“Shut up,” he hissed. “I am the head of this family, and I make the financial decisions. The money was in my account, which means I had every right to use it. And remember this: the car was bought during the marriage. It is our jointly acquired property.”
Alina took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a second, and pressed the button on her headset, accepting the next call. The screen of her work monitor blinked, displaying the client’s card.
“Good afternoon, my name is Alina. I’m a manager at an educational platform,” her voice sounded soft, confident, and professional. “You submitted a request for a trial English lesson. Is now a convenient time for you to talk?”
On the other end of the line came a heavy sigh, the rustling of papers, and a displeased male baritone.
“Young lady, I submitted that request three days ago. Right now I’m in a meeting. And besides, I looked at your prices — it’s robbery. I’d rather find a tutor through an ad.”
Alina smiled inwardly. Objections. Her favorite part of the job. In three years in the sales department of this large online school, she had learned to handle any doubt masterfully. She knew how to turn a firm “no” into an interested “maybe,” and then into a paid annual course.
“I completely understand your desire to optimize your budget,” she said in a velvety tone, looking out the window, where a fine autumn rain was drumming against the glass. “A tutor is an excellent option. But tell me, can a tutor guarantee you access to an AI-powered platform twenty-four hours a day? Can he provide you with practice with native speakers from different countries at any time that is convenient for you? Our course is not just lessons. It is immersion in the language environment. Let’s do this: I’ll sign you up for a free assessment this evening, when you’re available. You’ll simply see how it works from the inside. If you don’t like it, I won’t bother you again. Deal?”
After a short pause, the man softened.
“Well… all right. Put me down for eight in the evening.”
When the call ended, Alina made a note in the system and leaned back in her ergonomic chair with satisfaction. Another potential student. Another step toward meeting the sales target. And, most importantly, another step toward her cherished goal.
Alina worked a lot and worked hard. Sales at an online English school required tremendous emotional investment. Every day, she let dozens of people’s lives, fears, ambitions, and doubts pass through her. People came to them to prepare for relocation, get a promotion at work, pass international exams, or simply prove to themselves that they could learn a foreign language from scratch. Alina helped them take the first step, and in return she received solid commissions.
Her salary consisted of a small fixed wage and generous percentages from sales. In successful months, when promotions and discounts were running, she earned so much that her school friends widened their eyes in surprise. But Alina did not waste money on designer handbags, expensive restaurants, or endless visits to cosmetologists. She had a Dream. Exactly like that, with a capital letter.
She was saving for her own real estate. A small, bright studio apartment in a good neighborhood, which she could rent out and use to earn stable passive income. That studio was a symbol of security for her, a lifebuoy in the stormy sea of life’s unpredictability.
Alina carefully transferred all the money she earned beyond her fixed salary into a special savings account. A rather impressive sum had already accumulated there — almost three and a half million rubles. That was more than enough for a down payment on a mortgage with minimal monthly payments, and under favorable circumstances, even enough to buy a modest apartment in a building still under construction, in cash.
Except that the account was not in her name.
That was Alina’s main mistake, and she realized it far too late. The account had been opened in the name of her husband, Igor.
Igor was Alina’s complete opposite. Tall, charming, and silver-tongued, he knew how to create the impression of a successful man. He worked as a project manager at a small construction company, but he always called himself an “executive” and a “future businessman.” Igor loved beautiful things, expensive perfumes, and long conversations about how one day he would hit the jackpot and they would live like royalty.
When Alina began earning good money and started talking about the need to save, it was Igor who suggested opening a premium account at his bank.
“Listen, Alinka, I have VIP client status there,” he had said persuasively back then, putting his arm around her shoulders. “My interest rate on deposits is higher, premium cashback, free maintenance. Why should you open an ordinary account at your bank and lose money to inflation? Let’s put everything into my personal account. We’re a family, and our budget is shared. I’ll give you full access to the app. You’ll control everything yourself.”
