Alina watched the cars passing by. The evening city sparkled with lights, but it did nothing to improve her mood. A cold wind slipped beneath the collar of her coat, reminding her that autumn was coming.
“Maybe we should take a taxi after all?” Nikita asked, looking up from his phone for a moment.
Alina shook her head. She wanted to buy a little time before the inevitable encounter. Family dinners with her husband’s relatives always felt like an ordeal.
“No, let’s walk—it’s not far,” she replied, fastening the top button of her coat.
They strolled slowly toward the restaurant. Alina sighed, recalling previous dinners. Nikita’s brother, Sergey, and his wife, Inga, always turned an ordinary meal into a showcase of their superiority, as if competing over who could needle her most.
“You seem pensive tonight,” Nikita observed, taking her hand.
“I’m just a bit tired,” she replied.
None of their friends or acquaintances had any idea how wealthy Alina’s family really was. She deliberately avoided talking about money. Bills were split evenly, and her own earnings were kept in a separate account. The role of “rich heiress” felt more like a burden in her relationships—she’d been burned by it before.
Inside, the restaurant was dimly lit and elegantly furnished. Sergey and Inga were already seated at a corner table. Sergey stood to greet them.
“At last! We thought you weren’t coming,” Inga said with an overly bright smile.
“Sorry we’re late,” Alina replied as she sat down.
Inga cast her a measuring glance—Alina’s simple blue dress clashed with Inga’s designer outfit.
“How was your week? Did you take out that renovation loan?” Sergey asked, slicing a piece of steak.
“Not yet,” Nikita answered, unfolding his napkin. “We need to save a little more.”
Sergey exchanged a look with Inga, and Alina braced herself.
“We’ve already picked an interior designer for our apartment,” Inga announced, adjusting her new bracelet. “They delivered the Italian furniture last week.”
Alina listened without interest. She could have bought the entire restaurant, but her pride—and upbringing—wouldn’t let her say so.
“By the way, Alina, how’s work at that modest little firm?” Inga asked, emphasizing “modest.”
“Fine, thank you,” Alina replied curtly.
“I don’t know why anyone would work for such peanuts,” Inga went on. “Unless they have no choice.”
Nikita poked at his food without a word. Alina clenched her jaw as she tried to stay calm.
“Nikita, how’s your project coming along?” Sergey asked.
“It’s hard to say yet,” Nikita replied, skirting the details.
Sergey offered magnanimously, “If you need investment, let me know—though I doubt it’ll turn out to be anything worthwhile.”
Alina glanced at her husband, expecting some defense. Instead, he simply nodded, accepting the insult in silence.
“Honestly,” Sergey continued, “if I were you, I’d go work for someone stable. Not everyone can run a business like I do.”
“We’ll manage,” Alina murmured.
“Of course, of course,” Inga said, feigning concern. “Some people just can’t handle risk, especially with a family to support.”
Nikita remained mute—and to Alina, his silence stung more than their words.
Inga abruptly changed the subject. “We’re heading to the Maldives next week. A new resort just opened—it’s supposed to be amazing.”
“How wonderful,” Alina replied flatly.
“Maybe you two can afford something like that one day,” Inga added, eyes gleaming.
Sergey laughed. “Not everyone can live large. Nikita’s the one carrying you.”
Inga nodded approvingly. “A real woman should be self‑sufficient, not live off someone else.”
They all laughed—everyone except Alina. She’d hoped Nikita would speak up for her, but he only smiled.
When the check arrived, Sergey slapped his card onto the table. “My treat.”
“Thanks,” Nikita said, accepting.
Inga leaned in. “Not everyone gets to dine at places like this. It must be hard for Alina to adjust.”
Alina’s fingers curled into fists under the table; her nails bit into her palms.
“You’ll learn to seize life’s offerings,” Inga whispered, faux‑sympathetic.
Something inside Alina snapped. She had endured these humiliations long enough, waited for her husband’s support in vain, hid her true circumstances for too long.
She straightened and fixed them with a cold stare. This couple thrived on putting her down—and her husband’s complicity hurt most of all.
“Shall we order dessert?” Sergey asked as he closed the menu. “On me, of course.”
Alina pulled out her phone and opened her banking app. In seconds, a balance of ten million rubles lit up the screen.
“I’m afraid you don’t need charity,” she said, placing her phone face‑up on the table.
Stunned silence fell. Sergey froze mid‑sip; Inga stared in horror.
“That’s… your money?” Sergey gasped.
“For my personal expenses,” Alina answered, unflinching.
“We were just joking, Alinochka,” Inga stammered. “Family teasing, nothing serious.”
Her voice shook—her confidence was gone. Sergey laughed awkwardly, trying to recover.
“What a twist,” he said. “We thought… Well, it’s great things are going so well for you.”
Nikita sat pale and speechless, eyes locked on Alina as if she were a stranger.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” he finally whispered.
“You never asked,” she replied, retrieving her phone.
“Inga, tell us—what do you do?” Inga suddenly leaned forward, feigning curiosity. “It must be fascinating.”
“Maybe we should invest, too?” Sergey offered, bright‑eyed.
Their voices dripped with insincerity. Half an hour earlier they’d mocked her; now they bowed and scraped. Revolting.
“I need the restroom,” Alina said, standing.
In the ladies’ room, she stared at her reflection until tears threatened to spill—not for Sergey and Inga, but for her husband’s betrayal.
Back at the table, the mood had shifted. Inga smiled nervously; Sergey poured Alina more wine; Nikita looked lost.
“Let’s talk vacation plans,” Nikita said, trying to meet her eye. “How about Italy? I’ve always dreamed.”
Alina shook her head. “I have to go,” she said. “Early start tomorrow.”
“We’ll drive you,” Sergey offered.
“No, I’ll call a taxi,” Alina replied.
Outside, the cold air cleared her mind. Nikita trailed her to the curb.
“Was that intentional?” he asked. “To humiliate my brother?”
Alina laughed. “Your brother? I was the one humiliated—three years of it, and you said nothing.”
“They were just joking!” Nikita protested. “You take things too seriously.”
When the taxi arrived, Alina climbed into the back; Nikita squeezed in beside her. At home they didn’t speak. Nikita turned on the TV; Alina locked herself in the shower to wash away the weight of the evening.
The next morning, over breakfast, Alina looked Nikita in the eye. “I’m filing for divorce.”
He choked on his coffee. “Because of last night? You’re insane—it was a misunderstanding!”
“No,” she said calmly. “It’s not about last night. It’s about three years of our life. Your indifference.”
“But I love you!” he cried. “Money changes nothing!”
“Exactly,” Alina replied. “Except my decision.”
The divorce took three months. Nikita begged for another chance, but Alina’s resolve was irrevocable. Trust, respect, love—all had vanished that night.
Sergey and Inga tried to win her back with gifts and invitations—she refused them all. Alina moved into a new apartment, supported silently by her parents. New, genuine people entered her life; she no longer hid her wealth, but she also never flaunted it.
When she spotted Nikita on the street, she’d nod politely and pass him by. He looked forlorn, but Alina knew she’d made the right choice. No one would ever demean her again simply because she chose modesty.
