Anna froze on the threshold, clutching the suitcase. The hallway smelled of coffee and… someone else’s perfume. Men’s slippers stood on the floor—not Sergey’s. Plaid ones, with pompoms. His style was minimalist: black, no patterns. She shifted her gaze to the coat rack. Next to his coat hung an olive-green down jacket—they didn’t have one like that.
“Sergey?” she called out, but the only answer was the sound of water running in the bathroom.
She went into the kitchen. On the table—two cups. One had the remnants of a cappuccino with a foamy heart on top. Sergey drank only espresso. Anna touched the edge of the cup—it was still warm.
“Hi, sweetheart!” Sergey came in, drying his hands with a towel. He kissed her on the cheek, but his lips trembled. “I didn’t expect you to come back early.”
“Mom got better,” Anna lied. In reality, she had run away from her parents’ house in the middle of the night because her mother had once again said, “You forgive him everything.”
“Great!” Sergey reached for the cups, but Anna grabbed his hand.
“Who was here?”
“A colleague!” He quickly pushed away the cup with the heart. “Brought project documents.”
“In a down jacket and plaid slippers?” Anna raised an eyebrow.
Sergey laughed unnaturally loudly:
“That’s Vadik, you know, he’s a weirdo. He joked that ‘working from home requires coziness.’”
Anna silently walked into the bedroom. The bedspread was perfectly made. Sergey hated making the bed. She pulled out the drawer of the bedside table—inside was a pack of condoms… Expiry date: 2026. She and Sergey hadn’t used those for five years.
“Explain this,” she threw the pack on the floor.
“They’re… old!” He blushed. “Forgot to throw them out.”
“Yesterday’s production date?” Anna opened the pack. “You can’t even lie properly.”
Sergey grabbed her by the shoulders:
“You’re making this up! Maybe you cheated on me at your mom’s?”
She broke free and rushed to the wardrobe. On the shelf with her clothes hung a polka-dot dress—not her size. A receipt from a restaurant fell from the pocket: “Bill #45. Borscht, steak, wine. 12.02.2024. 2 people.”
“February 12…” Anna turned. “That’s the day you said you were going on a business trip.”
“I…” Sergey stepped back.
“Come out!” There was a doorbell ring. A male voice. “Sergey, you forgot your keys!”
Anna threw open the door. A man in plaid slippers stood in the doorway. Behind him—a woman in an olive-green down jacket.
“Oh, hi!” the stranger held out his hand. “I’m Artyom, and this is Lera. We’re your new neighbors!”
Anna watched as Sergey turned pale. Lera smiled too sweetly:
“Thanks for letting us use the apartment while you were away. Sergey is so kind!”
“Use… the apartment?” Anna slowly turned to her husband.
“I… we…” Sergey stammered.
“Yes, you rented us the room for a month!” Artyom patted Sergey on the shoulder. “Great deal at half price.”
The room. Their room. Anna rushed into the study. On the desk lay a rental contract. Sergey’s signature. Amount: 200,000.
“You rented out our bedroom?!” she screamed.
“You were at your mom’s!” Sergey tried to close the door. “I thought you wouldn’t come back…”
“What if I had come?!” Anna pointed at the rental dates. “This is for three months!”
“Calm down!” He grabbed her wrist. “We’re married, the apartment is joint property. I have the right!”
Anna pulled away and ran to the safe. She entered the code—it didn’t work. Sergey had changed it.
“What’s in there? Apartment papers?” she was gasping.
“None of your business!” He pulled her away from the safe.
Lera and Artyom watched from the doorway like spectators at a theater of the absurd.
At night, Anna sneaked into the living room. Sergey was snoring on the couch—she had forbidden him from sleeping in their bed. In the desk drawer, she found a passport stamped: “Re-registration of ownership rights. Share: 50%.” The other half belonged to Sergey.
“You… re-registered the apartment?” she whispered, but only heard snoring in reply.
In the kitchen, Anna turned on the laptop. Browser history: “How to sell a share in an apartment without spouse’s consent.” The search engine suggested realtor addresses.
She started crying, burying her face in her hands. Suddenly, she heard whispering through the wall—Lera’s voice:
“Do you think he’ll manage to sell before the divorce?”
“He will,” Artyom answered. “Meeting with the buyer the day after tomorrow.”
Anna froze. On the laptop screen glowed an unread email: “Dear Sergey, confirming the meeting on 25.10 to sign the purchase agreement…”
Who are Artyom and Lera really?
How is Sergey connected to the fraud network,
And how will the meeting at the real estate office end?
Anna shut down the laptop as if the screen might explode. The confirmation email burned in her eyes: 3:00 PM. “Elite Real Estate” office. She had 48 hours left before her share would be sold. Sergey snored on the couch, clutching the TV remote. He looked like a stranger—the man who once gave her flowers in the subway.
