Vadim
Everything inside me was blazing with anger and rage as I took off, speeding along Sadovaya. God, how Katya can piss me off sometimes—it's unreal! Packed my things, refuses to listen, just like that decided to throw our family away. Kicked me out of my own house without even giving me a chance to speak!
I silenced the faint whisper of conscience: you destroyed everything yourself and weren't exactly rushing to repent. I slammed the horn when my predatory Maserati Levante was nearly cut off by some junk bucket! Yes, I'm guilty—and I'll fix it now! I'll go to Vika and set everything straight. For her, sex without obligations isn't an option, and I love Katya—I don't want to leave my family. I didn't go looking for this—it found me. I don't accept cheating either, but denying that I wouldn't want to remember the sweetness of intimacy with Vika would be lying to myself. I want to fuck her. Take her in a way that settles this once and for all. But now I understood—it won't be that simple: she won't allow it, and maybe I won't be able to either. I don't know. I'm not sure of anything anymore.
I rode up in the luxurious elevator of an equally luxurious hotel overlooking the Kremlin. Good place she chose to throw a lasso around me. I'll apologize to Vika for messing with her head, say that I can't hurt my Katya like that. She and Nika come first for me. Yes, that's what I'll say.
I opened the suite on the top floor with my key, didn't knock. At once I was wrapped in intimate dim light with candles and the scent of spicy vanilla. The tension shot through me the moment I pushed open the bedroom door. It yielded—and I plunged into soft light, intoxicating my head. Vika was made of it. Completely naked, except for heels and an incredible diamond necklace shimmering on her full breasts.
I swallowed tensely, letting that intoxicating passion in. Liar. I was looking for an excuse for coming, but deep down I knew—I came to fuck: hard, loud, dirty. So she would scream with pleasure and I would growl from it. I'm not some steadfast tin soldier. Not a saint to refuse a gift like that.
I tore off my jacket and shirt before pushing Vika onto the bed. No tenderness or talk. No conditions. No "no"!
"Vad…" — I didn't let her speak, covering her mouth with my hand and spreading her legs wide. The sight of that golden flesh with its dark center tore me apart. I didn't take my pants off, just pulled them down, weighed my hard length in my hand and thrust impatiently into her, pounding into her aching heat. I drowned in pleasure and moved my hand from her mouth to her mound, rubbing the wet clit. I didn't let her reach for me, holding her roughly in place, but Vika screamed and writhed, heating me up even more. I kept a scrap of control and managed to pull out, finishing on the satin sheets.
"Finally…" she moaned and rose. Pulled my pants and boxers down and licked me clean, wiping away the traces of juices and semen. I was still rock hard, my balls tight with what had built up—until I drained it all, I wouldn't stop. Vika had prepared and reached for a condom. I grabbed another from the nightstand and rolled it onto my trembling length. Turned her over sharply, pressed her face into the pillow and took her from behind. After that—it was madness, wild and obscene. I collapsed exhausted toward morning. A brutal, delirious morning.
I opened my eyes as if in a drunken haze. Squinted at the bright sun flooding the room. Somewhere in the back of my mind I noted that it would be a good day—frosty, but clear. I sat up in bed and immediately stumbled on the sight of the crumpled sheets with traces of semen and lubricant. My tense gaze swept the bedroom: used condoms and torn wrappers. What a fucking mess. I'm the bastard, not those "suits" that witnessed my fall.
I was alone in bed, but the sound of running water clearly came from the bathroom. What have I done… Fuck. Total fucking disaster. I let out a hoarse breath and caught a glimpse of a red scratch on my shoulder. I jumped up and stood with my back to the mirror panels. Scratched all over.
"Fuck…" I muttered through my teeth. I felt nothing. No desire, no pull, no infatuation—only shame. Now I was looking at the situation with clear eyes, not clouded by base urges. I was hit with disgust and revulsion. I was screwed. Now I was guilty without question.
I saw my black boxers, pulled them on with distaste and grabbed my Rolex. Almost nine. Fuck! I promised to take Nika to school. Fuck. Fuck! I was late. Late everywhere.
I pulled my pants on in a flash and threw my shirt over my shoulders when the sound of footsteps cut through the air. I froze, imagining Katya walking in now—her stunned eyes sweeping over the bed and then stopping on me, velvet dark, filled only with contempt. Only contempt from now on.
But of course it was Vika who appeared. Fresh, well-groomed. She smiled, reaching her arms out to me.
"Vadik…" she purred softly.
Damn it, what the hell "Vadik"? That sugary shortening annoys me. I caught her wrists, trying not to be rough, just enough not to let her pull me back into her whirlpool.
"I'm already late," I said dryly, tucking in my shirt. "Promised my daughter I'd take her to school." I pecked her on the cheek and grabbed my jacket. "I'll call."