Alina, blinded by love and faith in their bright future together, agreed. After all, they had already been married for four years. They shared a bed, shared joys and sorrows. How could she not trust her own husband?
She regularly opened the banking app on her phone, logged in with his password, and watched with bated breath as the numbers on the screen grew. Those numbers warmed her soul.
On that ill-fated Thursday, Alina finished her shift early. She closed her laptop, stretched sweetly, and went to the kitchen to make coffee. She was in a good mood — the day before, she had found the perfect option. A gorgeous studio apartment in a business-class building under construction. Completion was only six months away. The price was such that their savings were exactly enough to close the deal without taking out any loans.
While the coffee machine quietly rumbled, Alina picked up her smartphone and, out of habit, opened the banking app to admire her capital once more. She wanted to take a screenshot of the balance and send it to Igor along with the link to the apartment.
The app loaded. The main screen appeared with the list of accounts.
Alina blinked. Then she rubbed her eyes. Then she pressed the refresh button.
The numbers did not change.
The savings account, where just yesterday there had been three million five hundred and twenty thousand rubles, now showed: “14 rubles 50 kopecks.”
The coffee machine released a loud hissing sound, announcing that the drink was ready, but Alina did not even hear it. It felt as if the floor had vanished beneath her feet. Her ears rang, and her heart skipped a beat before pounding somewhere in her throat.
With trembling fingers, she opened the transaction history.
Yesterday evening. Transfer between own accounts. Three million five hundred nineteen thousand nine hundred rubles had been transferred from the savings account to Igor’s main checking account. And from there, fifteen minutes later, it had gone in a single payment to some car dealership.
Alina sank onto a stool, feeling cold sweat break out on her forehead. A car dealership. He had transferred her money to a car dealership. All her money. All her sleepless nights, her ruined voice, her postponed vacations, her endless conversations with difficult clients — all of it had gone to the account of a legal entity that sold cars. Without warning. Without asking. Without a single word.
She grabbed her phone and dialed her husband’s number. The ringing seemed endless. Finally, he picked up. Loud, rhythmic music played in the background.
“Yes, baby!” Igor’s voice sounded unnaturally cheerful, with notes of fake joy.
“Igor,” Alina’s voice broke, turning into a pitiful squeak. She cleared her throat. “Igor, where is the money?”
The music in the background grew quieter. A second of silence hung between them, after which her husband spoke in the tone of a man who had prepared to defend himself by attacking first.
“Alina, I’m driving right now. I’m on my way home. I’ll explain everything when I get there. This is amazing news. You’ll be thrilled. Wait for me, set the table. Buy some champagne!”
“What champagne?!” she screamed into the phone. “You emptied the account! You spent my savings! On what?!”
“Not yours — ours!” Igor cut her off sharply. “We’re a family! That’s it, I’m parking. Let’s not have hysterics.”
The call ended. Alina remained sitting in the kitchen in deafening silence. A hurricane raged inside her. Hurt, fury, despair — all of it mixed into one poisonous cocktail. She jumped up and began pacing from corner to corner, wringing her hands. Tears choked her, but she did not allow herself to cry.
Twenty minutes later, a key turned in the lock.
The door swung open, and Igor appeared on the threshold. He was beaming like a freshly polished copper basin. In his hands he held a huge bouquet of red roses and a bottle of expensive wine.
“Ta-da!” he exclaimed, stepping inside. “Welcome the winner at life!”
Alina stood in the hallway with her arms crossed over her chest, looking at him with an absolutely icy stare. At that moment, she suddenly understood very clearly that she was seeing not the man she loved, but a stranger — a self-absorbed person who had simply used her as a convenient ATM.
“What did you spend the money on?” she asked quietly, enunciating every word. She ignored the bouquet he tried to thrust at her.
Igor’s smile faded slightly, but he quickly pulled himself together. He put the wine on the small cabinet, tossed the roses on top of his jacket, and proudly puffed out his chest.
