Vadim
I slammed the button so the damn door would swing open, didn't even greet the concierge, and shot out of the building like a bullet. I had chosen that apartment so carefully for me and a young pregnant Katya, and she had lovingly furnished those huge apartments in "Patriarch," right in the heart of cultural Moscow. Now I hated that place. That home. That woman. My wife.
I rushed outside and immediately noticed they were about to tow my car.
– What the fuck is this?! – I had no mental capacity left to filter my language!
– Good morning, Senior Lieutenant Krasnov, your car is being taken to the impound lot for a parking violation.
My question was answered thoroughly enough.
I yanked open the driver's door, pulled out my documents and wallet. I could have flashed my ID in the cop's face, but that's an annoying relic of the 2000s. I went with the old proven method. Took out five thousand and handed it to the lieutenant.
– I've already paid.
I jumped into the car and sharply turned onto Yermolaevsky. Glanced in the rearview mirror and cursed.
– What a face.
Unshaven, wrinkled, furious. Still in yesterday's shirt—and even the same socks and underwear. Disgusting. Fine, I'll clean myself up at the office—and my life too.
My phone rang unexpectedly, cutting into the whirlwind of vile thoughts. Vika calling. And such anger hit me that I rolled down the window and threw the phone the hell out! Look at me, shifting the blame onto the women! Brilliant. Vika seduced me. Katya didn't understand. And I'm the victim in all this. Great job, huh?!
I understood everything, but I wasn't thinking rationally anymore. I was hurting too. I didn't want to lose my family, but I didn't know how to keep it! That enraged me so much that all civility was washed away. I had lost my Malvina, and in revenge, I tore her heart apart. I didn't want to be alone in the valley of lost souls. Selfish—yes, but I've always been selfish.
– Ksenia, – I barked when I saw the secretary doing her makeup instead of answering calls, – get in touch with Marat Rudolfovich Lantratov. Now.
I stormed into my office, threw my wrinkled jacket onto the chair, flared up like a kerosene-soaked fuse, replaying the argument with Katya in my head. She doesn't need me! I disgust her! She's sick of my face! A stubborn little bitch! She's always been like that. And still is. Never allowed anyone to make mistakes. Cut people off cleanly. Well then, to hell with her! I'm not going to kill myself over losing Her Royal Highness Principled Malvina!
– Vadim, where the hell have you been? – Kostik rushed in. – We were supposed to inspect the site. The commission's already waiting… Dym?
– In a minute. Need to wash up, – I answered roughly, tossing my watch onto the desk.
– Dym, something happened?
– Yeah, something happened. My wife kicked me out. Wants a divorce.
– What do you mean? Katya's divorcing you?! – even he didn't believe it. – Why?
– Why? You want to know why?
Kostik crossed his arms and waited silently, looking very serious. Not joking like usual.
– Because I slept with Vika. Fucked her all night, then came home reeking of sex and being a complete asshole. Good enough reason? – I raised an eyebrow.
– More than enough, – Kostya agreed dryly.
I ran a tired hand over my face, trying to tear off the mask of a hardened, cynical bastard. Didn't work. Today I was a damn juggernaut.
– If she kicked me out, then that's how much she needs me, – I took out cigarettes and lit one, inhaling deeply. – And if I fell for Vika again, then I don't love Katya anymore. Why the hell should I live with her?
I didn't believe myself, but I looked at Kostik defiantly—let him try to argue, my fists were itching like hell. Too bad you can't punch your own face.
– Ksenia, – I hit the intercom and practically growled, – did you reach Rudolfovich?
– Dym… – my friend put a hand on my shoulder, trying to calm me down.
– People get divorced every day, – I exhaled sharply. – We're not the first, not the last.
– Vadim Alexandrovich, – Ksenia knocked delicately and peeked in, frightened. – Ms. Zimina is here to see you… – she didn't finish, because Vika pushed past her and looked straight at me.
Fuck. Another confrontation.
– Go, – I nodded resignedly. – Both of you. – I sent out both my friend and the secretary.
Kostik shook his head disapprovingly and, nodding dryly to Vika, left.
I braced myself for another round of accusations, but she rushed up to me and covered my face with kisses.
– Vadim, my love, – she whispered softly. – I love you. I love you so much.
All soft and yielding, she sank to her knees in front of me and unzipped my pants. With minimal effort, my erection rose, slowly taken into her mouth.
Vika accepted me.
Unlike the proud Ekaterina Polonskaya.
– Vadim Alexandrovich, – I heard after pressing the intercom button, – the lawyer is on the second line.
– Put him through, – I said, feeling absolutely nothing. My head, heart, and body were living three different lives.
