged separate ownership. The studio was yours before the wedding, but the three-room place—unless you have proof the money was only yours—counts as joint property. And if I understand right, you didn’t keep any proof.”
Alisa lowered her head.
“I was afraid of offending him by seeming suspicious. I thought family meant trust.”
“Family is when they don’t try to leave you with nothing,” Lera snapped. “Alright, don’t cry. We’ve got options. First: try to get Mark to drop his claims. Second: make him want the divorce without taking your assets. Third—find something incriminating.”
Alisa looked up.
“Like what kind of dirt?”
“Anything. Debts, a mistress, gambling—whatever would make him look bad in court. Do you have access to his bank accounts? His messages?”
Alisa shook her head. She’d never checked up on Mark. It always felt humiliating to her.
“Then let’s start simple,” Lera leaned forward. “Don’t sign anything. Stall for time. Say you agree, but it has to be done properly. Meanwhile, I’ll see what dirt I can dig up on your beloved.”
“What if they take it to court?”
“Let them. You won’t lose everything in court if we can prove Mark didn’t contribute. But it’s better not to let it get that far. Play along.”
Alisa thought it through. The plan felt shaky, but there were no better options.
“Listen, what if…” Lera lowered her voice, “what if your husband just happened to break his leg and couldn’t go to court? Just kidding. But you get the idea. Let’s be careful.”
Alisa managed a weak smile.
“You’re ruthless.”
“I’m a lawyer. Same thing.”
The next day, Alisa came home with flowers and a cake. Mark raised an eyebrow in surprise.
“What’s this for?”
“I’m sorry,” Alisa said, putting on a smile as if it were a shop window display. “I overreacted. I yelled at your mom. She was right. We’re a family, but I’ve kept everything separate. I thought it over and decided—let’s re-register the apartments in your name. But not as a gift, let’s do a sale through a notary. That way it’s more secure and there are fewer taxes.”
Mark blinked.
“Really?”
“Really. Just give me a couple of weeks—I need to gather documents, go to the government services office. You know how the bureaucracy is.”
Mark beamed. He hugged her tight. Alisa stood in his arms, nausea rising in her throat. For the first time in her life, she was lying to her husband. And for the first time, she didn’t feel guilty.
That evening she texted Lera: “He took the bait. I’m stalling.”
Lera replied instantly: “Perfect. Now pull his messages. We need proof that he’s colluding with his mom. Check his phone, social media—maybe he’s discussing his plans with friends.”
Alisa sighed. She had never gone through someone else’s phone before. But now, it was war.
A few days passed. Alisa was the picture of perfection—making dinners, smiling, agreeing to all conversations about moving and decorating “their” new apartments. Galina Petrovna started visiting more often, now with a satisfied look on her face. One day, she even brought over a furniture catalog and said, “Take a look and pick something for your new bedroom. Now, everything will finally be ours for sure.”
Alisa nodded and didn’t argue.
But at night, after Mark fell asleep, Alisa would grab his phone. She knew the password—it was their wedding date. She’d open his messengers and scroll through his chats. Nothing suspicious: friends, memes, football talk. But in one chat, with someone saved as “M.”, she found something interesting.
“M.” wrote: “The money will be here soon. Mom took care of everything. Just need to sign the papers.”
Mark replied: “Don’t rush it. She said we need a notary. We’re waiting.”
There were more voice messages after that, but Alisa couldn’t listen without headphones. Even so, it was clear: Mark wasn’t just going along with his mom’s plan—he was actively involved.
Alisa snapped a photo of the screen with her phone and sent it to Lera.
“Who’s M.?” her friend asked.
“No idea. Maybe the realtor,” Alisa replied.
“Okay, that’s not a big deal. The main thing is—he knows. Keep gathering info.”
Alisa lay down in bed and stared into the darkness. Next to her, Mark was peacefully snoring. She watched his profile and thought, “Who are you? Are you really the man I married, or just playing a role?”
There was no answer.
