“She quit the factory and left, Robert,” Lana said, standing on the first step of the second floor where his apartment was.
His jaw clenched—but he said nothing. Then, quietly, he said goodbye and went back inside. He hadn’t asked where she went. Why should he? He’d been told not to look for her, which meant she wasn’t alone. She was with him. Let them both go to hell! That bitch!!!
He slammed his fist into the wall.
A month passed.
The bruises had begun to fade, slowly bringing Viktoriya’s beauty back. But she still spent most of her time lying down. She wore tight bandages, and Aunt Masha continued treating her with ointments and magical potions.
“Aunt Masha, I need a phone,” Viktoriya asked once.
She hadn’t seen any communication devices in the house—no phone, not even a TV. And no one ever visited. Only the sounds of nature and silence. The couple times she stepped outside, the woman quickly brought her back in, as if hiding her from people.
“What for, sweetheart?” Aunt Masha asked gently. “Who do you want to call? Your parents?”
“No…” Viktoriya answered sadly. Her birth mother had never once tried to contact her. Sometimes she’d send her money—but never a word of thanks. Just took it and left. She wanted to call her best friend. There was no one else.
“It’s better if no one knows you’re alive. At least until you recover,” the woman said softly, taking her hand.
Viktoriya looked into her eyes and understood. She hadn’t thought of the danger. Of course! That bastard and his dogs thought they had killed her. If they found out she’d survived…
“What am I going to do?” Viktoriya whispered, covering her mouth in horror.
The woman answered, “I know a good man who can help you. Once you’re back on your feet, we’ll ask him to come and talk.”
“Thank you,” Viktoriya said, squeezing her hand tightly.
Robert threw himself into work. Without holding back, he gave everything he had to the job—like it was his own company. In just a few weeks, he’d secured several new permanent clients, and the workers couldn’t keep up with orders. He earned twenty percent of the profits and set a goal for himself: rise out of the mess he’d been in after his divorce. Turned out, he’d married a very calculating woman. They had a prenuptial agreement: if either of them cheated, all assets—movable and immovable—would go to the other. And he had cheated. She found out and caught him red-handed. Whether it was a setup or not didn’t matter anymore. He packed his things and left. She had shattered a crystal glass against the door behind him. And now he was alone again.