Maria gazed thoughtfully out the panoramic window of her office on the 47th floor of the city’s business center. Below, a dense stream of cars moved steadily, and the hurrying people appeared as vague shadows—but her mind was far from business papers and quarterly reports. She was thinking about Dmitry, the man who had become her central point of reference over the past few months.
“What if they don’t love me, but only my mask of a successful businesswoman?” she whispered, looking at her reflection in the glass.
This thought had been tormenting her for weeks. Dmitry was kind, attentive, sincere—but his family… The mere thought of the upcoming visit to his parents made Maria tense inside.
“Maria Alexandrovna, documents to sign,” her secretary Vera peeked into the office.
“Listen,” Maria said suddenly, surprising even herself, “what if I check them out?”
Vera raised an eyebrow in surprise.
“Check whom exactly?”
“Dima’s family. I’ll introduce myself as an ordinary teacher. I want to see how they react to a girl without connections, money, or a well-known name.”
“Masha, are you serious? What if they find out?”
“And what if they don’t?” A spark of determination flashed in her eyes. “This is the only way to understand if they’ll accept me as I really am.”
The plan quickly took shape. She would take a short vacation, rent a modest apartment, dress in simple clothes. Luckily, Dmitry had never been particularly interested in the details of her work—she only mentioned she was connected to education, which was partly true: her father’s company really owned a network of prestigious schools.
“Vera, cancel all my meetings for two weeks. And find me a good stylist—someone who can turn me into the most ordinary girl.”
Maria smiled at her reflection. Maybe this was madness. Maybe she was risking a lot. But she had to know the truth.
The next two weeks flew by like a moment. Maria fully immersed herself in creating the new image. Every element of the story was planned to the smallest detail. The stylist recommended by Vera worked wonders: expensive hairstyles and professional makeup disappeared, replaced by a simple bob and a natural face tone.
“Look at yourself,” Vera smiled, examining the transformed boss. “Just like a classic schoolteacher!”
Maria slowly twirled before the mirror in her new dress.
“Do you think it looks believable?”
“Absolutely. Especially those thin-framed glasses and the worn handbag. You can almost see how you carry notebooks for grading.”
Alongside the external transformation, Maria prepared her story. She studied school curricula, teaching methods, memorized pedagogical terminology. Her temporary apartment in a typical high-rise district gradually filled with the attributes of a young teacher’s life: books, red pens, thank-you cards from “students.”
“Dim, I’m so nervous about meeting your parents,” she admitted during a date.
“Don’t worry, they’re simple people. Though Mom… she’s a bit conservative.”
“In what way?”
“Well, she thinks I deserve the very best. But for me, the main thing is the genuine feeling between us.”
Maria felt her heart tighten inside. She hated deception, but convinced herself she was doing it all for the future of their relationship.
On the day of the meeting, she gathered her hair into a neat bun, wore a modest dress, and rehearsed her story once more in front of the mirror. The story was almost true: she really worked in education, just omitting the fact that the field belonged to her family.
“It will be fine,” she whispered, clutching the handle of her simple handbag. “The main thing is to be myself. After all, I’m doing this for our love.”
Dmitry’s parents’ house turned out exactly as Maria had imagined—a three-story mansion in a fashionable district. She nervously adjusted her dress and let Dmitry lead her to the front door.
“Mom, Dad, this is Maria,” he introduced her as they entered the bright living room.
Elena Viktorovna, a strict woman with a perfect hairstyle, immediately appraised the guest with a calculating look, lingering on the modest clothes and simple handbag. The father, Viktor Pavlovich, smiled but a slight bewilderment flashed in his eyes.
“Please, have a seat,” the hostess said reservedly.
“Dima told me you work at a school?” Elena Viktorovna asked.
“Yes, I teach primary grades,” Maria answered, trying to sound confident.
“Interesting…” the woman drawled. “And how did you meet?”
“At a contemporary art exhibition. I was taking my class there…”
“So it was a school excursion?” Elena Viktorovna interrupted, casting a meaningful glance at her husband.
Dmitry tried to ease the tension:
“We talked for a long time about art. Masha has good taste and a deep understanding.”
“Well, well,” the mother chimed in again. “Where did you get such an education?”