The tension kept growing. Galina Petrovna was calling Mark more and more, demanding he hurry things along. Mark became anxious and started snapping at people. Alisa kept coming up with new excuses: lost documents, an employee on vacation, a Rosreestr database glitch. She played the part of the unreliable wife—seemingly willing, but nothing ever worked out.
One evening, while Mark was out with friends, Alisa was home alone. She opened her laptop and went to her cloud storage, where she kept old photos. She found one taken at the orphanage. Two kids, a boy and a girl who looked just alike, stood against a gray wall. Alexey and Alisa. Twins. They were six years old.
Alisa stared at that photo for a long time. She remembered when they were separated. Alexey was sent to another group, then ended up in juvenile detention for theft. She stayed. She was luckier—a family adopted her, but a few years later her adoptive parents died in a car crash. She was sent back to the orphanage, now with papers showing she’d inherited a small apartment outside Moscow. She sold it after leaving the orphanage and bought a studio. Later, she went to architecture school, worked, and built her career.
Alexey rarely wrote her. Sometimes he called from prison, asking for money. She’d send it. He was her only blood relative, and she couldn’t say no. But in the last couple of years, the calls stopped. Alisa found out her brother was back in prison, but she didn’t look into the details.
Now it all seemed strange. Why had he stopped reaching out? Was he upset? Or was he up to something?
Alisa shook her head. Not the time for this.
She closed the photo and checked her email. There was a message from Lera marked ‘Urgent.’
‘Alisa, I found something. Mark took out a large loan three months ago. And another one just a week ago. He transferred the money to some account. I’m still digging. Be careful. He’s clearly planning something big. Looks like your husband isn’t as simple as he seems.’
Alisa read the email twice. Loans? Mark had never taken out loans before. Or maybe he had, but kept it a secret. This changed everything. Maybe his financial situation was much worse than she thought. So his desire to get her apartments wasn’t just about greed—it was a desperate move to pay off debts.
She wrote back: ‘Who does he owe?’
A reply came a minute later: ‘I don’t know yet. But it’s a serious amount. Around five million. This is no joke.’
Alisa leaned back in her chair. Five million. That was much more than her studio was worth. If Mark was in that deep, he was finished. He’d do anything to get out of it.
She got up and walked over to the window. The city sparkled with night lights. Somewhere out there, maybe in one of those cars, her husband was dreaming of easy money. Alisa smirked.
‘Alright, Mark,’ she whispered. ‘Let’s play.’
The next day, Alisa called Viktor. Viktor was her boss at the architecture bureau—a serious man in his forties, gray at the temples, with an intense gaze. He’d been in love with her for a long time, hopelessly it seemed, but she’d never given him a reason. Now, though, she needed an ally.
‘Viktor, I need your help,’ she said without preamble.
‘I’m listening.’
‘It’s not about work. It’s personal. Very personal.’
Viktor was silent for a moment.
‘I’m ready. What do you need?’
‘I need someone who can find information. Off the record.’
‘Are you in trouble?’
‘You could say that. My husband wants to take my apartments. And it looks like he’s working with someone else. I need to know everything: his debts, his connections, his past. Everything you can dig up.’
Viktor was quiet again. Alisa could hear him breathing.
‘I know a specialist,’ he finally said. ‘He’s a former detective. Charges a lot, but he’s good. Give me a couple of days.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Alisa…’
‘Yes?’
‘Be careful. If your husband’s ready to go this far, he could be dangerous.’
‘I know. That’s exactly why I came to you.’
She hung up. For the first time in weeks, Alisa felt like she had someone she could rely on.
Three days later, Viktor handed her a folder of printouts. Alisa opened it in her studio, locking the door behind her.
What she saw made her blood run cold.
Mark Zakharov, thirty-two. Born in Moscow. Mother: Galina Petrovna. Father unknown. At twenty, he was charged with fraud, but the case was dropped after a settlement. At twenty-five, he worked at a firm involved in shady real estate deals and was fired following a scandal over forged documents. After that—a series of odd jobs.
