“Leave the apartment? Is that supposed to be some kind of joke? Knock, knock—are there any brains left inside your head?” Albina asked her husband. Evening descended over the city not in gentle twilight, but like a heavy, suffocating veil. The apartment, which until recently had smelled of cinnamon and tranquility, now carried the scent of ozone, as though a powerful thunderstorm were approaching.
Albina stood by the window, holding a glass of rich, dark Shiraz. She was not drinking it. She merely inhaled its aroma, trying to calm her breathing.
Nikita sat at the table, lounging arrogantly against the back of his chair. His posture suggested that he was the master of their entire life, although, in reality, he owned exactly half of it.
“Leave the apartment? Is that supposed to be some kind of joke? Knock, knock—are there any brains left inside your head?” Albina asked her husband, finally turning toward him.
Her voice remained steady, without a hint of shrillness.
Nikita smirked and drummed his fingers against the tabletop. The sound—tap, tap, tap—was beginning to get on her nerves.
“Albina, let’s not be dramatic. You’re an intelligent woman. You’re a sommelier—you understand subtle shades of flavor, so you should also understand the nuances of this situation. It’s too cramped for both of us here. I want to begin a new chapter of my life, and that chapter needs to take place in this apartment. My mother invested money in the property, and I worked my back off doing the renovations. Don’t you understand that it would be easier for you to pack your things?”
“Your mother contributed exactly the same amount as my parents,” Albina replied coldly. “We bought this apartment while we were married. Every square meter belongs to both of us. And now you’re suggesting that I simply disappear into the mist and leave everything to you? That isn’t arrogance, Nikita. It’s a medical condition.”
“Well, I’m the man,” he said, spreading his hands as if that argument overruled both the Constitution and the Family Code. “I need the space. And you’ll find somebody else. With your profession, getting wealthy clients drunk shouldn’t be too difficult.”
Albina placed her glass on the windowsill. The wine swayed, leaving oily “legs” on the glass.
She studied her husband carefully.
Six years of marriage. For six years, she had considered him her support and dependable protector, even though he was merely a patrol officer responsible for maintaining public order.
It turned out that the only thing he had ever protected was his own selfishness.
At that moment, his phone chimed on the table. Nikita flinched, but the screen had already lit up, displaying a payment-confirmation notification.
Albina was standing closer and managed to see the icon and the message.
It was not a payment to an auto-parts store or a utility company. It was for a premium account on a website offering very specific adult content.
“Seriously?” she asked in disgust, nodding toward the phone. “You’re throwing your wife out of her home, talking about beginning a ‘new chapter,’ while spending our family money on virtual prostitutes?”
Nikita turned red, but immediately went on the offensive. He jumped to his feet, knocking over his chair.
“Don’t you dare look at my phone! I have needs! If you had been a normal wife, I wouldn’t have had to look for relief online! You’re always tired, always busy with your tastings. I’m sick of it! Get out of here, Albina. I’m asking nicely.”
The anger she felt was not a hot flame that burned everything around it. It was liquid nitrogen, freezing her emotions and leaving behind nothing but cold calculation.
“Fine,” she said quietly. “I’ll leave. But remember this moment, Nikita. You opened Pandora’s box yourself.”
She walked out of the kitchen, leaving the unfinished wine behind.
Packing did not take long. She took only the essentials. She had no intention of giving him so much as a fork, but for the moment, a strategic retreat was more important. Six months passed like one long, gray, overcast day.
The divorce proceedings ended, and the division of property was completed in a dry, formal manner. The court awarded each of them a one-half share of the apartment.
Nikita categorically refused to sell the entire apartment. He did not have enough money to buy Albina’s share, and he refused to sell his own because he considered the apartment his future family home.
Albina worked at an upscale wine bar in the city center. The dim lighting, the gleam of polished glasses, and the quiet music created an exclusive atmosphere.
She was standing behind the bar, polishing a decanter, when the door opened and Nikita appeared in the entrance.
He was not alone.
A young woman with bright red hair and the gaze of a predatory bird that had spotted a shiny trinket entered beside him, giggling and hanging from his arm.
“Well, look who it is!” Nikita announced loudly as he approached the bar.
He appeared confident, practically glistening with self-satisfaction.
“Lara, meet my ex-wife. Albina, pour us something expensive. We’re celebrating. We’ve finished the renovations.”
Lara gave Albina a hostile once-over, allowing her gaze to linger on Albina’s strict uniform.
“So this is what you look like,” she drawled. “Nikita told me you were a little… old-fashioned. Can you choose a decent wine for us, or do you only know how to read the labels?”
Albina slowly raised her eyes.
“Good evening,” she said in a professionally cold voice. “I can offer you a Pinot Noir. It has a complex personality, although I’m afraid it may be too subtle for you. Perhaps a semisweet table wine would suit you better. Simple and easy to understand.”
Nikita laughed, completely missing the sarcasm.
