Chapter Text
USSR, Emergency Hospital, Ryazan, 2072
After three weeks of treatment and examinations, the girl was discharged. It was sad to say goodbye to the doctor with whom she had bonded during her stay in the hospital.
The sunny weather could have lifted her spirits, if only briefly, if not for the events that had landed Valeria here in the first place. After what her husband had done to her, she was firmly intent on filing for divorce and involving not just her god-grandfather as an ally in the case.
Outside, a black jeep awaited her with a trusted driver. Exiting the hospital grounds through a gate in the wrought-iron fence, she waited for the chauffeur to open the door and took her seat. He closed the door, returned to the wheel, started the car, and pulled out of the parking spot.
— Pyotr Viktorovich asked me to take you to him first, — the young man informed her.
— May I ask why? — Lera inquired, not understanding why her plans had changed.
— He said he has news that won't please you, but it will serve as evidence for the court, — he relayed the reason given to him by the "big shot."
The girl fell silent, staring out the window. They drove in complete silence, without conversation or music. Only after about twenty minutes did the driver break the silence, spotting a diner in the distance.
— Would you like a bite to eat, Valeria? — he clarified, planning to stop after the traffic light.
— No, thank you, — Lera waved off the offer. — Food is the last thing on my mind right now.
— You always used to ask to stop at the first food stand we saw, — he expressed his surprise but didn't insist. — But I understand.
Driving past the diner on a green light, he continued the journey all the way to the outskirts.
Novy Posad, 15:36
— How is she? — Pyotr Viktorovich asked into the receiver. — In a bad mood? Uh-huh… I see. Sooner or later she had to find out. I'm waiting for her.
He hung up and walked to the window. From there, he could see his courtyard, where the black jeep was just pulling in. The car disappeared into a large garage, and a moment later, the driver emerged first, followed by his godson's daughter. Both headed for the entrance. Pyotr Viktorovich's face showed concern for the girl, fear of the irreversible, and anger towards her husband.
— Margo, — he turned and addressed his secretary, — make us some tea, please.
— Yes, Pyotr Viktorovich.
The woman silently left to carry out the order.
The man sat down at the table and checked if the materials sent by Lera's friend had finished downloading. Fortunately, everything was ready. He opened the video files, verified they were in order, and abruptly looked up at the door from which a knock had come.
— Come in! — The faint creak of the door and familiar footsteps made Pyotr Viktorovich look up. — Right on time, youngsters, — he said warmly, greeting the girl and his driver.
They politely returned the greeting.
— Gosha, leave us alone," the man requested.
Egor, obeying, left the office. Pyotr Viktorovich gestured for Lera to sit at the table. She complied, anxiously awaiting the details.
— Lerochka, remember, I'm always ready to help you, — he began softly. — But first, answer one question honestly, alright?
The girl looked at him attentively, waiting for him to continue.
— Do you want to go back to Matvei after all this?
— After what he did, I want a divorce, — Lera admitted firmly. — But I know he'll never agree, so I need your help, Uncle Petya. I'm ready to work it all off, — she stood up, leaning her hands on the table. — Thank God, I have a corpo education. Give me a little time, I'll get a job and repay the debt.
— Lera, dear, — the man said soothingly, gesturing for her to sit back down. — I promised to help your grandfather and his family without expecting anything in return, and do you know why?
Lera raised an eyebrow questioningly.
— Because Gennadich once saved my life from certain death.
— Could you tell me more?
— Listen. When we were young...
By the time the knock came at the door, with the man's permission, the secretary entered the study carrying a tray. On it stood a glass teapot with freshly brewed taiga tea and two glass cups.
Once the tray was placed on the desk, Pyotr Viktorovich thanked the woman before she withdrew from the office.
Before continuing his monologue, he pours tea into the two cups and places one in front of Valeria.
— So, where were we... Ahem! When we were young, my buddies and I got into a serious shootout with some ghouls. I was badly wounded and already thought it was the end when your grandfather suddenly pulled up in a Moskvich and yanked me out of that hell. I recognized him immediately as an old classmate.
— From the same lyceum I attended?
