Vadim
A late business breakfast with yet another official from public procurement briefly distracted me from my dark thoughts. But once I got back to the office and dropped into the director's chair, I sank right back to the bottom. After my careless words, I could expect anything from my wife—but a categorical desire to leave me, to abandon me, to strip me of my home, my family, my daughter! That was too much.
I'm guilty, I admit it. I dropped out of life after unexpectedly running into Vika Zimina. Got lost in a labyrinth of sinful passions and base instincts. But I can come back! Find my way home! If Katya doesn't blow out our candle, cutting me off from the bright beacon that guided me for so many years.
I love her. And I'll try to deal with this pull toward Vika. Sex with her could be dangerous on every front—and I'm already screwed. She's clearly not a simple piece of work and has her own interests, and they definitely don't boil down to just bouncing on my dick.
Now the main thing is that Katya doesn't dig in her heels or make a scene. Divorce? Yeah, right. I don't accept divorce on principle. We built a family, had a child, even got married in church. Where the hell would we go from here?! No, I get that there are couples who physically can't be together—but you don't split up over a kiss, do you?! If you look at it objectively, like in court, that's all there was! But Katya didn't know that—she could only guess. So basically, I got kicked to the curb over one careless word! Doesn't seem like I'm that valuable to my dear wife!
Damn, I'm taking a very dishonest position right now—shifting blame. I knew damn well that with Vika it was more than just physical desire. There's been a knot tightening inside me for months now, and only she could untie it, set me free. I see Vika—and I'm gone. This unquenched passion tears me apart, and a nasty little voice whispers: what if I had built a life with her, if she hadn't left back then, seventeen years ago. What would it have been like? What? WHAT?!
It's madness. Total fucking madness. And I knew it, but resisting it was damn hard. Like a bad habit: it hurts, it's addictive, it even makes you sick sometimes—but quitting is hard. Maybe I should see a shrink? Analysis, treatment, rehab.
The phone rang, and I hit the intercom.
"Listening."
"Vadim Alexandrovich, Viktoria Zimina is here to see you."
I was surprised—we hadn't scheduled a meeting, and she had never come to my office before. Business Moscow City didn't appeal to her. Vika usually stayed closer to the center.
"Send her in," I said evenly and got up to meet her, stepping out from behind the desk, leaning against one of the decorative columns, arms crossed. Today I was angry—not only at myself, but at the women who had driven me to this madness. Both of them.
Vika stunned me from the doorway: a glossy black sable coat down to the floor, copper hair in artistic disarray over her shoulders, red lips parted invitingly. Without a word, she closed the door with a click and walked to the center, not taking her eyes off me. Then she dropped the coat, remaining completely naked—except for her sharp heels.
"Not cold?" I managed hoarsely, picking my jaw up off the floor. "It's still February."
Vika stayed silent, letting my gaze roam over her lush body. She wasn't thin or delicate—on the contrary, curvy and delicious. Full breasts, firm ass, wide hips. Golden, glowing skin, and between her legs a reddish triangle, tempting, dripping with promise. Though I didn't know that yet—I hadn't touched her.
Heat flooded me, my shaft straining against my zipper. Fuck, I couldn't take it anymore! My restraint snapped. I lunged for her, and Vika, anticipating me, threw herself around my neck. Wrapped her arms around me, pressed her lips to mine. I responded like I was delirious—desire eclipsed everything. Even if the devil himself had appeared at the door and dragged me to hell for adultery, I wouldn't have been able to pull away. I needed to fuck her. Needed to come. With Vika.
She took my hand and pressed it between her legs. Hot, wet, ready. My fingers slid over her soft folds, spreading her juices. Vika moaned shamelessly, rubbing against me, pressing herself onto my fingers.
I spun her around sharply, swept everything off the desk, laying her on the wooden surface. Spread her legs, kneaded her breasts, while she yanked at my belt, unbuttoning my pants.
Yes. Yes, baby. I can't wait anymore.
The phone rang—and then another one. Like thunder out of a clear sky. Vika's eyes flew open in alarm, and she stopped stroking me through my pants.
"Don't stop," I pressed the swollen head against her firm thigh. It's the work phone. Not personal. "They're always calling," I tried to pull us back into that uncontrollable plunge into sin.
"No, Vadik, not here," she pulled away, flustered, as if frightened by her own impulsiveness. She stood up, threw the coat over her shoulders, and pulled a key card from her pocket.
"I'll be waiting for you until midnight," she whispered hotly into my lips, licking my neck. "If you don't come, I'll understand," she added reluctantly, still holding my hand. "I won't tempt either you or myself again."
Vika vanished like a capricious cloud, leaving behind a spicy perfume trail.
I stood there with a hard-on and complete confusion on my face. What the hell was that? Does she take me for some naïve boy? Or an idiot to be played?
They're clearly playing me—pushing my instincts, triggering the hunter in me, knowing I'm used to getting what I want.
A hundred percent staged move, timed to the second, tailored exactly for me. That classic: turn me on but don't give it. Or rather—give it, but not on my terms.
If I don't go home tonight, Katya's bluff about divorce might become reality. I need to deal with Vika. This can't go on.
Endure it and forget!
And what if she starts sabotaging the construction project even harder? Maybe to hell with that complex—too much trouble anyway? I allowed myself that thought for a second, knowing it wouldn't happen. Too many people depend on that project. My business and reputation are on the line.
I need to strictly separate work and personal life. And if Vika starts playing games—I'll bring in my father and his connections. I don't like it, I'm used to handling things myself, but with officials sometimes that's the only way: power meets greater power.