“At a pedagogical university,” Maria answered calmly, feeling the weight of their gaze.
“Just a pedagogical university?” Elena Viktorovna looked at her son. “Dima, darling, you studied in London…”
“Mom, what difference does it make where someone studied?” Dmitry said irritably.
“There is a difference, son,” the father joined in. “You understand, given your position…”
“What position?!” Dmitry raised his voice. “Let’s just have some tea.”
The whole evening went on in the same tone. The parents asked questions that seemed innocent but were soaked with condescension and barely concealed disappointment. Maria held herself together with all her might, but inside she burned with resentment and indignation.
“Do you have your own place?” Elena Viktorovna asked near the end of the evening.
“I’m renting for now,” Maria replied without hesitation.
“On a teacher’s salary? That must be difficult?”
When they finally said goodbye and stepped outside, Maria felt as if she’d just been interrogated under the spotlights. She had never imagined a simple family dinner could be so exhausting.
The next day Dmitry invited Maria to a family dinner where his sister and her husband, along with several close family friends, would be present. If the first meeting was tense, this one was explosive.
“By the way, Dima recently got a promotion,” Elena Viktorovna proudly announced. “Now he heads an entire department at an international company.”
Anna, Dmitry’s sister, looked closely at Maria:
“It must be exciting for you to mingle with such people.”
“Why not?” Maria answered calmly. “I work every day with interesting personalities.”
“Oh yes, children…” Anna smiled condescendingly. “Though that’s nothing like international negotiations.”
Anna’s husband, a financial specialist, decided to continue:
“And what about finances? How do you plan to support the family? Teachers aren’t wealthy.”
“We haven’t talked about that yet,” Dmitry tried to intervene.
“You should,” the mother remarked. “Dima’s used to a certain lifestyle.”
“Maybe you’re thinking about career growth?” asked a woman, the director of a private school. “Though in our field, without connections and starting capital, it’s hard to achieve anything.”
Every word, every glance was soaked with condescension. To them, Maria didn’t exist as a person—only as a “modest teacher” who, in their opinion, didn’t match their son’s status.
“Maybe you should consider a different profession?” one guest suggested. “With your looks, you could try something more… promising.”
Dmitry squeezed her hand under the table—a sign of support. But Maria saw how hard it was for him to watch this social dissection of their relationship.
“I love my job,” she replied firmly. “And I consider it no less important than any other.”
“Of course, of course,” Elena Viktorovna nodded patronizingly. “We just want you to be realistic. Marriage is a serious matter.”
After the exhausting dinner, Dmitry drove Maria home. In the small rented apartment, silence finally settled.
“Sorry about tonight,” Dmitry nervously paced the room. “I didn’t expect them to behave so… shamelessly.”
Maria sat on the couch, hugging her knees.
“I understand them. They worry about you.”
“Don’t justify them!” he retorted hotly. “It was unbearable. All those hints, contemptuous looks… As if a person can be measured only by their bank account!”
“And you?” Maria asked quietly. “Doesn’t it bother you that I’m just a regular teacher?”
Dmitry stopped and looked straight into her eyes.
“I don’t care what you do for work. I fell in love with who you are—smart, kind, real. Isn’t that enough?”
Maria felt a lump rising inside. His words were exactly what she wanted to hear. But the guilt grew stronger.
“You know,” Dmitry said, sitting beside her, “let’s get married now? No pomp, no their approval—just register and live the way we want.”
“Really?” Maria turned to him.
“Absolutely serious. I don’t want anyone’s prejudices to divide us.”
At that moment Maria realized she couldn’t delay any longer. Dmitry deserved the truth—the whole truth.
“Dima, I need to tell you something,” she began, taking a deep breath. “I’m not exactly who I pretend to be.”
He looked at her questioningly.
“I really work in education, but…” Maria hesitated. “I’m not a teacher. I own a network of private schools called ‘Erudit’.”
Silence filled the room. Dmitry slowly sank into his chair, trying to comprehend what he’d just heard.
“‘Erudit’? The network opening branches all over the country?”
“Yes. I wanted to see if your family would accept me without knowing my resources. I wanted to be sure you loved me not for money.”
“So all this time you were testing me?” His voice trembled.
