“I told you, I’ll handle this myself,” my husband snapped, tossing his coat onto the chair. The smell of expensive cologne and the street rushed into the warm entryway.

“Alexey, this isn’t just a ‘matter,’” I tried to keep my voice even. “You’ve blown the deal for the third time by insulting the realtor. My realtor.”

He walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

The habitual gesture of a master of the house who doesn’t think he needs to look at the person speaking to him. As if I were part of the décor.

“Yours? Anya, and who pays this realtor of yours? Who pays for all these apartments you so amusingly play with?”

He pulled out a bottle of water and drank straight from the neck. Every move he made oozed tired condescension.

The weariness of a man who carries the whole world on his shoulders. Or, at least, our home. He loved that role. He had settled into it so naturally he seemed to believe in his own specialness.

“I thought these were our joint investments,” I said quietly, though I knew what the answer would be.

Alexey finally looked at me. There was nothing in his eyes but cold irritation.

“Of course they’re joint. I earn — we spend. Great setup. I’m fine with it. You seem to be, too.”

He stepped to the table, pulled a wad of cash from his briefcase, and tossed it carelessly onto the countertop.

The bills fanned out across the dark wood. It was his favorite trick. A show of power.

“Here. For your expenses. For salons, clothes, realtors. I ask only one thing.”

He leaned forward, looking straight into my eyes. His smile was crooked, unpleasant.

“Keep quiet when I give you money. Just be quiet and do as I say.”

The air froze. I looked at his face, so familiar and at the same time foreign, and felt nothing. No hurt, no anger.

Only a deafening emptiness where love used to be. He had burned it out himself.

He didn’t know. He had no idea that the “small but promising” IT firm where he so proudly held the title of commercial director was mine.

Built from scratch, on sheer enthusiasm, in a tiny rented office ten years ago. He’d come in for an interview for a sales manager position when I was looking for sharp people.

I liked him. Ambitious, quick, hungry for success. I gave him a chance. And later — my last name and my heart.

He didn’t know that gray-haired, stern Viktor Pavlovich, the man he called “boss” and feared a little, had been my first programmer and now held the CEO post only nominally, running the company on my behalf.

Legally, everything was arranged flawlessly through a chain of holding companies, and the name of the ultimate beneficiary did not appear in documents available to top management.

I stepped away from the business three years ago. Not for real estate. For him. He couldn’t stand my success.

Every tender I won, every successful deal, bruised his ego. He grew sullen, irritable.

And I made the biggest mistake — I decided I could save our marriage by fading into the background. I created the illusion for him that he was the main one. That he was the provider.

I thought that would make him happy. But power didn’t make him happy. It corrupted him.

Silently, I picked up my phone. My fingers didn’t tremble. I found “Viktor Pavlovich” in my contacts.

One short message: “Viktor, good evening. Prepare an order to dismiss Volkov for cause. Tomorrow morning security must not let him past the gate. I’ll come by at nine to sign everything.”

The reply came a minute later.

“Everything will be done, Anna Sergeyevna.”

I looked up at my husband. He was smiling smugly, confident in his righteousness and power.

Well then, enjoy this night. It’s your last.

In the morning, Alexey behaved as usual. He sang in the shower, loudly demanded a fresh shirt be brought to him, left a wet ring on the table from a cup of half-drunk espresso.

He was lively, energetic, and had completely forgotten our conversation from the day before. Or didn’t consider it important.

“I’ve got an important meeting with investors today,” he tossed over, tying his tie. “Try not to call over nothing. And deal with that apartment already, stop dragging it out.”

He pecked my cheek, not noticing I didn’t even turn my head. His cologne no longer smelled pleasant. It was suffocating.

The first call came at eight forty-five. I was just deciding which pantsuit to wear. The strict black one.

“Anya, there’s some crap with my pass,” his voice was irritated but still restrained. “I can’t get in. Call Viktor, tell his idiots at the entrance to let me through, I can’t get him myself, the number’s in my notebook.”

I sat down on the edge of the bed. This was it. It had begun.

“Lyosha, how about taking the day off?” I tried to speak softly, giving him a way out. “We haven’t gone anywhere in a while. Let’s drive out of town, relax.”

“What day off? Are you even listening to me?” his voice went cold instantly. “I’ve got investors in an hour! I can’t stand here like an idiot. Just do what I’m asking. It’s not hard.”

He wasn’t asking. He was demanding. The way he demanded dinner or a clean shirt.

“I don’t think I can help,” I said slowly.

Heavy silence hung on the line. I could hear him breathing.

“What do you mean, ‘don’t think’?” he hissed. “Have you gone crazy on your own money? I’ll deal with you tonight. Right now pick up the phone and call!”

He hung up.

I put on my jacket. My shoulders squared on their own. In the mirror stood a woman I had almost forgotten.

Calm, composed, sure of her worth.

The second call caught me already in the car, just pulling onto the avenue. “Alexey” lit up on the screen. I switched to speaker.

“SECURITY IS ESCORTING ME OUT!” he screamed so loudly the speakers crackled. “They said I’m fired! Do you get it?! FIRED! What did you do there, they said I should ask you?!”

His fury battered against the windshield but didn’t get inside. It was somewhere out there, in his world that was collapsing right now.

“I didn’t ‘do’ anything, Alexey. These are the consequences of your actions.”

“Mine?! I carry this company on my back! That old geezer Viktor is nothing without me! Did you fill his head with this? Decided to teach me a lesson over a realtor?!”

