Darling, let’s merge our accounts”—but she knew his secret plans

Anastasia carefully arranged the freshly baked buns on the display, taking her familiar spot behind the counter. The warm, comforting aroma of bread filled the cozy little shop. Nestled in a quiet residential area of Yekaterinburg, this bakery wasn’t just a business to her—it was a cherished legacy left by her parents.
The soft chime of the doorbell signaled the arrival of a customer. An elderly woman stepped inside, her face lighting up at the familiar surroundings.
“Good morning, Anna Petrovna!” Anastasia greeted warmly. “The usual—a loaf of Borodinsky bread and a pack of cottage cheese?”
“Oh, Nastenka,” the old woman sighed with a smile. “You always remember. That’s why I love your shop—it feels like home.”
Anastasia prided herself on knowing her customers by name. To the locals, this wasn’t just a place to buy groceries; it was a community hub where people gathered, shared news, and exchanged stories.
As the morning rush dwindled, Anastasia sat down for a brief moment of rest. Today marked three years since her parents’ passing in a tragic car accident. Their memory lingered in every corner of the shop—her father’s meticulous bookkeeping lessons, her mother’s patient guidance on arranging the shelves. They had been preparing her for this life long before she even realized it.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of her phone. Victor’s name flashed on the screen—her husband.
“Hello, Vitya,” she answered.
“Nastya, what time do you finish today?” Victor’s voice carried an unusual enthusiasm.
“As always, around seven. Why?”
“Perfect! I have a surprise for you. Let’s meet at our favorite restaurant at eight, okay?”
Anastasia smiled to herself. Even after three years of marriage, Victor still found ways to surprise her.
“Alright, I’ll be looking forward to it.”
She returned to her tasks, but curiosity lingered in her mind. Could this be good news? Had he finally secured a job?
Victor had been unemployed for months, working tirelessly on a business plan for his startup. Anastasia supported him wholeheartedly, but the strain on their finances was becoming evident.
That evening, she arrived at the restaurant and quickly spotted Victor, sitting at a table, twirling a glass in his hands.
“Hello, dear,” she greeted, kissing his cheek. “So, what’s the big surprise?”
Victor beamed. “Nastya, I found an investor for my startup!”
Anastasia clapped her hands in delight. “That’s wonderful, Vitya! Congratulations!”
“Yes,” he nodded, hesitating slightly. “But there’s a catch. To show my commitment, I need to invest as well. We need an initial sum to launch, and I was thinking…”
Anastasia’s stomach tightened. She already had an inkling of what he was about to say.
“Maybe we should sell your store?” Victor blurted. “We can use the money to invest in my project, and in a year or two, we’ll be millionaires!”
Her heart went cold. Sell the store? The last connection to her parents? Their source of livelihood?
“Vitya, are you serious?” she whispered. “You know what this store means to me.”
Victor waved dismissively. “It’s just a shop, Nastya! But this project—it’s the future! Think about it.”
She shook her head firmly. “No, Victor. This shop isn’t just a business. It’s my family’s legacy. Stability. Reputation. Is your project really worth more than all of that?”
His face darkened. “At least look at the business plan. We’ll discuss it at home.”
Reluctantly, she nodded, though unease gnawed at her.
The following weeks turned into a relentless battle. Victor bombarded her with figures, projections, and grand promises. He insisted that her shop was outdated, that his project was the key to their future.
But something about his desperation unsettled her. His behavior had shifted—he was more irritable, secretive, whispering into his phone behind closed doors.
One evening, as she passed by his study, she overheard a conversation that shattered her world.
“Don’t worry, Kolyan,” Victor was saying. “She’ll give in soon. Once she sells, I’ll make sure the money is ours. Then, we’ll finalize the divorce.”
Anastasia stood frozen, disbelief washing over her like ice water. Her heart pounded in her chest. He was planning to betray her—to take everything she had worked for.
Summoning her strength, she retreated silently, locking herself in the bedroom. She needed a plan.
For the next few days, she played along, feigning interest in his startup. She suggested registering the shop in both their names, pretending it was for “business expansion.” Victor eagerly agreed, thinking she was finally on board.
But Anastasia had other plans.
She met with a lawyer, ensuring all documents proved her sole ownership of the shop. A new account was opened, siphoning funds away from their shared finances. If Victor wanted to play dirty, she would be one step ahead.
Finally, the day arrived. Victor triumphantly placed papers before her. “Nastya, sign these, and we’ll transfer the funds. This is the start of something big!”
She took the documents, scanning them with a feigned look of contemplation. Then, she met his gaze and spoke calmly.
“Victor, I know everything.”
He blinked. “What are you talking about?”
“I heard your conversation with Nikolai. You called me a fool. You planned to take my money and leave.”
His face paled. “Nastya, you misunderstood—”
“No more lies.” She pulled out her own set of papers. “Here are the divorce documents. The shop remains mine. You can take whatever else we acquired together.”
Victor stared at her, stunned. “You… you were pretending all along?”
Anastasia’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “I learned from the best.”
Defeated, Victor signed the papers. As he left, he muttered, “I underestimated you, Nastya.”
“That was your mistake,” she replied, closing the door behind him.
In the days that followed, Anastasia poured herself into the shop. She expanded the selection, introduced delivery services, and renovated the space. Her customers noticed the change, embracing her renewed passion.
Months later, she ran into Victor. He looked disheveled, his confidence gone.
“Hello, Nastya,” he greeted hesitantly. “How are you?”
“I’m doing well,” she replied. “And you?”
He sighed. “Could be better. I wanted to say… I’m sorry. You were right.”
Anastasia studied him, then nodded. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”
“I have,” he admitted. “Honesty and hard work matter more than any scheme.”
She gave a small smile. “Good luck, Vitya.”
As he walked away, she felt no bitterness—only relief. The past was behind her, and the future was hers to shape.
That evening, she locked up the shop, gazing at the familiar shelves with pride. She had protected her legacy. She had reclaimed her strength.
And she was just getting started.