Andrey darted around the bedroom, packing a suitcase with the self-importance of a man who truly believed he was a serious businessman.
His wife sipped her morning coffee and watched him closely, trying to pinpoint what, exactly, about his behavior was tightening a knot inside her chest.
“Well, would you look at that!” he said, still not lifting his eyes. “An urgent trip to Yekaterinburg just popped up out of nowhere. New cocoa-bean suppliers decided I don’t deserve a quiet life. I need to inspect them personally. Quality is my whole religion, after all!”
In fifteen years of marriage, Katya had learned her husband’s tones by heart. But now he sounded different—too fast, too precise. Like he’d practiced this little speech in advance.
“How long will you be there?” she asked, taking a sip.
“A week. Maybe longer. Negotiations are complicated. You know how it is.”
He zipped the suitcase and finally looked at her. Something in his eyes felt wrong—part guilt, part victory. Katya felt her stomach tighten.
“Alright, I’m off! I’ll miss my flight,” Andrey said, grabbing the bag and heading for the door.
Katya followed. He pulled on his jacket, checked his pockets out of habit, took his keys. And again—that goodbye look… as if he were trying to memorize her face.
“Well, I’m running,” he muttered, and suddenly pecked her on the cheek. The first time he’d kissed her in months.
The door slammed shut.
Katya remained standing in the hush of the empty apartment. Something wasn’t right. Andrey traveled for work all the time, but he had never left like this… so tense, so uneasy.
She immediately called her assistant.
“Marina, I won’t be coming in today. I’m not feeling well. Move all my meetings to tomorrow.”
“Of course, Ekaterina Vladimirovna. Get well soon.”
Katya ended the call and looked around.
The silence pressed down on her. She tried to distract herself with chores: sorted laundry, wiped the dust, even started cooking borscht—though there was no one to eat it.
But the anxiety wouldn’t loosen its grip. It grew like a swelling, taking over every empty space in her mind.
Maybe she was paranoid. Maybe she was simply exhausted by the monotony of married life and inventing disasters where there were none.
But she couldn’t forget the conversation she’d accidentally overheard at the office yesterday. Andrey and Lena were plotting something.
And then there was that odd call from Ira about his strange behavior at the bank…
It was all too tangled.
Katya turned on the TV, but couldn’t focus on the film. She washed dishes and dropped plates. She vacuumed and then forgot which rooms she’d already done.
At half past two, her phone buzzed with a sinister vibration.
A message from Andrey. A photo…
An airplane cabin. Two faces caught mid-kiss—Andrey and Lena, their secretary. A long-legged blonde who had joined their company, “Sweet World,” six months earlier with an impeccable résumé and ambition burning in her eyes.
Under the photo was a caption:
“Goodbye, you dumb hen. You’re left with nothing!”
Katya lowered herself onto the couch. The phone slid from her fingers and dropped onto the carpet. Up to the very last moment she’d been hoping she’d imagined everything—conjured an affair out of thin air, mistaken anxiety for truth.
But there it was… the photo, and the cruel little line beneath it.
Fifteen years of marriage. Fifteen years of building a business together—gone in a single heartbeat.
Katya sat on the couch, staring at one point on the wall.
Slowly, shock turned into memories—bright, painful ones, like salt rubbed into an open wound.
Fifteen years ago, she had been someone else: an ambitious economics graduate, the daughter of a successful confectioner, in love with a serious process engineer. Back then Andrey worked at a large factory, knew production like no one else, and dreamed of starting his own business.
“We’ll build a sweets empire!” he’d told her, kissing her after they announced the engagement. “You’re the brains, I’m the hands. The perfect team!”
Her father blessed the marriage and gifted them a branch of the family corporation—a small factory on the outskirts of the city with five employees and outdated equipment.
But the newlyweds had skyscraper-sized plans.
In those early years, they worked like possessed people.
Katya studied the market, found clients, negotiated with suppliers. Andrey spent days and nights in the workshops, perfecting recipes, checking every batch. Their éclairs came out as airy as clouds, their cakes looked like art, and their chocolate melted on the tongue, leaving the aftertaste of celebration.