“No!” Maria stepped closer. “I never doubted you. But I saw how your family treats those below their social status. It scared me.”
“Wait…” Dmitry rubbed his temples. “So all the apartment, clothes, the whole image…”
“It was an experiment. And it fully confirmed my fears. Your parents didn’t even try to get to know me as a person—for them I was just a ‘poor teacher.’”
Suddenly Dmitry laughed:
“I can imagine their faces when they find out you’re richer than all of us combined.”
“Forgive me,” Maria whispered, taking his hand. “I had to know the truth.”
“And I’m glad it happened,” he pulled her close. “Now I know for sure—you’re with me not for money. And, you know, it’ll be fun to see their reaction when they find out.”
The next day Dmitry insisted on a new meeting with his parents. Maria wore one of her business suits, and they went to the now familiar mansion. But this time she went not as a modest teacher, but as a woman who knows her worth.
Elena Viktorovna opened the door—and seemed glued to the spot. Before her stood the new Maria: impeccable look, exquisite dress by a famous designer, stylish accessories radiating confidence and dignity.
“Hello,” she smiled softly. “I hope you have some time to talk?”
Tense silence fell over the living room. Viktor Pavlovich nervously adjusted his tie, and Elena Viktorovna couldn’t take her eyes off the expensive watch on Maria’s wrist—the price exceeding many people’s annual income.
“Maria… forgive me, I don’t even know your patronymic…” the hostess began.
“Alexandrovna. Maria Alexandrovna Vorontsova.”
The name hung in the air like thunder from a clear sky. The Vorontsov name was well known—the largest private school network, charitable foundations, regular business magazine publications.
“You… you own ‘Erudit’?” Elena Viktorovna barely whispered.
“Exactly,” Maria confirmed calmly. “And I was very curious to see how you would treat people you consider beneath you socially.”
“We didn’t mean to…” Viktor Pavlovich started, but Dmitry interrupted him.
“Yes, you did. You judged a person only by their bank account. You compared my girlfriend to some ‘poor teacher,’ as if that automatically made her less valuable.”
Elena Viktorovna shifted her gaze from her son back to Maria.
“But if only we had known…”
“That’s the point,” Maria replied firmly, “you judged without knowing the facts. Where is the intellect? Education? Heart? Isn’t that more important?”
Dmitry’s parents sat bewildered. Their convictions, a system of values formed over years, suddenly collapsed like a house of cards.
“Let’s start over,” Maria suggested. “Only this time—not as rich and poor, but simply as people.”
“Maybe… stay for dinner?” Elena Viktorovna asked uncertainly.
“First, let’s clarify a few things,” Maria answered. “For example, your opinion that teaching is a second-rate profession.”
Viktor Pavlovich coughed awkwardly. His wife looked down. The conversation took a new direction—not from arrogance but from awareness of their mistakes.
As the talk came to an end, Viktor Pavlovich unexpectedly said:
“We really were wrong. All these stereotypes… How foolish we’ve been.”
“Mashenka,” Elena Viktorovna took Maria’s hand, “forgive us. Now I understand why Dima chose you. You are an extraordinary woman, regardless of your status.”
Maria smiled.
“You know, I learned a lot too. I started this experiment believing I would test others. But in the end, I saw my own misconceptions.”
Late at night, sitting in her real office at the company headquarters, Maria reflected on everything that had happened. The city lights twinkled outside like hundreds of thousands of small stories.
“You know,” she said to Vera, who stayed late to support her friend, “I thought I wanted to expose their hypocrisy. But in the end, I saw my own prejudice too.”
“How so?”
“I condemned them for judging by social status. But didn’t I do the same? I assumed in advance they would be snobs. I didn’t give them a chance.”
She looked at the city outside the window.
“But I learned a lot. Especially about Dima. How he defended me, how he wasn’t afraid to stand against his family for love… That’s worth the whole world.”
“And the parents? Do you think they really changed?”
“Maybe not immediately. But what matters is they admitted their mistakes. And maybe now they’ll see people differently—not by accounts, but by their true essence.”
This experience taught Maria the most important thing: honesty, openness, and love matter more than any experiment. Sometimes, trying to expose others’ prejudices, we become prisoners of our own. But true feelings—that’s what can break down any barrier, whether money, status, or stereotypes.