Nadezhda waited in silence. The hotel room was too perfect. Beige walls. Gold accents. Sterile luxury. Like the life she had once dreamed of. Now she sat on the edge of a velvet armchair, fidgeting with her trembling fingers.
Every second felt like an eternity. She almost ran away when the door clicked open. Evgenia.
She came in. No security. No lawyer. Just her.
Calm. Restrained. Frightening.
She gently closed the door behind her. The click sounded louder than Nadezhda’s heartbeat. Neither woman spoke.
Nadezhda stood up. Too quickly. Her voice trembled.
‘I… I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’
Evgenia raised one hand. Nadezhda fell silent.
Evgenia crossed the room with careful, deliberate steps. She did not sit down. She stood opposite Nadezhda. Her gaze was steady.
‘I know why you called me here.’
Nadezhda swallowed. ‘I need to know… was it all a lie?’
Evgenia tilted her head slightly. ‘You want me to tell you the truth about Victor?’
Nadezhda nodded.
Evgenia’s voice was quiet. Too quiet. ‘Okay.’
She didn’t pace the room. She didn’t lecture. She told a story.
“I met him when I was the same age as you. 24. He said I was different. Special. The only one who could see the person behind the empire.”
Nadezhda’s lips parted slightly. Horror crept in.
Evgenia’s tone did not change. ‘He told me that his exes didn’t understand him. That he felt trapped. That I was his freedom.’
Nadezhda’s knees buckled slightly. She sat down without meaning to.
Evgenia continued. ‘When I got pregnant, he said it wasn’t the right time. He said it would ruin his future. I believed him.’
Her eyes flashed for a moment. Something damp flashed across them.
‘I spent my first pregnancy alone in the mansion, cut off from my accounts, with staff who were ordered not to talk to me unless necessary.’
Nadezhda’s throat tightened.
‘I thought you were the problem.’
‘I know,’ Evgenia said softly. Pause. ‘Do you know what Victor said when I asked him why he didn’t come to the hospital?’
Nadezhda shook her head, tears welling up.
Evgenia’s voice was pure steel. ‘He said, “They’ll survive without me.”’
Nadezhda’s tears flowed freely.
Evgenia leaned forward slightly. ‘And that’s when I realised something.’
Nadezhda looked up at her, broken.
Evgenia uttered the phrase with surgical precision. ‘You are not my enemy. You are the next version of me.’
The silence crushed Nadezhda. She began to sob uncontrollably. Shame and grief overwhelmed her at once. She shook her head, gasping for breath. ‘I didn’t know… I didn’t know…’
Evgenia watched. Not cruelly. Not sympathetically. Just finished. ‘I believe you.’
For some reason, this hurt Nadezhda even more.
Evgenia finally sat down. Her posture was still impeccable. ‘You weren’t the first. And you won’t be the last.’
‘I loved him,’ Nadezhda’s voice cracked like glass.
‘Me too.’
Nadezhda covered her face with her hands. Evgenia allowed the silence to stretch out, giving Nadezhda the breakdown that Victor never allowed her.
Then Evgenia’s tone changed. Practical. Sharp.
‘You need to decide now.’
Nadezhda looked up, broken. ‘Decide what?’
Evgenia’s gaze was icy. ‘Are you going to continue begging for crumbs of his attention? Or are you going to disappear before he destroys what’s left of you?’
It wasn’t advice. It was a warning.
Evgenia stood up. Nadezhda whispered through her tears. ‘Why… did you come?’
Evgenia’s expression finally cracked. Something maternal flashed across her face.
‘I came so that you wouldn’t repeat my mistake.’
She walked to the door. Her hand on the handle. She hesitated. Then, without turning around, Evgenia said quietly. ‘When he calls you, and he will call, don’t answer.’
The door opened. Evgenia paused. Then she said the last words Nadezhda would ever hear from her. ‘He only calls when he needs to win.’
And she left.
Nadezhda sat alone. Weeping in the luxurious hotel room she no longer believed in. Mourning a future that never existed.
But somewhere deep inside, a new thought began to form. Escape.
And perhaps revenge.
Victor Morozov sat at his glass desk. Skyscrapers were reflected in the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him. The city pulsed with light. But his office was quiet. Military headquarters.
Papers lay on the table. Financial forecasts. Public opinion reports. Crisis management strategies. None of them mentioned his children.
His assistant stood nervously opposite him, clutching a digital tablet.
‘Sir, three major shareholders left this morning. The board of directors is nervous.’
Victor did not look up. ‘They’ll be back.’
The assistant hesitated. ‘Sir, Yevgenia’s interview is scheduled for next week.’
Victor’s jaw twitched once. Then he returned to the tables. ‘Cancel the press conference.’
‘But…’
‘I said cancel it.’
He didn’t explain. He didn’t need to. For Victor, words were now liabilities. Only numbers mattered. And the numbers were bleeding.