— Exactly, — the man nodded. — I've been in his lifelong debt ever since. I want you to know the truth, in case you change your mind. You don't need to compensate me for anything.
Lera nodded silently, and they returned to the main topic.
— What evidence have you gathered? — the girl asked, bracing herself internally for the worst.
Pyotr Viktorovich silently pulled a laptop closer, started a video, and turned the screen towards Lera.
The recording showed her husband preparing a romantic dinner. At first, she didn't understand what was wrong until she saw the date—the very day she was in the hospital. Everything became crystal clear when another woman entered the apartment.
Not just some random acquaintance, but her former classmate. Lera's heart clenched at the seemingly harmless kiss on the screen.
Over dinner, they made plans for the future, discussing a trip to the Crystal Palace.
— Babe, so why won't you divorce her?
This bitch knew full well her lover had a wife, but it didn't stop her.
— It's not that simple. No matter who files for divorce first, her granddad will kick me out of the company and bury my entire career.
They talked about Valeria with contempt the whole time. Matvei speculated about what he would do once her grandfather died and he took over the leadership position. This thought made the girl shake with rage.
— How could he…? — she whispered, but the dialogue on the screen grew more explicit.
They kissed again, pressing close. Then, the proactive cheater led his mistress to the bedroom. When they started undressing each other on screen, Lera felt physically sick.
— Please turn it off…
Pyotr immediately closed the video and moved the laptop away. She felt sick not only from what was on the screen. It was agonizing to realize how vile and cruel the man she called her husband truly was.
— How could he… — unable to hold back tears, the girl burst into sobs, covering her face with her hands.
Pyotr stood up sharply and, kneeling on one knee beside her, tried to comfort her.
— Margo! — he shouted into the intercom. — Water, quickly!
The sound of footsteps answered. While the secretary carried out the order, Pyotr Viktorovich stroked Lera's back, understanding how deeply the betrayal had wounded her. Margot entered promptly with water and handed the glass to the girl. With a trembling hand, she took it and took a few sips, trying to wash down the grief.
Gradually, the sobs subsided. Lera straightened up and raised her head.
— I want to punish him… — she whispered in a low, strange voice. — I want Matvei to feel the same thing I did.
— Tell me, what did you feel? — Pyotr asked before getting down to business.
— He turned everyone against me. Even my father, grandmother, and grandfather, — her eyes darted around, avoiding her interlocutor's gaze, and her voice held bitter regret. — Because of that, I had no one to talk to, nowhere to run… And this was after I forgave him and married him.
At that moment, he began to consider all possible options for punishing this scoundrel thoroughly. The pieces of the puzzle began falling into place in his mind. After calming the girl, he returned to his seat and stared at a single point.
First, Matvei raised his hand to Valeria, and she left the next day. Then he spent a month begging for forgiveness, realizing he could lose everything. Lera only forgave him after he took her to her favorite karaoke bar and gave her an engagement ring. After the wedding, everything returned to normal: he started beating her again for any reason, convincing her she deserved it. He skillfully made her believe her friends and relatives were a bad influence, leading to fights and complete isolation. The final straw was the beating when she was pregnant. He beat her so brutally that she lost consciousness and the child. It was a devastating blow for the would-be mother and the end of her patience.
But on top of jealousy, beatings, and isolation—he had the audacity to cheat on her even before sending her to the hospital.
The puzzle was finally complete.
Fortunately, thanks to his connections, Pyotr Viktorovich was able to save his best friend's granddaughter, and now that friend had a compelling reason not just to fire Matvei, but to destroy him. After all, in court, there would be not only evidence of spousal abuse but also proof of infidelity.
All that remained was to discuss the details so the punishment would work and all the laws would be against this scoundrel. But it had to be considered that Matvei would likely want revenge on Lera if he found out she had orchestrated it all.
— Uncle Petya, — Lera interrupted his thoughts. — After everything that happened, I just want to take off and disappear.
He nodded, supplementing the punishment plan with the possibility of her escape. But the girl added: — I want him not only to feel the same loneliness… but to suffer from the thought that he destroyed me.