“Look out the window, Alina. Just look out the window.”
She did not move.
“I’m not looking anywhere. Answer the question.”
Igor sighed theatrically and rolled his eyes, making it clear how tired he was of her “limited thinking.”
“Fine. Since you don’t want surprises. I bought a car. A real car, Alina. A premium-class SUV. Black, leather interior, fully loaded. I drove it straight from the dealership. It was a unique discount — offers like that happen once in a lifetime!… The continuation is just below in the first comment.”
“Shut up,” he hissed. “I’m the head of this family, and I make the financial decisions. The money was in my account, which means I had every right to use it. And remember this: the car was bought during the marriage. It’s our jointly acquired property.”
Alina took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a second, and pressed the button on her headset, accepting the next call. Her work monitor flickered, displaying a client card.
“Good afternoon, my name is Alina, I’m a manager at an educational platform,” she said, her voice soft, confident, and professional. “You submitted a request for a trial English lesson. Is this a convenient time for you to talk?”
On the other end of the line came a heavy sigh, the rustling of papers, and a displeased male baritone.
“Miss, I submitted that request three days ago. I’m in a meeting right now. And anyway, I looked at your prices — it’s robbery. I’d rather find a private tutor through an ad.”
Alina smiled inwardly. Objections. Her favorite part of the job. In her three years in the sales department of this large online school, she had learned how to handle any doubt with virtuoso skill. She knew how to turn a firm “no” into an interested “maybe,” and then into a paid annual course.
“I completely understand your desire to optimize your budget,” she said in a velvety tone, looking out the window, where a fine autumn rain was drumming against the glass. “A private tutor is an excellent option. But tell me, would a tutor be able to guarantee you access to an AI-powered platform twenty-four hours a day? Would he be able to provide you with speaking practice with native speakers from different countries at any time convenient for you? Our course is not just lessons — it’s immersion in the language environment. Let’s do this: I’ll schedule you for a free assessment in the evening, when you’re available. You’ll simply see how it works from the inside. If you don’t like it, I won’t bother you again. Deal?”
After a short pause, the man softened.
“Well… fine. Sign me up for eight in the evening.”
When the call ended, Alina made a note in the system and leaned back in her ergonomic chair with satisfaction. Another potential student. Another step toward meeting her target. And, most importantly, another step toward her cherished goal.
Alina worked hard. Very hard. Sales at the online English school demanded enormous emotional energy. Every day she let dozens of people’s lives, fears, ambitions, and doubts pass through her. People came to them to prepare for moving abroad, to get promoted at work, to pass international exams, or simply to prove to themselves that they could learn a foreign language from scratch. Alina helped them take that first step, and in return she earned solid commissions.
Her salary consisted of a small base pay and generous percentages from sales. In good months, when promotions and discounts were running, she earned so much that her school friends would widen their eyes in surprise. But Alina did not waste money on designer bags, expensive restaurants, or endless visits to beauty salons. She had a Dream. Exactly like that — with a capital letter.
She was saving for her own property. A small, bright studio apartment in a good neighborhood, which she could rent out and use to generate stable passive income. That studio was a symbol of security for her, a lifebuoy in the raging sea of life’s unpredictability.
Alina meticulously transferred every ruble she earned beyond her base salary into a special savings account. A rather impressive sum had already accumulated there — almost three and a half million rubles. That was more than enough for a down payment on a mortgage with minimal monthly payments, and, if things worked out well, even enough to buy a modest apartment at the foundation stage in cash.
There was only one problem.
The account was not in her name.
That was Alina’s main mistake, one she realized far too late. The account had been opened in the name of her husband, Igor.
Igor was the complete opposite of Alina. Tall, charming, and smooth-talking, he knew how to give the impression of a successful man. He worked as a project manager at a small construction company, but he always called himself an “executive” and a “future businessman.” Igor loved beautiful things, expensive colognes, and long conversations about how one day he would hit the jackpot and they would live like royalty.