In the elevator I dialed Katya, but she didn't answer. Each ring echoed in my chest like a weight.
"Pick up, my Malvina…" I muttered, pulling the car out of the parking lot. When I gave up, I called the driver.
"Mish, hey. Did you take Nika to school today?"
"No, Vadim Alexandrovich, Ekaterina Alexeyevna called and said she would."
"Got it. Alright, wait at Eurasia, I'll be there soon."
I drove home like a racer, driven by a bad feeling. I didn't know what kind of conversation awaited Katya and me, but she must not find out about last night. Absolutely not. I made a mistake. God, what a mistake. I slipped—but that happens to everyone, right? But Katya won't forgive betrayal. If she finds out—it's the end.
I parked in front of the building on Malaya Bronnaya, completely blocking the driveway. I needed to hurry. Flew up to the twelfth floor and opened the door. Katya was home—I felt her presence before I saw her. Collected, composed, beautiful, and unbearably dear. Even in a strict pantsuit she looked feminine and perfect.
"Cooled off?" I asked casually, as if nothing had happened. As if I'd spent the night at home.
"I was waiting for lawyers, not you."
She was just as calm.
"Katya, come on, what lawyers? Let's talk without nerves."
"We talked without nerves yesterday," she said with a cold smile. A stranger's smile. "You left the house, Vadim. Or don't you remember?"
– You put a suitcase in front of me! – I snapped, losing my composure. – And Nika was home—was I supposed to beg you in front of her and drop to my knees?!
– I gave you a choice, Polonsky, and you left! – her calm evaporated instantly.
– Fuck, Katya, can you use your words to say what you want?! I'm not obligated to guess, and I can't read minds!
– Where did you spend the night? – she suddenly asked very quietly. That scared me more than shouting. Calm is the herald of a storm.
I faltered, looking away, and muttered:
– At a hotel. My wife politely asked me to leave the house.
I chose denial because I know my Malvina too well. If she becomes sure I cheated, she will never forgive.
Katya jerked her head up sharply, studying me intently, then suddenly shoved me hard in the chest.
– Why are you lying to me! – she hit me again. – You stink of fucking from a mile away! You reek of another woman! – she choked on a sob. – Nika waited for you till the end, and you were fucking someone, you bastard!
I grabbed her hands, holding them in place before she could use her nails. One had already tried to mark me—no need to show up with a scratched face. I don't tolerate physical fights outside the ring, and I don't recommend it to others.
– Stop the hysteria. I have never cheated on you.
Liar. Fucking liar.
– Never? – Katya fell silent, then gently pulled free and cupped my face with her hands. She looked straight into me, reading my soul. I couldn't выдержать that piercing, searching gaze—I was the first to look away. She let out a short, bitter laugh.
– That's clear enough, Polonsky, – she said and recoiled from me. – You made your choice, – she wiped her hands demonstratively on the light cashmere fabric of her suit, as if disgusted. – Get out.
– You're kicking me out of my own house? – I asked softly, with a warning edge, walking into my living room in my shoes, knowing it irritated Katya.
– Fine, – she nodded, – then we'll leave.
– You're not going anywhere. This is our home, our daughter, – I sprang up from the couch I had just collapsed onto, feet on the vintage coffee table brought straight from Italy (you're not supposed to do that—and I did it because I could!), and moved toward her. – And you are my wife, – I stopped close and grabbed her shoulders, squeezing hard. – I won't let you go, I won't give you a divorce. I love you, Katya. Do you hear me? I love you! I need you!
It didn't sound like a confession or even an apology. It sounded like a fact she'd have to accept.
– Don't you dare! – Katya jerked her shoulder. – It disgusts me to stand next to you. Get the hell out to wherever you spent the night! – her voice rose, ringing with raw fury.
I grabbed her, pulled her to me. The sound of fabric tearing echoed loudly in the living room, filled with ragged breathing and struggle. I spun Katya in my arms and saw her perfectly shaped breast framed by torn French lace. I reached greedily, squeezing the pink nipple, ignoring her protests.
– I hate you! Don't you dare! Traitor, bastard!
I grabbed her face so she'd stop struggling. Forced my tongue into her mouth—I didn't want to hear her harsh words and true accusations. I wanted her to love me, to enjoy my closeness like she did just yesterday when she held my hand so tenderly.
– Fuck, that hurts! – I cursed as my mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. Katya bit my lip and ran off, covering herself with her hands. From me—her lawful husband—she was shielding herself!
– Damn it, Katya, throw away ten years because of stupidity?! Because of one mistake?! Don't be an idiot!
– You're the one who ruined our marriage, you animal!
Damn, she's sharp as hell! Doesn't let a single word pass without cutting into it! And I started losing it too.
– I didn't mean you're stupid, – I tried to tone it down. Moved toward her again, not to take her by force but to persuade her gently.
