Alina gazed at the steady stream of cars flowing past. The city’s evening lights glittered all around, but they failed to lift her spirits. A chilly breeze slipped beneath her coat collar, a subtle reminder that autumn was on its way.
“Should we just grab a cab instead?” Nikita glanced up from his phone, his voice breaking the silence.
Alina shook her head. She wanted to buy a little extra time before facing what awaited—a family dinner with her husband’s relatives, an event she always dreaded.
“No, let’s walk. It’s close enough,” she said, buttoning her coat to the top.
They meandered slowly toward the restaurant. Alina exhaled softly, memories of past dinners flooding back. Nikita’s brother Sergey and his wife Inga had a knack for turning these meals into competitions—each trying to outdo the other in subtle jabs aimed at her.
“You seem distracted tonight,” Nikita remarked gently, squeezing her hand.
“Just tired,” she murmured.
No one outside their circle knew the truth about Alina’s family wealth. She kept it deliberately under wraps. Bills were split fairly, her income kept separate, and she shied away from the “wealthy heiress” label, which had only brought complications before.
Inside, the restaurant was warm and dim, decorated with understated elegance. Sergey and Inga already occupied a secluded corner table. Sergey rose to greet them.
“Finally! We thought you’d bail,” Inga chimed, flashing an overly bright smile.
“Sorry for being late,” Alina replied, seating herself.
Inga’s eyes scanned her from head to toe, the unspoken judgment clear—their designer outfits starkly contrasted with Alina’s simple blue dress.
“So, how’s the week been? Did you get that renovation loan sorted?” Sergey asked, cutting into his steak.
“Not yet,” Nikita replied, unfolding his napkin. “We’re still saving.”
Sergey exchanged a glance with Inga; Alina braced herself.
“We’ve already hired an interior designer for our place,” Inga announced, admiring her new bracelet. “The Italian furniture arrived last week.”
Alina listened, indifferent. She could have bought the whole restaurant if she wished—but pride and upbringing kept her silent.
“By the way, Alina, how’s work at that little firm of yours?” Inga sneered, stressing “little.”
“Fine, thanks,” Alina answered tersely.
“I don’t know why anyone settles for such a low-paying job,” Inga continued. “Unless you have no choice.”
Nikita poked at his food silently. Alina clenched her jaw, fighting to stay composed.
“So, Nikita, how’s your project progressing?” Sergey asked.
“Still early to tell,” Nikita said, avoiding specifics.
Sergey offered magnanimously, “If you need investors, let me know—though I doubt it’ll be anything big.”
Alina looked at Nikita, expecting him to respond, but he simply nodded, absorbing the insult quietly.
“Honestly,” Sergey went on, “I’d suggest working somewhere stable if I were you. Not everyone’s cut out for entrepreneurship like me.”
“We’ll manage,” Alina murmured.
“Of course, of course,” Inga chimed, feigning sympathy. “Some people just can’t handle risk, especially with a family to care for.”
Nikita stayed silent, and to Alina, his quiet acceptance stung deeper than their barbs.
Inga abruptly shifted gears. “We’re heading to the Maldives next week. A new resort opened—apparently spectacular.”
“How nice,” Alina replied flatly.
“Maybe one day you two will afford something like that,” Inga added, eyes glittering.
Sergey laughed. “Not everyone can live the high life. Nikita’s the one supporting you.”
Inga nodded approvingly. “A real woman should be independent, not a freeloader.”
They all chuckled—everyone except Alina. She had hoped Nikita would defend her, but he just smiled.
When the bill came, Sergey slapped his card down. “My treat.”
“Thanks,” Nikita said, accepting.
Inga leaned close. “Not everyone gets to dine in places like this. Must be tough for Alina.”
Alina’s hands curled into fists beneath the table, nails digging into her palms.
“You’ll learn to seize life’s chances,” Inga whispered, dripping with false sympathy.
Something inside Alina snapped. She had endured this humiliation for too long, waited in vain for Nikita’s support, and hidden her true life for too many years.
She sat up straighter, meeting their eyes with a chilling calm. This couple thrived on belittling her—and her husband’s silence cut the deepest.
“Shall we order dessert?” Sergey said, closing the menu. “My treat.”
Alina opened her banking app on her phone. In seconds, her screen displayed a balance of ten million rubles.
“I don’t think you need charity,” she said, laying her phone face-up on the table.
A stunned hush fell. Sergey froze mid-sip; Inga’s confident facade crumbled.
“That’s… your money?” Sergey gasped.
“For my personal use,” Alina said, unfazed.
“We were just joking, Alina,” Inga stammered. “Family teasing, nothing serious.”
Her voice quivered—her assurance evaporated. Sergey awkwardly laughed, trying to recover.
“What a surprise,” he said. “We thought… well, good for you.”
Nikita sat pale, speechless, staring at Alina as if she were a stranger.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he finally whispered.
“You never asked,” she replied, scrolling through her phone.
“Inga, what do you do?” Inga suddenly leaned forward, faking interest. “Must be fascinating.”
“Maybe we should invest too?” Sergey chimed in, eyes gleaming.
Their voices dripped with insincerity. Just moments ago they mocked her; now they were bowing and flattering. Repulsive.
“I need to freshen up,” Alina said, rising.
In the restroom, she stared at her reflection until tears threatened—not from Sergey or Inga, but from her husband’s betrayal.
Back at the table, the atmosphere shifted. Inga smiled nervously; Sergey poured her more wine; Nikita seemed lost.
“Let’s plan a vacation,” Nikita said, looking at her. “How about Italy? I’ve always wanted to go.”
Alina shook her head. “I have to leave,” she said. “Early start tomorrow.”
“We’ll drive you,” Sergey offered.
“No, I’ll call a cab,” Alina replied.
Outside, the cold air cleared her thoughts. Nikita walked with her to the curb.
“Was that on purpose?” he asked. “To embarrass my brother?”
Alina laughed softly. “Your brother? I was the one humiliated—three years of it, and you stayed silent.”
“They were joking!” Nikita protested. “You take things too seriously.”
The taxi arrived. Alina climbed inside, Nikita close behind. At home, they said nothing. Nikita switched on the TV while Alina locked herself in the shower, washing away the weight of the evening.
The next morning, over breakfast, Alina met Nikita’s gaze.
“I’m filing for divorce.”
He choked on his coffee. “Because of last night? That’s crazy—a misunderstanding!”
“No,” she said evenly. “It’s not just last night. It’s three years of your indifference.”
“But I love you!” he cried. “Money doesn’t change that!”
“Exactly,” Alina said firmly. “But it changes my decision.”
The divorce took three months. Nikita begged for another chance, but Alina’s resolve was unshakable. Trust, respect, and love had all vanished that night.
Sergey and Inga tried to win her over with gifts and invitations. She rejected them all. Alina moved into a new apartment, quietly supported by her parents. New, sincere people entered her life. She no longer hid her wealth, but never flaunted it either.
When she saw Nikita in the street, she greeted him with a polite nod and walked on. He looked broken, but Alina knew she’d chosen right. No one would ever belittle her again just because she lived modestly.