And the most interesting part: in the prison where Alexey served time, Mark had a cellmate named Dmitry Kovalev. This Dmitry was Alexey’s right-hand man. And it turns out Mark visited Alexey in prison multiple times, bringing him money.
Alice set the sheet aside, her chest tightening. Mark knew her brother. Mark was connected to her brother. And, evidently, their connection began long before the wedding.
She turned the page. Next came photographs: Mark at the gates of a prison, Mark handing an envelope to a guard, Mark with an unknown man in a café. Captions read: “Mark Zakharov with Dmitri Kovalev, July last year.”
Alice slowly sank into a chair. So her whole marriage had been a performance? Did Mark marry her on her brother’s orders? Or did he choose to profit, using whatever Alexei told him about her?
She dialed Lera’s number.
“Lera, you won’t believe this…”
“What’s going on?”
“Mark is connected to my brother. They know each other. It looks like all of this was planned out.”
She heard a long sigh on the other end.
“Your brother, the one who’s in prison?”
“Yes.”
“So that’s who is behind all this. Alexei decided to take from you what he thinks is rightfully his. And Mark—he’s just the tool.”
Alice closed her eyes. The puzzle pieces were falling into place. Her brother’s jealousy, his constant feeling of being deprived. Now it made sense why he’d stopped writing. He was preparing for this blow.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“First of all, don’t let them know you’re on to them. We need to push Mark until he slips up. Then we’ll figure out what to do about your brother. You might have to go to the police.”
Alice was silent.
“Alice, are you there?”
“Yeah. I just… I can’t believe my own brother hired someone to marry me and rob me.”
“That’s life, honey. And sometimes it’s cruel. But you’re strong. We’ll get through this.”
Alice nodded slowly, even though Lera couldn’t see her.
“Alright. Let’s keep playing the game.”
Now Alice looked at Mark differently. Every gesture, every word felt fake. He still acted like a loving husband, but now she could see the cracks in his mask.
She started to record their conversations. Turned on the voice recorder on her phone whenever Mark was home. And one evening, when he thought she was asleep, he went out onto the balcony and called someone.
Alice was lying in bed, pretending to sleep, but her phone under the pillow was recording everything.
“Yeah, everything’s going according to plan,” Mark whispered. “She agreed to the sale. Just need to wait for the paperwork. No, I’m not rushing her. Let her relax. As soon as she signs, we’ll throw her out. Yeah, Mom will help with the realtor. No, she doesn’t know about you. She thinks I just want to get my own back. Good. The less she knows, the better. That’s all, bye.”
Alice clenched her fists under the blanket. She stayed perfectly still until Mark returned to the bedroom and settled in beside her.
In the morning, she sent the recording to Lera.
“This proves conspiracy. Now we just need one more piece: for him to mention the brother. Then we’ll have a solid case.”
Alice replied: “I’ll try.”
But she had no idea how to get him to confess without making him suspicious.
A few more days passed. Alice stalled on the paperwork, but she could feel Mark’s patience running out. Galina Petrovna was calling ten times a day, yelling, threatening to come over herself. Alice fended her off with polite excuses.
One evening, Mark came home drunk. He threw his bag on the floor as soon as he walked in and shouted:
“Enough! How much longer are you going to make me wait? Do you think I’m an idiot?”
Alisa stood in the kitchen, drying her hands with a towel.
“Mark, I’m trying. But the documents from the community center…”
“Forget the documents!” he stepped toward her, swaying unsteadily. “You’re stalling! Do you think I can’t tell? You never planned to give me those apartments! You’ve always been a greedy bitch!”
Alisa stepped back.
“Mark, calm down.”
“Don’t try to calm me down!” he grabbed her by the shoulders. “You really think I don’t see you hiding behind all your paperwork? Think I’m blind?”
His fingers dug into her skin. Alisa winced.
“Let go.”