I made my decision—but I didn't throw away the key card to the suite at the Four Seasons. I kept turning it in my hands all day, then slipped it into my pocket. It burned against my thigh, tempting me.
But I resisted. Picked up my daughter from practice and went home.
I thought the storm had passed.
Naive.
Katya
While my daughter was at school, I packed the suitcases—ours and his. Everything would depend on Vadim: either he would leave, or we would, or… I didn't know exactly what that "or" meant, but deep down I hoped that things could still be fixed.
Yes, cheating is betrayal. Cheating is only hard the first time—after that it becomes routine. It's difficult to break your principles the first time, but then the boundaries blur, and it all ends up reduced to something banal—it's just sex, don't make a scene.
But I couldn't just rip ten years of my life out by the roots! I loved my husband! I still loved him. Even now, when I was desperately doubting his feelings for me.
"Nika, come eat, everything's on the table," I smiled at my daughter and looked at Vadim expectantly.
He had called once during the day—said he would pick Nika up from practice himself. He noticed the suitcases and clenched his jaw tighter; even the muscles in his face twitched. When we were left alone, he lifted a furious взгляд at me but asked in a killingly cold tone:
"Have you completely lost your mind? What the hell, Katya?"
I turned sharply, checking if our daughter had heard those "lovely" words addressed to her mother.
"Don't shout," I snapped.
There he stood, breathing fire, nostrils flaring, eyes blazing with righteous anger—and not a hint of remorse. As if it wasn't him who tried to fuck me yesterday, desperate after being rejected by some whore. Poor, unfortunate Vadim Polonsky: painfully hard, but no one would give it to him. So worked up he decided his wife would do just fine!
We exchanged furious, eloquent glances: I had wound myself up, and his selfish refusal to admit fault burned my heart like napalm. At that moment, I hated him.
"Are you sure?" he nodded at the suitcase, his voice icy. "If I leave, tomorrow we'll be talking differently."
Vadim didn't choose repentance or honesty—he chose pressure and threats again. But I wasn't his opponent—I was a woman. His wife! And trying to push me had never worked. He should have learned that by now. Terrible tactic. Really terrible.
I lifted my chin proudly, meeting his gaze with equal coldness. Did he expect me to beg him to stay? To fall at his feet after such humiliation?
Either Vadim was that self-confident, or he thought I was a doormat, or he didn't want to stay and was looking for a way out by shifting the blame onto me.
Fine. Let him go.
If he leaves today, I'll file for divorce tomorrow.
"I'm sure."
Vadim ground his teeth and looked at the suitcases with contempt.
"You won't regret it?"
I stayed silent, staring through him.
And you? Won't you regret it?!
I wanted to scream, but I held back. Nika was home.
"Well then, wait for the lawyers—"
"Dad, where are you going?" Nika ran into the hallway, blinking in confusion.
"I'll come in the morning, take you to school, Strawberry," he instantly changed, hugging her tightly. "I love you, baby. Very much," he kissed the top of her head and stood up, adding more quietly: "You're crazy, Malvina. Completely insane."
I stood there, mouth open, watching his back as he left.
I never thought my husband would leave me like that—with unshakable confidence in his own importance and absolutely no fear of never walking through this door again.
Now I knew exactly how life falls apart: when your beloved husband—the one and only, the one you married in church—becomes your ex. A stranger…
So that other woman must hold him tightly. Maybe he even loves her. You don't leave this confidently over just a "little infatuation."
Which means… he doesn't love me?
I covered my mouth with my fist, swallowing my sobs.
"Mom, where did Dad go?" I snapped out of it, quickly wiping my tears and forcing on a carefree smile.
"On a business trip, right?" Nika guessed, looking at me uncertainly.
Children feel adults' moods. And inside me grew the realization that my happiness as a woman had come to an end—and with it, the pain.
I suppressed it and looked my daughter in the eyes.
I must not cry. I must not speak badly about Vadim. He is still her father.
I'm not a saint, not an angel. I was choking on resentment, I wanted to tell Nika what a bastard her beloved dad was. I wanted her on my side. I wanted her to judge him.
But I couldn't.
Resentment fades with time. Acceptance comes. But for a fragile child, that pain could last much longer.
"Nika," I crouched down to her level so I wouldn't look down at her, "your dad and I decided to live separately."
"Why?" she asked, confused.
"It happens, sweetheart. Sometimes it's harder for people to be together than apart."
No—it's easier for him. For me, it's unbearable. My heart hurts for real right now. But I will never say that out loud.
"You're going to get divorced, right?" she asked seriously. Too smart for her age. How do you understand everything so quickly… "Alena Matskevich from my class—her parents got divorced. She said her dad left for some silicone bitch."
"Nika!" I flinched. Those were her mother's words. You can't say things like that.
No matter how much I suffered or was angry, I couldn't let my child share my resentment.
Vadim turned out to be an unfaithful husband—but he was a good father, and he loved Veronika.
"This is a decision your dad and I made together. He's not abandoning anyone." I was lying—I thought very differently. It was his fault. Only his. "And your dad loves you and always will," I said calmly, even as tears streamed down my cheeks.
I hugged my daughter tighter, pressed her to me, biting my lip so she wouldn't see or hear my sobs.
"I love you, my girl. So much."
She was all that remained of my great love. Sweet, intense, passionate… and bitter.
It had turned to dust.
So there is no eternal love.
It doesn't exist…