– Who did you fuck yesterday, Vadim? Who?! – no, Katya was fired up now, nothing would calm her, and I didn't have the guts to fully admit my mistake.
– Forget it. None of that matters, – I muttered, rubbing the bridge of my nose tiredly.
– Forget it? Just forget it?! – she gasped, then said bitterly: – I always knew you were cruel at your core, but I didn't think it would touch me again.
– What do you mean again? – I was on edge too, like a hair-trigger: just a feather's touch and it fires. I was a bad husband?! I did everything for her and Nika! Carried them on my fucking hands. – Was it bad living with me?
– Get out, – she said tiredly. – I don't need you anymore.
– Don't need me, huh? – I was tearing apart with rage. So easy for her to give me up! And does Katya Alekseevna even love me? Or are her damn pride and irritating principles more important?! – If you call me back tomorrow, I won't return, you understand that?
– I'm already sick of your selfish face after these ten minutes, – she spat. – You make me nauseous.
– Then to hell with you! – I turned and slammed the door loudly, cutting myself off from her. She wants a divorce—she'll get a divorce!
Katya
I collapsed onto the floor and burst into tears—painful, desperate, with teeth marks on my fists and lips torn bloody. I was mourning my fate and letting go of love. For him—the one and only, my first man, my life and my death. I will never be the same again. I will no longer be Malvina, and he will no longer be my Dim.
It is catastrophically hard to accept this, but what other options are there? Only in movies and romance novels does the hero never betray, and if he does, he begs for forgiveness. In real life, a man is no hero: he comes home reeking of sex and debauchery. He demands to be loved as he is and makes no promises it won't happen again.
I will not accept such conditions—it goes against the laws of family. Of the family and marriage my parents instilled in me! I would rather cut out half my heart than let it be covered with a thick veil of indifferent acceptance, harden, and feel nothing.
Vadim gave me a lot and taught me a lot. Because of him, I have my own flesh and blood—a little human who will not betray or abandon me, even if the whole world turns away. My beloved girl. My Veronika. Perhaps I should be grateful for this gift—and I will be, later. For now, I couldn't. Right now, I hated him.
I have five stages of acceptance ahead of me. After that, we'll talk calmly—in court, during the divorce proceedings.
I got up, swaying, made my way to the kitchen, found my inhaler with trembling hands, and sprayed it into my throat, already feeling the sharp lack of oxygen coming on. Slowly, steadily, I regained my breathing and poured myself some water. Thank God Nika doesn't see me like this. Right now, I wouldn't be able to say anything remotely neutral.
Bayan was, as usual, playing with his huge scratching post shaped like an exotic tree with a house at the top. For him, the world remained the same as yesterday. And it would be the same tomorrow. But I need to change my life—and for Nika, everything will be different now.
She may be mature beyond her years (or simply sensible), but she still doesn't realize that things will never be the same again. She'll have to live between two homes, become a buffer between her parents, experience all the awful realities of divorce. I need to minimize the stress and make peace with Vadim as soon as possible.
I can't compete with him, and he has every right to see his daughter, to meet her, even take her several times a week. He won't take her away from me completely, will he? He wouldn't do that out of revenge for my категоричность and refusal to dance to his tune… would he?
– Nonsense! – I whispered, convincing myself. It turned out he wasn't a perfect husband, but he was never malicious or cruel. Harsh—yes. Stubborn—yes. Proud—yes. Sometimes a cynical egoist. But he is also generous, kind, and loves his daughter with a huge, unconditional love.
And Nika is very attached to me: like most children, especially girls, she loves both parents, but whenever something goes wrong, she runs to her mother. Vadim would never traumatize her by separating her from me. I believed that. I hoped that his care for her would outweigh any desire to punish me for daring to refuse Vadim Polonsky again.
Ten years ago, he left me no chance not to love him. And now he left, slamming the door. This time, he won't try to win me back—I could feel it in my soul. Vadim is no longer mine. Whose he is—I don't know. Maybe hers, that colleague. Or maybe he's lost, even to himself.
But I don't have the moral strength or saintliness to pull him out of the darkness. I was drowning in it myself—and all because of him!
– Stop! – I ordered myself, pulling out of the abyss of reflection. Later. When night falls. Instead of sleep, I will bury my love. For now, I need to figure out what's required for the divorce.
I didn't even know where to begin. I don't need anything extra. I didn't earn fantastic money, so even my outrageously expensive underwear was bought with my husband's money. I don't intend to claim anything, especially since the prenuptial agreement clearly regulates our marital relations.
The only thing—I wouldn't want to leave the house. I've grown attached to this place. But whatever happens, happens. We'll manage.
I went into Vadim's study overlooking the square and the theater and pulled out the documents. I need to refresh my memory of the contract.
So there are no surprises in court.
I only need my daughter.