When Alina began earning good money and started talking about saving, it was Igor who suggested opening a premium account at his bank.
“Listen, Alinka, I have VIP client status there,” he said persuasively back then, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “My deposit interest rate is higher, the cashback is premium, and the service is free. Why would you open a regular account at your bank and lose money to inflation? Let’s put everything into my personal account. We’re a family, and our budget is shared. I’ll give you full access to the app, and you can control everything yourself.”
Alina, blinded by love and faith in their bright future together, agreed. After all, they had already been married for four years. They shared a bed, shared joys and sorrows. How could she not trust her own husband?
She regularly opened the banking app on her phone, logged in with his password, and watched with a fluttering heart as the numbers on the screen grew. Those numbers warmed her soul.
On that ill-fated Thursday, Alina finished her shift early. She closed her laptop, stretched sweetly, and went to the kitchen to make coffee. She was in an elevated mood — the day before, she had found the perfect option. A gorgeous studio in a business-class building under construction. Completion was only six months away. The price was such that their savings were exactly enough to close the deal without loans.
While the coffee maker quietly hummed, Alina picked up her smartphone and, out of habit, opened the banking app to admire her capital once again. She wanted to take a screenshot of the balance and send it to Igor along with the link to the apartment.
The app loaded. The main screen with the list of accounts appeared.
Alina blinked. Then she rubbed her eyes. Then she pressed the refresh button.
The numbers did not change.
The savings account, which just yesterday had held three million five hundred and twenty thousand rubles, now showed: “14 rubles 50 kopecks.”
The coffee maker let out a loud hiss, announcing that the drink was ready, but Alina did not even hear it. It felt as though the floor had disappeared from under her feet. Her ears began ringing, and her heart skipped a beat before pounding somewhere in her throat.
With trembling fingers, she tapped the transaction history.
Last night. Transfer between own accounts. Three million five hundred nineteen thousand nine hundred rubles had been transferred from the savings account to Igor’s main checking account. And from there, fifteen minutes later, the money had gone out in one single payment to some car dealership.
Alina sank onto a stool, feeling an icy sweat break out on her forehead. A car dealership. He had transferred her money to a car dealership. All her money. All her sleepless nights, her strained voice, her postponed vacations, her endless conversations with capricious clients — all of it had gone to the account of a legal entity that sold cars. Without warning. Without asking. Without a single word.
She grabbed her phone and dialed her husband’s number. The rings seemed to go on forever. Finally, he picked up. Loud, rhythmic music was playing in the background.
“Yes, baby!” Igor’s voice sounded unnaturally cheerful, with notes of fake joy.
“Igor,” Alina’s voice broke, turning into a pitiful squeak. She cleared her throat. “Igor, where is the money?”
The music in the background grew quieter. A pause hung for a second, and then her husband spoke in the tone of a man preparing to defend himself by attacking.
“Alina, I’m driving right now. I’m on my way home. I’ll explain everything when I get there. This is amazing news, you’ll be thrilled. Wait for me, set the table. Buy champagne!”
“What champagne?!” she shouted into the phone. “You emptied the account! You spent my savings! On what?!”
“Not yours — ours!” Igor cut her off sharply. “We’re a family! That’s it, I’m parking. No hysterics.”
The call ended. Alina remained sitting in the kitchen in deafening silence. A hurricane raged inside her. Hurt, rage, despair — all of it mixed into one poisonous cocktail. She jumped up and began pacing from corner to corner, wringing her hands. Tears choked her, but she did not allow herself to cry.
Twenty minutes later, a key turned in the lock.
The door swung open, and Igor appeared on the threshold. He was shining like a polished copper basin. In his hands he held an enormous bouquet of red roses and a bottle of expensive wine.
“Ta-da!” he exclaimed, stepping inside. “Welcome the winner at life!”