In five years they grew to thirty employees. In ten they opened their own chain of pastry cafés. In fifteen they had accumulated one hundred and twenty million rubles in their family account—and earned a reputation as the best confectioners in the region.
All those years Andrey had seemed like the ideal husband. He never interfered with the finances, trusted her completely.
“You’re the numbers person,” he’d say. “I’d rather be kneading dough.”
That’s why Ira’s phone call a month earlier had shaken her.
“Katya, I don’t even know if I should tell you this,” her friend said hesitantly. “But Andrey came to our bank. He was asking very detailed questions about your joint account.”
“What exactly did he want to know?”
“Who’s allowed to withdraw money, what the limits are, whether the second account holder’s consent is needed for large transactions. I explained it’s a joint account, but either of you can manage the funds on your own. He wrote everything down very carefully.”
“That’s weird,” Katya admitted. “He never takes an interest in finances.”
“And he opened a personal account too. Says it’s for small household expenses. But then why ask about the joint account?”
Katya had joked at the time that maybe her husband wanted to be more involved in the family budget. But the aftertaste of unease remained. In all their years together, Andrey had never cared about their savings. He earned money, spent it on himself, but stayed out of the big financial decisions.
Then yesterday, she finally got her explanation…
Katya stayed late at the factory to check a new batch of fruit jellies.
On her way back to get her bag, she heard voices from Andrey’s office. The door was ajar, the light was on.
“I already bought the tickets,” her husband was saying. “We fly out tomorrow morning. I just need a day or two to sort out the financial stuff.”
“And she won’t suspect anything?” That was Lena. Her voice was tense.
“Katya?” Andrey laughed. “She thinks I’m a saint. She believes I only care about production. She’s always trusted me. Suspect what? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“But one hundred and twenty million… that’s a huge amount.”
“Exactly!” Andrey said. “Just imagine the life waiting for us. We’ll buy a little house somewhere by the sea, open a small café. We’ll bake croissants for tourists and make love until dawn.”
Katya pressed herself to the wall. Her heart was pounding so loudly it felt like it might give her away.
“And if she tries to find you?”
“She probably will,” Andrey said casually. “But the money will already be spent. And what will she do? Divorce me and move on. Her daddy’s rich—she won’t starve.”
Lena giggled.
“You’re awful, Andryusha.”
“I’m free. Finally.”
Katya left the building quietly and sat in her car for a long time, trying to process what she’d heard.
So that was it…
Fifteen years of marriage, a business built together, shared dreams—he was ready to wipe it all out for a young secretary and easy money.
Now, staring at the photo on her phone, she understood: every puzzle piece had clicked into place.
Andrey was planning to drain their joint account, move the money into his personal one, and vanish with his lover. His naïve wife wouldn’t even realize until it was too late.
But he hadn’t accounted for one small detail.
Katya rose from the couch and picked up her phone. Her hands were shaking, but not from tears—from anger. Cold, deliberate fury that cleared the mind better than any strong coffee.
The first person she called was Irina.
“Katya! Hi! What a surprise!” her friend answered immediately. “How are you?”
“Not great, but we’ll talk later. Ira, remember what you told me about Andrey a month ago?” Katya’s voice was slow, sharp. “I need a favor. A big one.”
“I’m listening.”
“Freeze our joint account. Right now.”
“What? Katya, are you serious?”
“Dead serious. Make it so any transaction requires my personal approval. Can you?”
“Technically, yes, but…” Ira fell silent. “What happened?”
“You’ll find out soon. Will you do it?”
“Of course. Give me half an hour.”
Katya ended the call and, for the first time all day, smiled. It wasn’t a gentle smile—it was predatory, like a shark that had smelled blood.
Andrey had always thought she was soft, easy to bend.
“Katya’s kind,” he liked to tell people. “She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
But he’d forgotten whose blood ran in her veins. Her grandfather had started the business in the wild nineties, when kindness was a luxury no one could afford. Her father had built it into a regional empire. And she—their only heir—could be just as hard when circumstances demanded it.
It was just that circumstances had never demanded it before.