“Bring us the best one. I’m paying! By the way, the renovations turned out beautifully. I had to take out a couple of loans, but it was worth it. We demolished some walls, combined the kitchen with the living room, and installed a hot tub. Now it’s a real bachelor pad… well, almost a bachelor pad.”
He pinched Lara around the waist.
“You renovated the entire apartment?” Albina asked as she took out a bottle.
“Of course! I’m the one living there. As for your share… it can remain on paper for now. I’ll buy it someday. You never come there anyway.”
Albina uncorked the bottle. The cork came out with a soft pop.
The final piece of the puzzle fell into place inside her mind.
He was so certain of his impunity that he had invested borrowed money in property that did not entirely belong to him.
Stupidity and greed—a lethal cocktail.
“For next to nothing, you say?” she murmured as she filled their glasses. “Enjoy your evening.”
After they left without tipping her, Albina took out her phone.
Among her contacts was the number of a man she had met in an acting class she had started attending to relieve stress.
“Gleb? The offer still stands. We’ll meet at the notary’s office tomorrow.” The apartment really had been transformed.
It was decorated in light colors, with fashionable furniture and an enormous plasma television mounted on the wall.
Nikita was stretched out on the new sofa, enjoying his Friday evening. Lara was turning from side to side in front of the hallway mirror.
“Sweetie, we need to order sushi. I’m starving!” she chirped.
The doorbell rang.
The sound was persistent and demanding.
“Who the hell is that?” Nikita grumbled irritably as he got up. “Maybe a delivery driver has the wrong address.”
He flung the door open.
A man of indeterminate age stood on the landing. He was wearing a mesh undershirt, sweatpants with stretched-out knees, and flip-flops on his bare feet.
In one hand, he carried an enormous plaid duffel bag. In the other, he held a cage containing a hamster.
The man smelled of tobacco and something sour.
“Greetings, neighbors!” the stranger boomed in a deep voice. “Let me through. Don’t stand there blocking the doorway—there’s a draft!”
Nikita stared at him in bewilderment and raised an arm to block his path.
“Hey, man, who are you? You’ve got the wrong apartment!”
The man, whose name was Gleb, casually pushed him aside with one shoulder as though Nikita were made of cardboard and barged into the hallway.
“What wrong apartment? The address is correct. Apartment thirty-four, right? That’s the one. I’m your new tenant. Here.”
He shoved a document beneath Nikita’s nose.
“A rental agreement for one-half of the residential property. Signed by the owner, Albina Viktorovna. Everything has been notarized.”
Lara rushed into the hallway and saw the filthy bag resting on the new laminate flooring.
“Nikita! What is this freak doing here?”
“The freak is the one in your mirror, sweetheart,” Gleb replied good-naturedly as he placed the hamster cage on the cabinet where they kept their keys. “I’m Gleb. We’re all going to live together peacefully. I call the room with the balcony. I need somewhere to exercise my hamster.”
“That’s the bedroom!” Nikita shrieked. “Our bed is in there! Get out! I’m calling the police!”
“Go ahead, colleague,” Gleb said with a grin. “I know my rights. I have a contract. I paid six months in advance. And since the court hasn’t determined how the rooms should be divided, that’s your problem. We’ll use everything jointly. Shared kitchen, shared bathroom. By the way, I like singing in the shower in the morning. I hope you have good acoustics.”
Nikita seized the documents.
The stamp was genuine. Albina’s signature was clear and sweeping.
“I’m going to kill her,” he hissed. “I’m going to destroy her.”
Meanwhile, Gleb walked into the living room, dropped onto the new beige sofa, and switched on the television.
“Oh, football! Got any beer? No? You people aren’t very hospitable. Never mind—I brought my own.”
He pulled a dried fish from his bag and began cleaning it directly over the coffee table, scattering scales across the fluffy carpet. Three days later, Nikita looked like a ghost.
There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and one of his eyelids twitched constantly. Lara had been throwing hysterical fits without interruption.
Gleb had turned out to be the neighbor from hell.
He snored so loudly that the walls shook. He brought over suspicious-looking people who spent hours sitting in the kitchen discussing conspiracy theories. Most importantly, he seemed to be everywhere at once.
Nikita tracked Albina down in a park near her workplace.
She was sitting on a bench, reading a book. She appeared as calm and imperturbable as a sphinx.
“You!” he gasped as he ran toward her. “What have you done? Who is that animal? Get rid of him immediately!”
Albina closed her book, keeping one finger between the pages.
“Good afternoon, Nikita. Are you talking about Gleb? He’s a delightful person. He pays on time and doesn’t make any noise… according to him.”
“Doesn’t make any noise? He ate all my food, his hamster chewed through the internet cables, and he walks around the apartment in his underwear—sometimes without even that! Lara is hysterical. She’s threatening to leave me!”
“That’s your problem,” Albina replied calmly. “You wanted to live in that apartment, so live there. My property needs to generate income. You refused to buy my share, so I found a tenant. Everything is legal.”