Alina stood in the hallway with her arms crossed over her chest, looking at him with an absolutely icy stare. At that moment, she suddenly realized with total clarity that she was not looking at the man she loved, but at a strange, self-absorbed person who had simply used her as a convenient ATM.
“What did you spend the money on?” she asked quietly, enunciating every word. She ignored the bouquet he tried to thrust at her.
Igor’s smile faded a little, but he quickly pulled himself together. He placed the wine on the console table, tossed the roses on top of his jacket, and proudly puffed out his chest.
“Look out the window, Alina. Just look out the window.”
She did not move.
“I’m not looking anywhere. Answer the question.”
Igor sighed theatrically and rolled his eyes, showing how exhausted he was by her “limited thinking.”
“Fine. Since you don’t want surprises. I bought a car. A real car, Alina. A premium-class SUV. Black, leather interior, fully loaded. I drove it straight out of the showroom. It was a unique discount — offers like that come once in a lifetime!”
Alina closed her eyes. She wanted to scream so loudly that the windows would rattle.
“You bought yourself a car with the money I was saving for an apartment? With my money?”
“There you go again! ‘My money, my money!’” Igor exploded, walking into the kitchen. “We have a shared budget! I work too, I pay utilities, I buy groceries! And that money was just lying there dead. Inflation was eating it away. Do you even read about economics?”
“I do read about economics! And tomorrow I was going to reserve a studio apartment for investment! I told you about it all last week!” Alina followed him, unable to contain her anger.
“A studio! A kennel on the outskirts that would rent out for pennies!” her husband waved dismissively. “Alina, think bigger! For work, for negotiations with serious contractors, I need status! They looked at me like I was some pauper when I arrived in my old sedan. How am I supposed to close multimillion-ruble contracts if I look like a taxi driver? This car is an investment in my image! Now every door will open for me. I’ll get promoted. I’ll become a partner. And then I’ll buy you not a studio, but a penthouse! You just don’t understand men’s strategies!”
He spoke so confidently, so brazenly, with such sincere conviction in his own righteousness, that Alina was stunned for a moment. He was gaslighting her right now. He had stolen her dream and was trying to make her feel guilty for not supporting him enough.
“You’re pathetic,” she blurted out. “You’re just a lazy nobody who decided to play big businessman at his wife’s expense. You knew perfectly well what that money was for. You knew how hard I worked.”
Igor’s face became covered in red blotches. He clenched his fists.
“Shut up,” he hissed. “I’m the head of this family, and I make the financial decisions. The money was in my account, which means I had every right to use it. And remember this: the car was bought during the marriage. It’s our jointly acquired property. So you can consider half of that SUV yours. Be happy that now you’ll be driven around in comfort.”
He turned and went into the bedroom, slamming the door hard behind him.
Alina remained alone in the kitchen. She went to the sink, turned on the cold water, and washed her face. The trembling in her hands gradually subsided. Panic and pain were replaced by crystal-clear, cold rage.
“Half of the SUV,” flashed through her mind. So from three and a half million of her real money, she now hypothetically owned half of a rapidly depreciating hunk of metal that Igor would destroy on the roads. File for divorce? Yes, immediately. But division of property would take months. He could crash the car, sell it by power of attorney, hide it. She would be left with nothing.
Alina wiped her face with a towel. Her gaze fell on the shelf above the table, where a thick folder of household documents lay. Certificates, insurance papers, passports for appliances. And there, too, was one very interesting document.
A document that Igor, in the heat of his euphoria over buying his status toy, had completely forgotten about.
Two months earlier, Igor had urgently been required to put his inheritance documents in order. His late grandfather had left him a magnificent plot of land in a prestigious village by a lake. The plot was large, flat, and connected to utilities. Land in that area cost a fortune. Igor constantly bragged about it to his friends, telling fairy tales about the luxurious mansion he would build there one day.