She sneaked into the bedroom. Artyom and Lera were sleeping in their bed, covered with her blanket. Bags from expensive boutiques lay on the floor. Anna photographed everything on her phone, including a price tag: “Dress—45,000 rubles.” “With what money?”
In the bathroom, she found a stranger’s toothbrush—pink, labeled “Lera.” Nearby lay a bottle of “Diazepam” pills. Anna googled: “Sedative. Used to suppress anxiety.” Or to lull vigilance.
In the morning, Sergey left “for work,” leaving Artyom to guard the apartment. Lera, made up like a doll, drank coffee in the kitchen:
“Anna, don’t be nervous. We’ll move out soon. Sergey already found us a new apartment.”
“Without me?” Anna dropped a spoon into her bowl.
“Well… you’re breaking up, right?” Lera smiled, showing perfect teeth. “Seryozha said you agreed to the divorce.”
Anna jumped up, spilling tea:
“Get out. Now.”
“I can’t. We paid rent,” Lera pulled a receipt from her pocket. “Sergey got the money. If we leave, he has to return double.”
The receipt was signed by Sergey. Amount: 400,000 rubles. Anna laughed:
“He sold you like he sold me. He doesn’t have that money.”
“He does,” Lera reached for her phone. “You found the email about selling the apartment, right? His share is worth 5 million. He screwed us, but you even more.”
Anna ran to the stairwell. With trembling hands, she dialed her mother:
“I need help…”
“You believe him again?” her mother sighed. “I’m calling Uncle Kolya. He’s a lawyer.”
Uncle Nikolay arrived in an hour. Bald, wearing thick-lensed glasses, he examined the apartment like an investigator:
“Do they officially live here? Is there a rental contract?”
“Somewhere with Sergey,” Anna pointed at the safe. “He changed the code.”
“We’ll crack it,” Nikolay pulled out a screwdriver. “Legally: you’re the owner, you have the right.”
The safe clicked open. Inside were passports of Artyom and Lera… under other names: “Artur Malinin” and “Larisa Semenova.”
“Fraudsters,” Nikolay whispered. “Most likely wanted.”
Anna grabbed the rental contract. Sergey’s signature and… a stamp of a non-existent realtor company.
“He forged everything himself,” Nikolay shook his head. “But why?”
“So I’d get scared and agree to a divorce without the apartment,” Anna bit her lip. “But I won’t give up.”
That evening Sergey came home drunk. He smelled of cheap cognac and foreign perfume.
“Where are Artyom and Lera?” Anna locked the bedroom door.
“They went to friends,” he tried to hug her. “Let’s make up…”
“By selling my share?” Anna pushed him away. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice the fake passports?”
Sergey froze. His drunken smile slipped off:
“You… got it all wrong.”
“No. You got involved with scammers. They’ll screw you like you screwed me.”
Suddenly he grabbed her by the throat. His eyes bloodshot:
“Shut up! I planned everything! After the sale, we’ll leave…”
“With who? With Lera?” Anna broke free and ran to the exit.
Sergey caught her in the hallway. He knocked her down with a blow. Anna fell, hitting her head on the coat rack. Her vision darkened.
“Sorry…” he mumbled, dropping a bunch of keys on the floor. “I didn’t mean to…”
She reached for the keys. One had a keychain labeled “Elite Real Estate.”
At night, Anna woke up to noise in the living room. Sergey rummaged through the closet, throwing clothes out.
“Where are the documents?” he growled. “You took everything!”
“They’re already with my lawyer,” Anna lied, hiding the phone with a recording behind her back.
He lunged at her but tripped over a suitcase. Anna slipped into the corridor, putting on her boots on the go. Lera stood by the door.
“Running away?” she smirked. “Sergey said: if you turn him in to the police, we’ll find you.”
“Try it,” Anna pressed the elevator button.
“You don’t get it,” Lera stepped closer. “We’re not Artyom and Lera. We’re the ones who take everything.”
The elevator came. Anna ran inside, but the door wouldn’t close—Lera jammed it with her foot.
“Give me the office key,” she held out her hand. “Or your mom will accidentally fall down the stairs.”
Anna dropped the key. Lera picked it up and waved goodbye.
At Uncle Kolya’s apartment, Anna cried, clutching printed documents:
“They’re threatening my mom!”
“Calm down,” Nikolay gave her valerian. “We’re going to the police. I have connections.”
“But they have the key! They’ll sign the contract without me!”
“No,” Nikolay smiled. “I swapped the office key. It’s a dummy.”
He pulled out the real key engraved “Elite Real Estate.”
