Elena stood on the threshold of her future mother-in-law Galina Petrovna’s apartment, breathing in the cloyingly sweet aroma of apple pie. It was a smell that should have meant comfort, but all it stirred in her was a dull unease. Andrey, her fiancé, squeezed her hand and smiled radiantly. For him, this was an ordinary Sunday dinner. For Elena, it was another stage in the most difficult performance of her life.
“Lenochka, sweetheart, come in!” Galina Petrovna floated out of the kitchen, covered in flour and false warmth. “I baked your favorite pie. Anything for my future daughter-in-law!”
Elena forced herself to smile. For a year now, she had been “Lenochka Sokolova,” a modest mid-level manager with a tiny apartment in a residential district and a salary that barely covered her living expenses. No one knew that her real surname was Orlova, or that three months earlier, after her father’s death, she had become the sole owner of the Monolit construction holding, where Andrey held the position of head of sales.
The performance had been staged on her father’s advice.
“Money is a litmus test, Lena,” he used to say. “If you want to know a person, give him power or show him your weakness. Better yet, pretend to be weak.”
And she had pretended.
Dinner followed the usual script. Galina Petrovna praised her son, Andrey built plans for their future together, and Elena nodded and agreed, feeling like a spy in enemy territory. When she went to the kitchen to help with the tea, she overheard a quiet conversation in the hallway. The door was slightly ajar.
“The main thing is that she doesn’t suspect anything before the wedding,” Galina Petrovna hissed. “That little hole of hers is the only thing she owns. Right after the registry office, we’ll have her sign the deed over to you. It’ll be safer for our future family that way.”
“Mom, calm down. Everything’s under control,” Andrey replied. “Lena trusts me. She’s simple, trusting. She’s lived in poverty all her life. To her, our family is a ticket to paradise.”
Elena froze, pressing a hand to her mouth. Her heart pounded so hard it seemed its beating could be heard in the next room. So that was their plan. To get hold of her only tiny apartment. Petty — but how vile.
She returned to the table with a stone face. Only her trembling fingers, wrapped around the cup, betrayed her state.
The following week, Andrey brought up the conversation she had now been waiting for with a sinking heart. They were sitting in her small rented apartment — the one she had rented specifically for this role.
“Len, I’ve been thinking…” he began smoothly, putting his arm around her shoulders. “We’re going to be a family soon. And this apartment… it’s so tiny. I want our children to have the very best.”
“I agree, but we don’t have money for a bigger place yet,” Elena answered carefully, playing her part.
“That’s where my surprise comes in!” His eyes lit up. “I found a good option — a spacious two-room apartment in a new building. But we need to make the down payment. If we sell your apartment, it’ll be just enough. To avoid all the paperwork, sign a power of attorney over to me, and I’ll handle everything. It’ll be my wedding gift to our family.”
Elena looked into his honest eyes, so full of love, and felt a chill run down her spine. He was a magnificent actor. Far better than she was.
“I’ll think about it,” she said quietly.
Her “I’ll think about it” stretched on for two weeks. Andrey became more and more insistent, while Galina Petrovna sighed at every meeting about how hard it was for young people to squeeze into such cramped quarters. Elena understood: they were rushing to get their hands on her “property” before the wedding.
Her suspicions grew stronger, but she felt that this was not only about the apartment. Something larger and more frightening was hidden behind this petty greed.
The first warning bell rang when she went into Andrey’s office to invite him to lunch and saw a folder on his desk bearing the logo of their main competitor, the company Stroy-Garant. When Andrey noticed her glance, he hurriedly shoved the folder into a drawer, smiling awkwardly.
“Work stuff, darling. Market analysis.”
But she had seen his tense face. Market analysis was not done with a competitor’s documents hidden under lock and key. Everything inside her went cold. This was no longer about her personally. This concerned her father’s business.
Deciding to act, Elena called the person she trusted more than anyone in the world — Semyon Ignatievich, her father’s old friend and the financial director of Monolit. He was the only one who knew about her masquerade.
“Semyon Ignatievich, hello. I need your help,” she said into the phone, locking herself in the bathroom. “Please check all of Andrey Nikonov’s activity over the past six months. Requests, server access, everything. Unofficially.”
The old financier was silent for a moment, then answered quietly:
“I’m already checking, Lenochka. Your father wouldn’t have left something like this alone. There have been strange requests to the database of our contractors and to the financial reports. I thought it was connected to his position, but now… Give me a couple of days.”
Those two days became hell for Elena. She continued smiling at Andrey, discussing the color of wedding napkins with him and listening to his mother talk about what a wonderful daughter-in-law she would be, while feeling the noose tighten around her neck.
Semyon Ignatievich called late in the evening.
“Lena, everything is much worse than we thought,” his voice was muffled and tired. “He wasn’t just looking. He was copying data. Tender documents, supplier lists, financial forecasts. All of it was being sent to an external server registered to a front person. And the trail leads to Stroy-Garant. He is draining the company. Your company.”
Elena sat down on the floor, leaning against the cold wall.