But in reality, he had not even bothered to properly register the plot boundaries. When the neighbors began a land survey and a dispute arose, Igor had to go around to offices, collect certificates, and stand in lines. Naturally, the “future businessman” had no time for such trivialities. He hated paperwork.
So he dragged Alina to a notary and issued her a general power of attorney for all actions involving his property. “You’re the manager in our family, you know how to deal with paperwork. Go there, sort it out, sign whatever needs signing so they stop bothering me,” he had said then.
The power of attorney had been drawn up according to all the rules, with the right to sell, delegate authority, and receive funds. As broad as possible.
Alina went to the shelf, took down the folder, and pulled out the thick sheet with the official seal. She reread the text. Her eyes narrowed. Her lips stretched into a thin, hard line.
“You made a financial decision as the head of the family,” she said silently. “Very well. And I will make a financial decision as someone who knows how to sell.”
For the next three days, Alina lived as if in a fog, but acted with the precision of a well-programmed machine. She announced a boycott to Igor. She slept in the living room, did not cook for him, and did not answer his questions. Igor, confident that his wife was simply “throwing a fit for appearance’s sake” and would soon calm down, enjoyed his new car. He came home late, smelling of gasoline and another woman’s perfume, tossed the keys onto the console table, and went to bed with the air of a victor.
Alina took unpaid days off from work. The first thing she did was call her older sister, Marina, a sharp and successful woman.
“Marina, I need your help. And your real estate agent — the one who handles urgent buyouts,” Alina said into the phone, sitting in the empty apartment.
The meeting with the real estate agent took place that same day. After examining the land documents, the heavyset man with a sharp gaze whistled.
“The plot is excellent. Elite location. Market price is about five million. If we do an urgent cash buyout through my agency, I’ll give you three million seven hundred thousand. Tomorrow. The documents are perfect, and you have full power of attorney. Does your husband know?”
“My husband delegated all financial authority to me,” Alina replied without blinking. “Let’s proceed.”
The deal went through at lightning speed. A day later, three million seven hundred thousand rubles landed in Alina’s newly opened personal account, completely hidden from prying eyes.
Leaving the bank, Alina felt the fresh wind blow across her flushed face. She had not merely returned her money. She had gained an extra two hundred thousand on top — payment for moral damages.
But she did not stop there. Over the next two days, she did what she had dreamed of doing. She went to the developer whose contacts she had saved and signed an equity participation agreement for that very studio apartment. Only the buyer listed in the documents was her sister Marina, who immediately went to a notary, wrote a will naming Alina, and also structured the transaction so that in the event of a divorce, Alina would remain the full rightful owner through a gift agreement. Legally, the apartment was fully protected from any claims by Igor.
On Friday evening, Alina returned home earlier than usual. She took two huge suitcases out of the storage room and began methodically packing her things. Clothes, cosmetics, documents, books. The apartment was rented, so there were no square meters to divide.
She was just zipping up the second suitcase when heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Igor entered the room and froze in the doorway. He was wearing an expensive suit bought on credit, and in his hand he was twirling the key fob to his precious SUV.
Seeing the suitcases, he smirked, although a hint of anxiety flickered in his eyes.
“What is this little performance? Decided to go to your mother’s for the weekend to get on my nerves?” He walked into the room and lounged casually on the edge of the sofa. “Alina, stop this kindergarten nonsense. So I bought a car, big deal. I told you I’ll compensate you! I’ve already made arrangements with the guys, we’re opening a new business. In six months, we’ll have more millions than we know what to do with. I’ll return your pennies.”
Alina straightened up. She was wearing strict jeans and a turtleneck. Her hair was gathered into a smooth ponytail. There was not a drop left of the confused girl who had cried in the kitchen a few days earlier. Standing before him was a professional negotiator who had closed the most important deal of her life.