“Tomorrow at 3 PM, we’ll be there first.”
Who stands behind Artyom and Lera,
How Sergey is connected to the scam network,
And what will happen at the real estate office.
Anna entered the “Elite Real Estate” office in a black suit bought in a hurry. Nikolay walked beside her, clutching a briefcase with documents. Photos of luxury apartments hung on the wall, but Anna saw only one—hers, with a crack in the ceiling they promised to fix “someday.”
“Who are you here to see?” the receptionist with eyelash extensions stared at them.
“To the meeting about the apartment sale on Lenina 15,” Nikolay placed a power of attorney on the table. “I represent Anna Dmitrieva.”
Inside waited a realtor with a pink tie. Behind him were Artyom and Lera.
“We’ve already agreed on everything,” Artyom handed Sergey a pen. “Sign, and the money’s yours.”
Sergey sat hunched as if trying to hide in his own jacket. He glanced at Anna but immediately looked down.
“Don’t sign,” Anna said. “Or I’ll show this.”
She threw on the table a printout of Sergey’s correspondence with Lera: “After the sale, we disappear. Her share—our 5 million.”
Lera jumped up:
“That’s fake!”
“No,” Nikolay turned on a voice recorder. Lera’s voice: “You didn’t get it. We’re the ones who take everything.”
“You’re breaking…” the realtor started, but the door burst open.
Two plainclothes officers entered. Police.
“Artur Malinin and Larisa Semenova?” one pulled out handcuffs. “You are under arrest for fraud and document forgery.”
Artyom lunged toward the window, but Nikolay tripped him. Lera screamed:
“Sergey, tell them we’re innocent!”
Sergey was silent, head down on the table. Anna approached him:
“You could have just asked for a divorce.”
“I… was afraid,” he whispered. “Loans, debts… they promised to help.”
“Help to steal my life?” Anna turned to the police. “He’s involved too.”
“No!” Sergey jumped up. “I didn’t know anything!”
“You lie,” Lera said, already in handcuffs. “He came up with renting out the apartment. Looking for suckers on social media.”
The police took them away. Sergey stayed sitting, holding his head.
“I’ll call a taxi,” he mumbled, but Nikolay blocked the exit.
“First, sign a waiver of your share in the apartment,” the lawyer placed a document on the table. “Or the next visit will be to court.”
Sergey signed without reading. His hand trembled like on his wedding day.
That evening Anna returned to the empty apartment. Artyom and Lera left traces: a wine stain on the couch, a broken vase, the smell of foreign perfume. She opened the window to let in the wind. Her phone rang in her pocket—it was her mother.
“Is it over?” she asked.
“No,” Anna smiled. “It’s just beginning.”
She took out a box of baby photos from the closet. At the bottom lay a letter from Sergey, written a year ago: “Sorry for the quarrel. Bought you tickets to Paris.” There were no tickets—they were replaced with IOUs.
Anna lit the fireplace. The papers flared up brightly, illuminating the crack in the ceiling. “I’ll fix it tomorrow,” she thought.
A month later, someone knocked on the door. A girl about twenty stood on the threshold, holding a child.
“Aren’t you Sergey’s wife?” she nervously fiddled with the edges of her jacket. “He… he’s my father.”
Anna froze. The girl’s eyes were the exact copy of Sergey’s—brown, with golden flecks.
“He helped us,” the girl handed over an envelope. Inside—a photo of Sergey with the child and a receipt: “I promise to pay alimony.” Date—three years ago.
“Why now?” Anna asked.
“He stopped paying. Said you found out and kicked him out.”
Anna let them in. While the girl played with her old teddy bear, she wrote a check:
“This is for six months. Then I’ll sue to make him pay.”
“Why help us?” the girl frowned suspiciously.
“Because you and I—we’re not him,” Anna closed the door, feeling the crack in her heart begin to heal.
The next day Nikolay brought documents for full ownership transfer of the apartment to her name.
“Sergey filed for divorce. Agreed without claims,” he said. “And… asked me to give you this letter.”
The envelope smelled of cheap cologne. Inside—garage keys and a scribble: “There are your things. And tickets to Paris. Don’t burn them.”
Anna threw the letter in the trash. But that evening she still went to the garage. Among the junk, she found a suitcase with a wedding dress and an envelope. The tickets had her name. Date: tomorrow.
“One place is enough,” she left the second ticket on the table. Nearby—a note: “Paris awaits. But without you.”
Sergey is in debt, leaving traces in other people’s lives.
Artyom and Lera were sentenced, exposing a fraud network in five cities.
Anna flew to Paris alone. Her blog “A Home Without Cracks” became a bestseller where she teaches women to protect their space.
Sometimes, to gain everything, you have to lose what was stealing from you.