I ran my fingers through copper hair, thrusting deep into her mouth, but for a moment it seemed to me I saw a victorious smile on the full lips of the kneeling Viktoria Zimina.
Yes, in this story, she was the only one who hit the jackpot.
Katya
I received the next message from my still-husband three days later, unexpectedly and in a rather unpleasant way.
– Ekaterina Alekseevna, good afternoon, this is Ksenia, Vadim Alexandrovich's secretary.
– Hello, Ksyusha, – I replied out of habit; we used to speak warmly.
– Vadim Alexandrovich asked me to schedule a meeting for tomorrow, at your home, at ten in the morning. Will you be available?
God, Vadim is arranging a conversation with me through third parties! I never thought we'd cross all the boundaries of alienation so quickly. And Ksenia's cold, formal tone upset me. It seemed we had communicated kindly only while I was the boss's wife, and now she was friends with Mr. Polonsky's new woman.
– Yes, Ksenia, I will humbly await Vadim Alexandrovich, – I couldn't resist the jab.
– Thank you, I'll pass it on to him, – she paused but didn't hang up. – Ekaterina Alekseevna, forgive me, I'm just following orders, – and she disconnected.
I could even breathe easier. Not everything in this world is measured by status and money. Some things come from the heart, even between casual acquaintances.
I decided to prepare for the meeting and called my stylist for eight in the morning. I wasn't going to impress Vadim with my appearance to make him want to return to me. I just wanted to look decent—or at least better than I felt. Fresh morning makeup, light, perfectly masking the bags under my eyes from sleepless nights and tears. Hair styled, a little perfume, and a beige-pink knit dress appropriate for home.
I looked at my hands with perfect manicure, my gaze lingering on the rings symbolizing my belonging to a man: I will take them off when I stop being a wife. That will be right and honest. I will open myself to the world as a free woman only when I truly become one.
Vadim opened the door (yes, he came into his own home and demonstrated it without delicacy) and, without waiting for me to come out, walked straight into the living room.
I hadn't had time to prepare myself mentally for such a sudden intrusion, yet I opened my eyes wide and started breathing faster, showing that I had been waiting and worrying.
Vadim filled the entire space with his intense energy, the scent of sage and narcissus—energy, strength, sensuality. Vadim smelled exactly like a hybrid of natural and technological. A human and a machine. Yes, that was my almost ex-husband. Clean-shaven, stylishly groomed, in a perfect business suit worth five thousand dollars. I was his wife—I knew the price of his things; I had bought many of them myself.
– Hello, Katya, – calm, polite, emotionless.
– Hello, – I mirrored him.
– I'm sorry, – he said evenly, and my heart skipped three beats. – I was unforgivably rude to you during our last meeting. That won't happen again.
Vadim was apologizing—but not for what my foolish heart had hoped. And my mind immediately understood that the subject of reconciliation was closed. He was no longer my man. He wasn't even wearing his ring.
– Accepted, – I answered dryly.
Vadim nodded and went into the study. He took out a heavy briefcase and began sorting through papers.
– I'll take the work documents, – he said matter-of-factly, without stopping. – I'll send people for my clothes later.
I nodded obediently, watching his precise, measured movements: quick, exact; picked something up carefully, set it down just as carefully. It was almost mesmerizing.
– Do you remember Marat Rudolfovich?
– Yes, – I said quietly. He was a successful Moscow lawyer who had prepared our prenuptial agreement. A pleasant man in his sixties. Experienced and worldly.
– He'll contact you tomorrow. We need to discuss custody terms and division of property, according to the contract. You understand we'll raise Nika together?
– Of course I understand, – I couldn't help the edge in my voice. This new Vadim unsettled me.
He smiled coldly and replied:
– Excellent. If you want to challenge the divorce terms, hire a lawyer, – he suggested, clearly not out of concern.
– No need, – I said firmly. I had already decided to state my demands: – I only need Nika. Shared custody.
Vadim looked at me: his gaze heavy, studying, even angry.
– You think I'm capable of taking my daughter away from you? Do you really think that, Katya?
I shook my head before words could form:
– No, I don't. I don't.
He snapped the briefcase shut and stepped out from behind the heavy desk—our study was done in a classic style.
– The apartment and the car are yours, – he said in passing, leaving our home. – You won't need anything.
He said "you" because his daughter would, by default, get the very best. I didn't make a scene or shout that I didn't need anything from him: first I would get back on my feet, then I'd rid myself of my ex-husband's support.
Vadim left without emotion or attachment. I let him go just as coldly. Last time we had said so much—some harsh truths, some words born of pain and anger—that now we were emotionally empty.
Perhaps our story was over.
A week later, the documents were prepared and submitted to the Presnensky District Court.
It seemed that was it…