“I’m not going anywhere for the weekend, Igor. I’m leaving for good,” she said in a calm, even voice. “I terminated the lease on this apartment. The landlord will come tomorrow for the keys. I didn’t touch your things; you can pack them yourself. Tomorrow my lawyer is filing for divorce.”
Igor laughed, but the laugh came out nervous and barking.
“Divorce? Over a car? Are you sick? Who’s going to want you as a divorced woman? And anyway, where will you go? You don’t have a penny to your name. I spent all the money! Are you going to live on the street out of pride?”
Alina walked to the table, took the folder of documents, and pulled one sheet from it. She handed it to Igor.
“Take a look, please.”
Igor snatched the paper irritably. It was a copy of a purchase and sale agreement. His eyes ran over the lines. At first his face showed confusion, then his eyebrows crawled upward, and his mouth fell open. The color slowly drained from his cheeks, leaving his skin ash-gray.
“What… what is this nonsense?” he croaked, raising wild eyes to her. “What agreement? What plot? You… you sold Grandfather’s land?!”
“I liquidated an asset that was sitting dead,” Alina replied coldly, using his own vocabulary. “The plot was sold to a real estate agency. Officially, legally, under the general power of attorney that you yourself issued to me.”
Igor jumped up from the sofa, crumpling the document in his fist.
“You had no right! That was my inheritance! That was my land! I was going to build a house there! Where is the money?! Give me the money right now, you bitch!”
He stepped toward her, but Alina did not even flinch.
“There is no money, Igor. I spent it. I made a strategic financial decision,” Alina said, tilting her head slightly to one side, savoring every moment of his panic. “I bought myself real estate. Registered it in my sister’s name so that God forbid you try to claim it as jointly acquired property. So your money no longer exists.”
“I’ll sue you!” Igor screamed, spitting as he shouted. “I’ll annul the deal! I’ll have you jailed for fraud! You stole my inheritance money!”
“Go ahead,” Alina shrugged. “Any lawyer will tell you the power of attorney was genuine, and you were of sound mind when you signed it. There were no restrictions on the sale. And as for the fact that the money didn’t reach you… well, sorry. Consider it compensation for the three and a half million you stole from our account. We’re even.”
She walked over to her suitcases and extended the handle of the first one.
“But that’s not all, my dear businessman,” she added, turning back. “As you quite rightly pointed out, your wonderful SUV was bought during the marriage. Which means it is jointly acquired property. Tomorrow, along with the divorce petition, my lawyer is filing a claim for division of that vehicle. You’ll have to pay me half its value. Or we’ll sell it and split the money. So enjoy the rides while you can. Soon you’ll have to switch to the metro.”
Igor stood in the middle of the room, breathing heavily like a fish thrown onto the shore. His world was collapsing before his eyes. No land. No money. The car would have to be divided. The wife he had considered stupid and convenient had outplayed him completely, leaving him with nothing.
“You… you’re a monster,” he whispered, sinking back onto the sofa. “You’re a calculating, mercenary bitch.”
“No, Igor. I’m just a good sales manager,” Alina smiled. For the first time in days, it was completely sincere. “I know how to close unprofitable deals. And our marriage turned out to be the most unprofitable project of my life.”
She picked up the suitcases and headed for the exit. Igor did not try to stop her. He simply sat there, staring at one spot, clutching the crumpled copy of the agreement that had stripped him of his illusions about his own greatness.
Once outside, Alina took a deep breath. The rain had stopped. In the dark sky, bright cold stars showed through torn clouds. A taxi was already waiting for her by the entrance, ready to take her to the new, bright apartment temporarily rented by her sister. And in six months, she would move into her very own studio.
She took out her phone, opened her work app, and looked at her schedule for tomorrow. She had three trial lessons and one important negotiation with a corporate client planned.
Alina put the phone into her coat pocket and got into the back seat of the car. There was a lot of work ahead. And that was wonderful. Because now every effort she made, every ruble she earned, belonged to her alone.
And to no one else.