I stopped at a light. The red glowed unnaturally bright.

“Go home, Lyosha. We’ll talk in the evening.”

“I’m not going anywhere! I’ll show everyone here! And you too! You’ll regret ever opening your mouth! You’ll be crawling on your knees begging for forgiveness, got it?!”

He hung up again.

And I pressed the gas. Ahead was the office. My office. And a folder with the order to dismiss a commercial director who had come to believe a little too much in his own irreplaceability. It was time to put the final signature on it.

My old office smelled of dust and wood. Viktor Pavlovich was waiting for me, standing by the window. A thin folder lay on the desk.

“Anna Sergeyevna, everything’s ready. Legal has checked it, the wording is impeccable. Multiple violations of corporate ethics, abuse of authority, and causing reputational harm to the company.”

I picked up a pen. The cold metal sat pleasantly in my palm.

“Thank you, Viktor. I appreciate your help.”

“It’s my job,” he smiled gently. “To protect the company’s interests. Your interests.”

At the moment the tip of the pen touched paper, a crash and a woman’s shriek came from the reception area. Then Alexey’s furious, breaking voice.

“I said let me in! I’m the commercial director!”

Viktor and I exchanged glances. He moved toward the door, but I stopped him with a gesture.

“No need. I’ll handle it.”

I stepped into the reception. My secretary, young Lena, was pressed to the wall in fright. Two security guards were trying to hold Alexey back as he lunged for the office. Seeing me, he roared.

“What are you doing here?”

Employees were peering out of their offices; a murmur rose from the open space. The show was starting.

“Alexey, calm down and leave. You’re drawing too much attention.”

“I’ll draw even more!” he shouted, shoving a guard. “I’ll tell everyone how you decided to destroy a family over your petty grudge! How you, a brainless hen sitting on my money, imagined you were someone!”

He took a step toward me. His face was twisted with malice.

“Without me you’re nothing! Empty space! Everything you have is thanks to me! This office, these people — they work because I pay them! And you’re just a pretty wrapper I tolerate next to me!”

That was the last straw. Not the insults. The brazen, all-devouring lie. The appropriation of everything I had built. My life, my sleepless nights, my ideas.

Click.

I stepped forward, and my voice came out surprisingly loud and clear.

“Dear colleagues,” I swept my gaze over the frozen faces. “My apologies for this unpleasant scene. Allow me to introduce myself, for those who don’t know me.

“My name is Anna Sergeyevna Volkova. I am the founder and majority shareholder of Innovative Systems.”

A ripple of whispers ran through the crowd. Alexey froze, staring at me in disbelief.

“What are you talking about? Have you lost your mind?”

I ignored him, addressing the head of security.

“Escort Mr. Volkov to conference room number three. Viktor Pavlovich and our attorney will join him shortly to officially present the termination order and the terms of contract severance.”

Then I turned to the employees. My voice hardened, shifting from that of an insulted woman to that of a leader.

“And now, colleagues, back to your workstations. We have a lot to do.

“Circus acts like this are unacceptable within these walls. Any further attempts to disrupt the work process by anyone will be stopped in accordance with labor law.

“Is that clear?”

People nodded silently and began to disperse. No one wanted to argue. They had seen power. Real, not theatrical.

I walked up to Alexey, whom security was already steering in the indicated direction. His confidence had evaporated. Only fear and confusion remained.

“Remember last month when you couldn’t pay for dinner at the restaurant because you’d forgotten your card’s PIN?”

“And how I dictated it to you over the phone like to a little boy? That’s your real level.

“The level of a man who can’t remember four digits. Everything else was rented to you. The lease has expired.”

When the door closed behind Alexey, the lobby didn’t grow quiet. On the contrary, the air buzzed with hundreds of whispers. I didn’t try to hush anyone. Let them talk. The truth always finds its way.

I went back into the office. Viktor Pavlovich was already waiting with a cup of fragrant herbal tea.

“I’ve ordered all the locks in your house changed, and the alarm code,” he reported matter-of-factly. “The lawyers are preparing the divorce papers.”

“Thank you, Viktor.”

I sat down in my old chair. It was hard, uncomfortable — but right. As if I’d come home after a long, exhausting journey.

That evening my phone was blowing up with calls.

At first Alexey tried to shout and threaten. Then he begged. Then he sent messages full of remorse and promises to change.

I didn’t answer.

The last message came late at night. It was short and pathetic.

“Anya, my card’s blocked. Can you send a little money for a taxi?”

I set the phone aside. There was no gloating, no satisfaction. Only a statement of fact. The king wasn’t just naked.

He was helpless.

All his power, all his self-confidence had rested on an illusion I myself had created. He wasn’t a provider.

He was being kept. And as soon as the cash flow dried up, there was nothing left of him.

The next day I held an all-hands meeting. I announced my return to operational management and presented a new development strategy.

The employees looked at me warily, but with great interest. They didn’t see the wife of the former boss. They saw a leader.

I didn’t feel free.

I had always been free. I had simply forgotten for a while, letting someone else write the script of my life because I was afraid of losing him. Turns out, there was nothing to lose.

It wasn’t about money or revenge. It was about ownership — of my ideas, my achievements, my life.

I looked at the blueprints for the new data center spread out on the table. There it was. My present.

My future. What cannot be taken away, because I created it.

Alexey was just a temporary project. Not the most successful one, but instructive. A project it was time to close.