— I’m not taking you there, there will be decent people, you’re not on their level, — said my husband, unaware that I own the company where he works.
The mirror in the bedroom reflected a familiar scene: I was smoothing the folds of a modest gray dress I had bought three years ago at a regular store. Dmitry stood nearby, fastening the cufflinks on his snow-white shirt — Italian, as he never tired of emphasizing at every opportunity.
— Are you ready? — he asked, not looking at me, intently brushing off imaginary dust from his suit.
— Yes, we can go, — I replied, checking one last time if my hair was neatly done.
He finally turned to me, and I saw the familiar expression of slight disappointment in his eyes. Dmitry silently looked me up and down, lingering on the dress.
— Don’t you have anything more decent? — he said in a tone tinged with his usual condescension.
I had heard these words before every corporate event. Each time they hurt like a sting — not deadly, but unpleasant. I had learned not to show how much it hurt. I learned to smile and shrug it off.
— This dress is quite appropriate, — I said calmly.
Dmitry sighed as if I had let him down again.
— Alright, let’s go. Just try not to stand out too much, okay?
We got married five years ago, just after I graduated from the economics faculty, and he was working as a junior manager at a trading company. Back then, he seemed to me an ambitious, goal-oriented young man with bright prospects. I liked how he spoke about his plans, how confidently he looked toward the future.
Over the years, Dmitry really climbed the career ladder. Now he was a senior sales manager handling major clients. The money he earned went into his appearance: expensive suits, Swiss watches, a new car every two years. “Image is everything,” he liked to say. “People have to see that you’re successful, otherwise they won’t deal with you.”
I worked as an economist at a small consulting firm, earned a modest salary, and tried not to burden the family budget with unnecessary expenses on myself. When Dmitry took me to corporate events, I always felt out of place. He introduced me to colleagues with a slight irony: “Here’s my little gray mouse out on the town.” Everyone laughed, and I smiled, pretending that I found it funny too.
Gradually, I began to notice how my husband changed. Success went to his head. He began to look down not only on me but also on his employers. “I’m selling these suckers the junk our Chinese make,” he said at home, sipping expensive whiskey. “The main thing is to present the product right, and they’ll buy anything.”
Sometimes he hinted at some additional sources of income. “Clients appreciate good service,” he winked. “And are ready to pay extra for it. Personally, you understand?”
I understood but preferred not to delve into details.
Everything changed three months ago when I received a call from a notary.
— Anna Sergeyevna? This concerns the inheritance of your father, Sergey Mikhailovich Volkov.
My heart skipped a beat. My father left our family when I was seven. Mom never told me what happened to him. I only knew he worked somewhere and lived a life without room for a daughter.
— Your father passed away a month ago, — continued the notary. — According to the will, you are the sole heir to all his property.
What I learned at the notary’s office turned my world upside down. It turned out my father was not just a successful businessman — he had built an entire empire. An apartment in central Moscow, a country house, cars, but most importantly — an investment fund owning shares in dozens of companies.
Among the documents, I found a name that made me shudder: “TradeInvest” — the company where Dmitry worked.
The first few weeks I was in shock. Every morning I woke up unable to believe this was real. I only told my husband that I had changed jobs — now I worked in investment. He reacted indifferently, only muttering something about hoping the salary would be at least as much as before.
I began to understand the fund’s affairs. My economic education helped a lot, but more importantly — I was genuinely interested. For the first time in my life, I felt I was doing something important, something meaningful.
I was especially interested in the company “TradeInvest.” I requested a meeting with the CEO, Mikhail Petrovich Kuznetsov.
— Anna Sergeyevna, — he said when we were alone in his office, — I must be honest: the company’s affairs are not going well. Especially problems with the sales department.
— Tell me more.
— We have one employee, Dmitry Andreev. Formally, he manages major clients, the turnover is large, but profits are practically none. Moreover, many deals are unprofitable. There are suspicions of violations, but there is not enough evidence yet.
I asked for an internal investigation without revealing my true reason for interest in this particular employee.
The investigation results came a month later. Dmitry was indeed embezzling company money, arranging “personal bonuses” with clients for reduced prices. The sum was impressive.
During this time, I managed to update my wardrobe. But true to myself, I chose understated things — only now they were from the best designers in the world. Dmitry didn’t notice the difference. To him, everything that didn’t scream price remained “gray mouse-ness.”
Last night he announced that tomorrow there would be an important corporate event.
— Reporting dinner for top management and key employees, — he announced importantly. — The entire company leadership will be there.
— Got it, — I replied. — What time should I be ready?
Dmitry looked at me with surprise.
— I’m not taking you there, there will be decent people, you’re not on their level, — he said, not knowing that I own the company he works for. — You see, this is a serious event. People who decide my fate in the company will be there. I can’t afford to look… well, you understand.
— Not quite.
— Anechka, — he tried to soften his tone, — you are a wonderful wife, but you lower my social status. Next to you, I look poorer than I really am. These people should see me as their equal.
His words hurt, but not as sharply as before. Now I knew my worth. And I knew his.
— Fine, — I said calmly. — Have fun.
This morning Dmitry left for work in high spirits. And I put on a new Dior dress — dark blue, elegant, which emphasized my figure but remained restrained. I did professional makeup and hairstyle. Looking in the mirror, I saw a completely different person. Confident, beautiful, successful.
I knew the restaurant where the event was held — one of the best in the city. Mikhail Petrovich met me at the entrance.
— Anna Sergeyevna, glad to see you. You look wonderful.
— Thank you. I hope today we can sum up and outline plans for the future.
The hall was full of people in expensive suits and dresses. The atmosphere was businesslike but welcoming. I talked with heads of other departments, met key employees. Many knew me as the new company owner, although this was not yet public information.
I noticed Dmitry immediately as he entered. He was in his best suit, with a new haircut, looking confident and important. He scanned the room, clearly evaluating those present and his place among them.
Our eyes met. At first, he didn’t understand what he was seeing. Then his face twisted with anger. He decisively approached me.
— What are you doing here? — he hissed, coming close. — I told you this is not for you!
— Good evening, Dima, — I answered calmly.
— Get out immediately! You’re embarrassing me! — He spoke quietly but fiercely. — And what’s with the masquerade? Wearing your mouse rags again to humiliate me?…
Continued in the comments