“I can’t live like this! I have loans to repay for the renovations! I poured so much money into that apartment!”
Nikita was almost shouting, attracting the attention of passersby. People turned to look, but he did not care.
“I have a proposal,” Albina said dryly. “Either you pay me half the amount Gleb pays for the room and deal with him yourself, or you learn to live with him. But you should know that Gleb has a large family. His distant cousin from the countryside will be arriving soon—with an accordion.”
“This is blackmail!”
“This is business, Nikita. Nothing personal, and everything is legal. You created this situation yourself when you decided that I was supposed to disappear. I didn’t disappear. I transformed into a problem.”
Nikita clutched his head.
“Fine! I’ll buy your share! Just not now. Give me some time.”
“You don’t have any time. And you don’t have any money. I know about your loans.”
At that moment, Nikita’s phone rang.
It was their neighbor, Granny Zina.
“Nikita!” she screamed so loudly into the phone that even Albina could hear her. “Get home immediately! There’s some kind of orgy going on in there! That redheaded girl of yours and your new tenant have turned the music up and are laughing together! It’s disgraceful!”
Nikita’s face turned gray.
He looked at Albina and then back at the phone.
“That can’t be true. Lara loves me.”
“Go and see for yourself,” Albina advised indifferently. “They say Gleb is a charismatic man. He can charm any woman into bed.”
Nikita took off running.
He ran without feeling his legs, gasping from humiliation and fear.
When he burst into the apartment, he froze in the living-room doorway.
The scene before him looked like an oil painting.
Lara, disheveled and cheerful, was sitting on Gleb’s lap while he told her a joke. Together, they were drinking the very bottle of wine Nikita had been saving for a special occasion.
“Well, look who finally decided to show up!” Gleb roared with laughter. “We’re just getting better acquainted. Lara’s one fiery woman. You shouldn’t put so much pressure on her!”
Lara jumped to her feet and tried to straighten her dress, but there was no shame in her eyes—only drunken defiance.
“You’re always at work, Nikita! And Gleb… he’s fun! Besides, you know he has rights here too!”
Something broke inside Nikita.
The house of cards that was his pride collapsed, throwing up a cloud of dust.
The home into which he had invested everything had betrayed him. The woman for whom he had thrown his wife out had betrayed him.
He stood in the middle of his expensive renovations, feeling like the most insignificant man on earth. Everything was settled within two days.
Nikita was broken.
All he wanted was to escape the nightmare—the sight of Gleb and the memories of Lara, whom he had thrown out that same evening. In response, she had smashed the plasma television.
He agreed to sell his share of the apartment to Albina for a ridiculous amount—just enough to repay the renovation loans.
He would break even.
No apartment. No wife. No mistress.
The meeting to hand over the keys took place at the notary’s office.
Albina looked flawless.
She handed him the documents so that he could sign the final transfer-and-acceptance certificate.
“Congratulations,” Nikita said hoarsely as he handed her the key ring. “You got what you wanted. I hope you choke on that apartment. It reeks of that freak now.”
“Thank you for the kind wishes,” Albina said, taking the keys. “But you’re mistaken.”
She dialed a number.
“Gleb? It’s over. Come downstairs. I’ll pay your fee.”
Nikita froze.
The entrance door opened, and Gleb stepped outside.
But this was not the Gleb Nikita knew.
He was wearing a respectable suit and was clean-shaven. There was no unpleasant odor around him. In his hand, he carried the same “horrible” duffel bag, which turned out to be theatrical property.
“Good afternoon, Albina Viktorovna,” Gleb said politely in the carefully trained voice of an educated man. “I was happy to help. I hope my performance was convincing.”
Nikita looked from his former wife to the “tenant.”
“You… you hired him? He’s an actor?”
“A dramatic-theater actor,” Albina corrected him. “And a very talented one. As for Lara… let’s just say that she found someone on her own level. Gleb only had to give her a slight push, and she immediately…”
“But the rental agreement… the contract…”
“A fiction created for you. A performance for an audience of one.”
Albina placed the documents and keys inside her handbag.
“You thought you could wipe your feet on me and that I would tolerate it? Anger isn’t hysteria, Nikita. Anger is fuel for action. You paid to renovate my apartment, vacated the property for me, and sold me your share for next to nothing.”
His entire scheme—his entire version of “a man’s truth”—had shattered against the cold calculations of the woman he had considered weak.
“You’re a monster,” he whispered.
“No, darling. I’m simply a sommelier. I know how to wait for wine to mature so that I can enjoy the taste of victory afterward. And you… you’re just a cork that popped out and is no longer of any use to anyone.”
Albina nodded to Gleb, and the two of them walked toward the car.
Nikita remained standing outside the building that was no longer his home, clutching a useless certificate confirming that his loans had been repaid.
He was free.
Completely, terrifyingly, and hopelessly free from everything he had once possessed.