The apartment.
How naive she had been. This was not about some pathetic one-room flat. This was about a multibillion-ruble business her father had built his entire life. Andrey, the man she loved, was methodically destroying her world, her inheritance, her future. And his mother — that sweet woman with apple pies — was his main accomplice.
“What do they want?” she whispered.
“I think they are waiting for you to go on maternity leave,” Semyon Ignatievich suggested. “You, as a ‘simple’ wife, would sign any papers without looking. Perhaps he planned to get a power of attorney from you not only for the apartment, but also for the right to sign certain ‘work-related’ documents. Then, with access to the company’s inner workings and the competitors’ support, he would bankrupt Monolit from within.”
Now everything fell into place. Their haste, the competitor’s folder, the conversations about “family.” They were preparing a large-scale takeover. And she, the heiress, was supposed to become the key to their success without even realizing it.
“The wedding is in three days,” Elena said in an icy voice. “Excellent. We’ll give them an unforgettable celebration.”
For three days, she lived as if in a fog, mechanically completing the final preparations. She chose the dress, ordered the cake, sent reminders to the guests. Andrey was in seventh heaven. On the eve of the wedding, he approached her again with the power of attorney form.
“Lenus, well? Shall we sign it? So tomorrow we won’t have to think about anything.”
Elena took the pen, looked into his eyes, and gave him the gentlest smile she had.
“Of course, darling. Anything for our family.”
She signed it.
“Elena Sokolova.”
Meaningless scribbles.
He snatched up the paper, kissed her, and left, glowing with anticipation. He had no idea that tomorrow a very different surprise awaited him.
The morning of the wedding day.
Elena woke up not in her small apartment, but in the enormous bedroom of her parents’ house. She did not put on a white wedding dress, but a strict steel-colored business suit. Instead of a veil, her hair was perfectly styled.
At ten in the morning, an emergency meeting of Monolit’s board of directors was scheduled. When Elena entered the conference room, everyone froze. They knew her as a modest manager from the planning department.
“Good morning, esteemed colleagues,” her voice sounded firm and confident. “Allow me to introduce myself. Elena Igorevna Orlova, daughter of Igor Semyonovich Orlov. According to his will, as of today, I am assuming the position of CEO of the Monolit holding.”
A whisper swept through the room. Semyon Ignatievich, sitting to her right, nodded approvingly.
“My first decision,” Elena continued, sweeping an icy gaze over everyone, “is to summon to this room the head of sales, Andrey Viktorovich Nikonov. And his mother, Galina Petrovna Nikonova, who, due to some misunderstanding, is listed as chief accountant in one of our subsidiaries.”
Andrey and his mother entered five minutes later. He was in his wedding suit, boutonniere attached. She was in an elegant dress, ready for her role as the happy mother-in-law. When they saw Elena at the head of the table, they froze. Andrey’s face stretched, his smile slid away, replaced first by confusion and then by horror.
“Lena? What are you doing here?” he stammered. “Our registration is in an hour…”
“The registration is canceled, Andrey,” Elena answered calmly. “But we will have our conversation. Right here and right now. Our whole big ‘family’ is gathered.”
She nodded to Semyon Ignatievich. He turned on the projector. Copies of documents, bank account statements, and diagrams showing the data transfer to Stroy-Garant’s server appeared on the large screen. Each slide struck like a hammer blow.
Galina Petrovna turned pale and clutched at her heart. Andrey stood as if struck by lightning, shifting his gaze from the screen to Elena.
“I don’t understand…” he croaked. “Sokolova… You’re Sokolova!”
“Sokolova is my mother’s surname,” Elena cut him off. “I decided to work incognito in my father’s company to understand what kind of people surrounded him. And as you can see, I was not wrong. You so badly wanted to become part of my family, Andrey. You dreamed of my apartment. Well, I’m glad to inform you: this entire company is also my ‘apartment.’ And you tried to steal it.”
She stood, walked up close to him, and looked directly into his eyes.
“Speaking of real estate, here is your power of attorney. You can frame it. It is the only thing you will ever receive from me and my family.”
She threw the form he had signed the day before onto the table in front of him. He stared at the useless piece of paper, and only then did the full scale of the catastrophe finally dawn on him.
“Security will escort you out,” Elena finished, returning to her seat. “And send my regards to your partners at Stroy-Garant. A very interesting lawsuit is waiting for them.”
Andrey and his mother were led out of the conference room under the stunned gazes of the entire board of directors. Galina Petrovna shouted something about an ungrateful daughter-in-law, while Andrey simply remained silent, his head lowered. His perfect plan, his ticket to paradise, had crumbled to dust in ten minutes.
When the door closed behind them, silence hung in the room. Elena looked around at the faces of her colleagues — the faces of people who only yesterday had seen her as a simple subordinate.
“And now, gentlemen,” she said firmly, “let’s get to work. We have a lot to do.”
She sat down in her father’s chair and, for the first time in a long while, felt not the pain of loss, but pride.
The performance was over.
Her own life was beginning.