Her phone rang.
“Done,” Ira said, satisfied. “The account is locked for any transactions over ten thousand rubles. Only an account holder can unlock it in person with a passport.”
“Thank you. I owe you.”
“Katya, but what—”
“I’ll explain later!”
The next three days dragged by like a lifetime.
Ekaterina went to work, smiled at employees, held meetings—while inside, everything boiled.
She waited.
Lena had vanished too, of course. Officially she’d taken leave “for family reasons.”
Some employees traded looks, whispered. Everyone understood what was happening, but kept quiet out of politeness.
And then Andrey came back.
Katya heard the entrance door downstairs slam even from the kitchen. Heavy footsteps in the hallway. The thud of a suitcase dropped onto the floor. Andrey appeared in the doorway looking disheveled and furious, his eyes red from lack of sleep.
“You…” he jabbed a finger at her. “What did you do?”
Katya sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, looking at him calmly—almost unnervingly calm.
“Hi, darling. How was the trip?”
“Don’t play stupid!” he snapped. “What did you do to the account?”
“What’s wrong with the account?”
Andrey stepped closer. His face twisted with rage.
“You blocked it! I can’t withdraw a single ruble! You… you knew everything!”
“Knew what, Andryusha?”
“About Lena! About us!”
Katya set her cup down and laughed—loudly, freely, from the heart.
“Of course I knew. Do you think I’m blind? Do you think I don’t have friends at the bank?”
Andrey went pale.
“So you did it on purpose… You waited until we flew out so you could—”
“So I could what?” Katya stood up. “So I could stop you from stealing our money? The money we earned together for fifteen years?”
“It’s not stealing!” he shouted. “It’s my money too!”
“And mine!” Katya met his eyes without blinking. “So what was that photo, then? ‘You’re left with nothing!’ What—just a friendly greeting?”
Andrey opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Caught.
“Exactly,” she nodded. “You planned to empty the account and disappear. Leave me penniless. But you overlooked one little thing, dear.”
“And what’s that?”
“I’m not as nice as you thought.”
Andrey stood in the middle of the kitchen, breathing hard. Katya could practically see the frantic calculations in his head as he searched for a way to twist the situation back in his favor.
“Fine,” he said at last, forcing himself to calm down. “Let’s say I messed up. Let’s say I acted like an idiot. But we can talk about this like adults, right? I’m ready to apologize. I’m ready to fix everything.”
Katya looked at him with the calm interest of a scientist studying a rare insect.
“Fix it? And how do you plan to ‘fix’ an attempt to steal one hundred and twenty million rubles?”
“Not steal, I—” Andrey cut himself off, realizing he was cornering himself. “I just wanted to start a new life.”
“At my expense. Literally.”
“Our account!” he snapped. “I worked too. I invested in the business too!”
“Of course you did. You’re an excellent technologist, Andrey—maybe the best in the city. But there’s one problem.”
Katya reached for a folder on the table—one she had clearly prepared in advance. Andrey tracked the movement with a wary stare.
“You see, after you so romantically said goodbye with that photo, I decided to run an unscheduled internal audit,” she opened the folder and pulled out several papers. “And the results are… fascinating.”
“What audit?” he asked, confused.
“Quality control. Your area, so to speak. Turns out that for the past six months, our products have supposedly been made with serious violations: expired ingredients, substandard raw materials, improper temperature control…”
“That’s not true!” Andrey took a step forward. “I would never—”
“I know it’s not true,” Katya interrupted evenly. “I know you’d never allow bad product to go out. You have professional pride. I respect that.”
Andrey blinked, lost.
“Then why—”
“Because the question isn’t whether it’s true. The question is that I have documentation that ‘confirms’ violations. I have witnesses ready to testify. I have expert reports stating that the quality-control director neglected his duties.”
She spread the papers across the table like poker cards.
“Do you understand where this is going?”
Andrey’s face drained of color.
“You forged documents?”
“I protected myself. In case my dear husband decided to rob our savings and run off with his secretary,” Katya said with a small smile. “Prudent, don’t you think?”
“This is… this is blackmail!”