“Or what? You’ll call the cops?” he laughed. “Go ahead. I’ll say you attacked me first. Who’s going to believe an orphan with no family or connections?”
Alisa felt a surge of anger welling up inside. She wrenched herself free.
“You’re drunk. Go sleep it off.”
Mark looked at her with glassy eyes.
“Fine. But tomorrow, we’re going to the notary. Or I’ll file for divorce. Got it?”
He turned and stormed off to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
Alisa remained standing in the kitchen. Her hands were trembling, but she didn’t cry. Instead, she poured herself a glass of water and took a deep breath.
Tomorrow. So everything’s going to be decided tomorrow.
She walked to the window and looked out into the dark courtyard. One thought kept spinning in her head: “You chose this path yourself. So don’t come complaining now.”
That night, Alisa didn’t sleep. She sat at her laptop in the studio where she had gone right after the fight with Mark. Lera was online with her.
“Tomorrow he’s taking you to the notary. That’s risky. If you refuse, he’ll go to court. If you sign, you lose everything.”
“I’m not going to sign,” Alisa replied. “But I need to buy some time.”
“We have the recording where he talks about the plan with his mother. But he never mentions the brother. We need something else.”
“I know,” Alisa leaned back in her chair. “I have an idea. I’ll tell him I know about his connection with Alexei. I’ll watch his reaction. If he gets scared and starts making excuses, I’ll record the conversation.”
“That’s risky. He might get angry and do something.”
“And what could he do? Kill me?” Alisa said with a bitter smile. “Then he gets nothing. The apartments will go to the state through inheritance. Or to my brother, but he’s in jail.”
“You’re right. But still, be careful. Meet him somewhere public.”
“No. I’ll come home. That’s my territory. And there are cameras I installed recently.”
“Cameras?” Lera was surprised.
“Yes. After I found out he was messing with my stuff. Now the whole conversation will be recorded.”
Lera chuckled.
“You’re becoming dangerous, my friend.”
“I’m just tired of being a victim.”
In the morning, Alisa returned home. Mark was sober but gloomy, sitting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee.
“So, are we going?” he asked without looking at her.
“First, we need to talk,” Alisa sat down across from him. “I want to ask you one question.”
Mark looked up.
“What question?”
“How do you know Alexei?”
Mark froze. His cup stopped halfway to his mouth.
“Who?”
“My brother, Alexei. You know him, don’t you?”
Mark set his cup on the table. His hand was trembling.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I saw the photos. You visited him in prison. Brought him money. People saw you two together.”
Mark turned pale.
“It’s not what you think.”
“So what am I supposed to think?” Alice leaned forward, staring him straight in the eyes. “That you just happened to meet my brother behind bars, just happened to decide to marry me, and now you just happen to want to take away my apartments?”
Mark stayed silent.
“You can explain everything,” Alice continued. “I’m willing to listen. If you tell the truth, maybe we can work something out. But if you lie, I’m leaving. Right now.”
Mark lowered his head. The silence lingered for a long time.
“Aleksei…” he started, his voice raspy. “He asked me for help. He told me you owed him. That you took his inheritance from him. He wanted it back.”
“What inheritance?”
“The apartment your adoptive parents owned. He believed it should’ve gone to him. But it was sold, and the money paid for your education and studio. He never forgave that.”
Alice stared at him, unblinking.
“Is that all?”
“No. He said if I helped him, we’d split it. And I agreed. But then… then I fell in love with you. For real. I wanted to walk away from the plan, but Aleksei pressured me. He threatened to tell you everything. I was afraid I’d lose you.”
Alice was silent. Inside, anger and pain battled. She wanted to believe there was a shred of truth in his words, but her mind screamed: he’s lying.
“So that’s why you decided to leave me homeless?” she asked.
“No! I would never… I was just stalling for time. I kept hoping it would all just go away. My mom was pushing me too, but I never planned to go through with it. Please, believe me.”
Alice stood up.
“I don’t believe you, Mark. Not a single word.”