Pyotr Viktorovich understood: Matvei wouldn't grant a divorce easily; he would beg the judge for time. So, it was necessary not only to punish him but also to help Lera disappear from his life without a trace. Then an idea was born in his head—to stage her death as a diversionary maneuver.
— I will definitely see what can be done. I still need to discuss this with your grandfather and father, — noticing her frightened and guilty look, he reassured her. — It's alright, they don't hold a grudge against you. Radik figured out long ago that you weren't defending that bastard with all your heart.
At that moment, Lera felt the heavy burden of guilt not only before her grandmother and grandfather but also before her father. She wanted to apologize and explain everything, but she was interrupted.
— You'll have time to explain later. Right now, the main thing is to decide where to place you, — leaning his elbows on the table and folding his palms, he gave an encouraging smile. — I promise, he'll forget about you like a bad dream.
The sudden sound of a notification on Lera's phone made Pyotr remember another important piece of evidence.
— Now Margo and I will need access to your phone, — seeing the question in her eyes, he hurried to reassure her. — Don't worry, I'm only interested in the correspondence with Matvei.
Lera silently placed her phone in front of him.
— Margo, — he addressed the secretary standing aside. — Be a dear, provide us with remote access to Lera's phone.
— Yes, Pyotr Viktorovich.
The woman took the phone and laptop, sat down at a separate desk, and quickly installed a program for remote access, connecting to the device from the computer. This would allow them to monitor all messages from the abuser in real time.
Returning the phone, Pyotr ordered Margot to take Lera to another room. She complied and soon returned.
— Listen, — the man began explaining the plan. — I'll call Gena and Radik here, they'll come tonight. Meanwhile, you start a correspondence with this bastard. For that, I'll hire a couple of specialists. For now, go ask Lera if she wants to eat. If so, let Lyudmila Vasilyevna know.
The woman nodded and left. Pyotr Viktorovich picked up his cell phone and dialed his best friend's number. The answer came almost immediately.
— Hello, Gennadich. Listen, come tonight, it's urgent. And bring Radik with you. … Alright, I'll be waiting.
***
Transfiguration Church of the Savior on the Yar, 12:13
Inside, a deathly silence reigned. Everyone had gathered for the funeral—both close and distant relatives, and Valeria's friends. No one, except three men, knew that all this was merely a diversionary maneuver.
The secretary, who remained connected, was broadcasting the proceedings, glancing surreptitiously at the gestures of her boss standing opposite.
An elderly, bearded priest entered the hall where mourners had gathered around the coffin, carrying everything necessary for the funeral service. Standing before those assembled, he prepared to speak.
— For those who are not yet acquainted with me: my name is Svyatoslav. In recent years, I have had the honor of serving as the spiritual mentor of Ashikhmina Valeria Radislavovna, and I would like to say a few words in her memory.
Having introduced himself, he began a short speech without looking at any notes, speaking from the heart.
— She dreamed of singing for the whole country, and perhaps for the whole world, but that dream was not destined to come true. She was no angel, but she was a strong, fair girl. She knew the value of friendship but never learned what true love was, which is why her life was cut short so early. — Feeling his own pain echoing in his heart, he barely restrained the desire to curse the one who had treated his relative so cruelly but remembered where he was. — Whoever did this will face God's punishment. Rest in peace, my child.
When the priest gave those gathered the final opportunity to say goodbye, the silence was shattered by a loud cry from the street. Everyone, including the secretary with the camera, turned around.
— Let me through to my wife! — Matvei screamed at the top of his lungs, trying to break through the cordon of bodyguards. — I want to say goodbye to her! It's my fault!
— Go on your way! — one of the guards cut him off rudely, shoving him away.
A murmur ran through the hall. Curses aimed at the husband-murderer were heard, demands for him to get lost. He was not welcome now and would never be forgiven.
All of this was seen via the broadcast by the real, living Valeria, sitting in a car with tinted windows. She watched as her ex-husband acted out his spectacle of grief and felt only icy contempt and emptiness.
— What a hypocrite you are. — she uttered coldly and emotionlessly.