“This is business, darling. For fifteen years you thought I was a soft little fool who could only add up numbers. But you forgot I’m my father’s daughter. And my father was never soft.”
Andrey sank into a chair. Katya could tell the scale of the disaster was finally reaching him.
“If these papers end up with the consumer-safety inspectorate, the factory will be shut down,” he said quietly.
“Oh, don’t be dramatic. It wouldn’t be shut down,” Katya replied. “At worst there’d be a fine and a demand to replace the quality director. But you—most likely—would face criminal charges. Negligence resulting in… what is it, exactly? How many years do they give for that?”
“Up to five,” Andrey whispered.
“Right. But you have an alternative.”
He lifted dull eyes to her.
“What alternative?”
“You voluntarily renounce any claim to marital property. You renounce your share in the business. You submit a resignation letter effective immediately. I file for divorce by mutual consent. And we part quietly—no scandals, no lawsuits.”
“And the documents?”
“They vanish. As if they never existed.”
Andrey sat in silence for several minutes. Katya didn’t rush him. She knew he had no real choice.
“And what do I get?” he asked at last.
“The apartment you owned before marriage. Your car. Your personal belongings. And a clean reputation.”
“That’s not much for fifteen years of work.”
“It’s more than nothing for trying to steal,” Katya said sharply. “Choose.”
Andrey sat motionless for another ten minutes. Katya watched him carefully. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
“Where are the papers?” he finally asked.
Katya opened the desk drawer and pulled out prepared documents. Everything was legally tight. She’d spent three days getting ready for this conversation.
“Sign.”
Andrey took the pen with trembling hands. Each signature seemed to cost him something.
“Does Lena know?” Katya asked when he finished.
“Know what?”
“That you ended up with no money.”
He gave a bitter half-smile.
“The moment the bank told me the account was frozen, she suddenly remembered she had urgent family business. Took the first flight back. Didn’t even say goodbye.”
“I see. So the love wasn’t so strong after all.”
“Shut up,” he said, exhausted.
“You can pick up your things tomorrow. I’ll be at work.”
Andrey stood, gathered the papers, and headed for the door. On the threshold he turned back.
“You know… I really did think you were kind.”
“I am kind,” Katya replied. “Just not stupid.”
The door slammed, and the apartment fell quiet.
Fifteen years of life had ended. She probably should have felt sadness, emptiness, regret. But inside there was only a strange lightness—like someone had finally taken a heavy backpack off her shoulders after a long hike.
The next morning she arrived at the factory early.
Employees greeted her cautiously; everyone sensed that serious changes had happened.
Lena hadn’t shown up for a week. Andrey had resigned. Rumors, as always, ran ahead of official announcements.
“Ekaterina Vladimirovna,” her assistant Marina approached, “should we start looking for a new head of quality control?”
“Yes. Post the vacancy on all the industry sites. You know the requirements.”
“And… Andrey Viktorovich said he’ll come for his personal things after lunch.”
“Fine. Let him.”
At lunchtime, Ira called.
“Katya, are you alive? What on earth happened over there?”
“I’m getting divorced.”
“Seriously? I thought you two would make up.”
“Some things can’t be forgiven,” Katya said. “And by the way—thank you for freezing the account. You saved me.”
“Anytime. So what now?”
Katya looked out the window at the factory workshops. Workers were unloading a truck of flour, cakes were being baked for tomorrow’s orders, packers were folding candy boxes. Life kept moving.
“I’m going to work,” she said. “Grow the business. I have plans to expand production.”
“And your personal life?”
“What about it?” Katya answered calmly. “I’m forty-two, I’m single, financially independent, and for the first time I know my own value. That’s a solid starting point.”
That evening Katya drove home, thinking about everything that had happened.
Andrey had wanted to deceive her, steal the results of their shared labor, and leave her with nothing. Instead, he got exactly what he deserved—ending up with nothing himself, aside from an old apartment and shattered illusions.
And her?
She kept the business, the money, and her self-respect. She discovered she could be tough when she needed to defend her interests. She learned not to trust blindly, but to check—and double-check.
Justice had won.
And this was only the beginning.