She left the kitchen, feeling tears sting her eyes. But she wouldn’t let them fall.
In her studio, Alice listened to the recording. The recorder had captured every word. Mark had confessed to conspiring with Aleksei. It was exactly what she needed.
She sent the file to Lera.
“Now we have everything,” her friend said. “We can go to the police with this. Or to court. He and his brother are heading to prison.”
Alice sat on the windowsill, hugging her knees.
“I know. But I want to talk to Aleksei first.”
“Why?”
“I want to understand why he did this to me. We’re twins. We used to be everything to each other.”
Lera sighed.
“Alice, sometimes your own blood can betray you worse than strangers. You’ve done nothing wrong. But if you’re going to see him, be careful. He could be dangerous.”
“I know. But I have to.”
Aleksei had been released on parole. Alice found out from Lera, who had access to certain databases. He lived in a small apartment on the outskirts of Moscow, rented with money Alice had sent him earlier. The irony wasn’t lost on her.
That evening, Alice went there. The door was opened by a man she didn’t know—Dmitry Kovalev, Aleksei’s old cellmate.
“Ah, little sis is here,” he smirked. “Come on in, Aleksei’s waiting for you.”
Alice stepped inside. The room was dark and smelled of tobacco. Aleksei sat at the table, papers spread out before him.
“Hello, little sister,” he looked up. “Long time no see.”
“Why did you do it?” Alice asked, skipping any pleasantries.
Aleksei leaned back in his chair.
“You know why. You were always the lucky one. You got adopted, I didn’t. You got the apartment, I didn’t. You made something of your life, and I rotted in prison. Is that fair?”
“It’s not my fault.”
“I don’t care whose fault it is. I decided to get what I deserve—through Mark. I thought he could handle it, but he turned out to be as weak as his mother. He fell in love, if you can believe it.”
Alisa clenched her fists.
“You destroyed my life out of envy?”
“Out of justice,” Alexei corrected her. “But now it’s all over. You know the truth. Mark is out of the game. But I won’t back down. Those apartments will still be mine. If not through him, then through court. Or by other means.”
“You won’t get anything,” Alisa said quietly. “I have a recording where Mark admits he conspired with you. Where he says you hired him. That’s enough to put both of you in jail.”
Alexei turned pale.
“You’re bluffing.”
“No. I’ve already sent copies to my lawyer. If anything happens to me, they’ll go straight to the police.”
Alexei jumped to his feet.
“You think I’m afraid of you?”
“You should be,” Alisa stood her ground. “Because I’m not that girl anymore—the one who sent you money and cried at night. You lost your sister the moment you thought you could use me.”
She turned and walked toward the door.
“Alisa!” Alexei shouted. “You wouldn’t dare!”
But she was already gone, not looking back.
A week later, the court hearing took place. Alisa filed for divorce and property division. She presented all the evidence: recordings, photos, witness testimonies. The court ruled in her favor. The apartments stayed with her. Mark was left only with the debts he had accumulated. Galina Petrovna, upon learning her son was just a pawn in someone else’s game, suffered a heart attack. Realizing his plan had failed and that he was facing new fraud charges, Alexei went into hiding. The police placed him on a wanted list.
Alisa stood on the balcony of her studio with a cup of coffee. The city buzzed below, unaware of her small victory.
She dialed Lera’s number.
“So, the divorce is final?” her friend asked.
“Yes. Through the court, just like you said.”
“Congratulations. You’re free now.”
Alisa smiled.
“Free, but not quite. Alexei is still out there somewhere.”
“We’ll find him. The important thing is, you’re safe.”
“Yes. Safe.”
She hung up and looked at the sky. A new day was beginning. And for the first time in a long while, Alisa felt she could finally breathe deeply.
Sometimes, to preserve everything you’ve built, you have to burn the bridges leading to those you once loved. Even if those bridges were built on lies. What matters is that the house itself is strong.
She finished her coffee and smiled. The house was strong. And so was she.