The bedroom mirror reflected a familiar scene: I was adjusting the pleats of a modest gray dress I’d bought three years ago in an ordinary store. Dmitry was nearby, adjusting the cufflinks on his snow-white shirt—Italian, as he never tired of emphasizing at every opportunity.

“Are you ready?” he asked, without looking at me, while busily wiping the nonexistent dust off his suit.

“Yes, we can go,” I replied, checking one last time that my hair was neatly combed.

Finally, he turned to me, and I saw the familiar expression of mild disappointment in his eyes. Dmitry looked me up and down in silence, lingering on the dress.

“Don’t you have anything more decent?” he asked in a tone tinged with his usual condescension.

I heard those words before every corporate event. Each time, they stung like a pinprick; not fatal, but unpleasant. I learned not to show how much they hurt. I learned to smile and shrug.

“This dress fits me perfectly,” I said calmly.

Dmitry sighed as if I’d disappointed him again.

Fine, let’s go. Just try not to draw too much attention to yourself, okay?

We got married five years ago, when I had just finished my economics degree and he was working as a junior manager in a trading company. Back then, he seemed like an ambitious, determined young man with a bright future. I liked the way he talked about his plans, the confidence with which he looked to the future

Over the years, Dmitry rose considerably in his career. He was now a senior sales manager, serving important clients. He spent the money he earned on his appearance: expensive suits, Swiss watches, a new car every two years. “Image is everything,” he used to say. “People need to see you successful, or they won’t hire you.”

I worked as an economist at a small consulting firm, earning a modest salary and trying not to burden the family budget with unnecessary expenses. When Dmitry took me to corporate events, I always felt out of place. He introduced me to my colleagues with a light irony: “Here’s my little gray mouse for a walk.” Everyone laughed, and I smiled, pretending to find it funny too.

Little by little, I began to notice how my husband had changed. Success had gone to his head. He began to look down on not only me but also on his bosses. “I sell this junk made by our Chinese,” he said at home, sipping expensive whiskey. “The important thing is to present it well, and they’ll buy anything.”

Sometimes he hinted at other sources of income. “Customers appreciate good service,” he winked. “And they’re willing to pay more for it. Personally, I understand, don’t I?”

I understood but preferred not to go into details.

Everything changed three months ago when a notary called me.

Anna Sergeevna? It’s about the inheritance from your father, Sergei Mikhailovich Volkov.

My heart sank. My father abandoned the family when I was seven. Mom never told me what had happened to him. I only knew he was working somewhere, living his own life, where there was no room for a daughter.

“Your father passed away a month ago,” the notary continued. “According to the will, you are the sole heir to all his assets.”

What I discovered at the notary’s office completely changed my world. It turned out my father wasn’t just a successful businessman, but had built an entire empire. An apartment in the center of Moscow, a country house, cars, but most importantly: an investment fund with 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 it was real. I just told my husband I’d changed jobs; I was now working in the investment sector. He reacted with indifference, only muttering something about hoping my salary wouldn’t go down.

I began to study the fund’s business. My economics background helped a lot, but more importantly, I felt a genuine interest. For the first time in my life, I felt like I was doing something important, something meaningful.

I was particularly interested in TradeInvest. I requested a meeting with the CEO, Mikhail Petrovich Kuznetsov.

“Anna Sergeevna,” he said when we were alone in his office, “I must be honest: the company’s situation isn’t very good. The sales department in particular is struggling.”

“Tell me more.”

We have an employee, Dmitry Andreev. Formally, he serves important clients; the turnover is high, but the profit is practically zero. In addition, many deals are unprofitable. There are suspicions of violations, but there is not yet sufficient evidence.

I requested an internal investigation, without revealing the true reasons for my interest in this particular employee.

The results of the investigation arrived a month later. Dmitry was indeed embezzling company funds, agreeing to “personal bonuses” with his clients in exchange for lower prices. The sum was considerable.

By then, I had already renewed my wardrobe. But, true to myself, I chose understated clothes, only now from the world’s best designers. Dmitry didn’t notice the difference. To him, anything that didn’t stand out because of its price was still a “little gray mouse.”

Last night he announced that they would be hosting an important corporate event tomorrow.

“A presentation dinner for senior management and key employees,” he informed me in an important tone. “The entire company management will be present.”

“I see,” I replied. “What time should I be ready?”

Dmitry looked at me in surprise.

“I won’t take you there; there will be decent people, not of your standing,” he declared, unaware that I was the owner of the company where I worked. “You understand, this is a serious matter. There will be people who decide my fate in the company. I can’t afford to look… well, you know.”

“Not exactly.”

“Anyechka,” he tried to soften his tone, “you’re a wonderful wife, but you lower my social status. Next to you, I look poorer than I am. These people must see me as their equal.”

His words stung, but not as much as before. Now I knew my worth. And I knew his.

“Fine,” I said calmly. “Have fun.”

This morning, Dmitry left work in a very good mood. I put on a new Dior dress: dark blue, elegant, that flattered my figure but maintained a restrained style. I did my makeup and hair professionally. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a completely different person. Self-confident, beautiful, successful.

I knew the restaurant where the event was being held: one of the best in the city. Mikhail Petrovich greeted me at the entrance.

Anna Sergeevna, I’m glad to see you. You look wonderful.

Thank you. I hope today we can summarize the results and make plans for the future.

The room was packed with people in expensive suits and dresses. The atmosphere was formal but welcoming. I spoke with heads of other departments and met key employees. Many knew me as the new owner of the company, although this wasn’t yet public.

I noticed Dmitry as soon as he walked in. He was wearing his best suit, a new haircut, and seemed confident and important. He scanned the room, clearly assessing 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 approached me decisively.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed, coming closer. “I told you this isn’t for you!”

“Good night, Dima,” I replied calmly.

Get out of here immediately! You’re embarrassing me!” He spoke softly but fiercely. “And what charade is this? Using your rat rags again to humiliate me?”

Several people started looking at us. Dmitry noticed and tried to compose himself.

“Listen,” he said in a different tone, “don’t make a fuss. Go quietly and we’ll talk everything over at home.”

At that moment, Mikhail Petrovich approached us.

“Dmitry, I see you’ve already met Anna Sergeevna,” he said with a smile.

“Mikhail Petrovich,” Dmitri instantly switched to his obsequious tone, “I didn’t invite my wife. Honestly, it would be better if she went home. After all, this is a business event…”

“Dmitry,” Mikhail Petrovich looked at him in surprise, “but I invited Anna Sergeevna. And she’s not going anywhere. As the owner of the company, she must be present at this informational event.”

I watched as the information seeped into my husband’s mind. First confusion, then understanding, then horror. Gradually, he paled.

“Owner… of the company?” he asked barely audibly.

“Anna Sergeevna inherited the majority stake from her father,” Mikhail Petrovich explained. “She’s now our largest shareholder.”

Dmitry looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. I saw panic in his eyes. He understood that if I found out about his plans, his career would be over.