The doorman in the corner, dressed in a burgundy livery, gave Daria a long, assessing look. His gaze lingered for a moment on her shoes—simple black pumps.
No gold buckles, no recognizable red soles that the women in her husband’s family adored as a badge of status.
Daria adjusted the collar of her dark blue dress and stepped into the spacious lobby of the “Izumrudny” country complex. The air smelled of furniture polish and fresh lilies—large white blooms arranged in tall floor vases, as if trying too hard to prove the place’s luxury.
Roman walked half a step ahead of her. A heavy woody cologne surrounded him, almost suffocating. He always poured far too much on himself before family gatherings. Now he nervously tugged at his jacket, as if that could settle him.
— Dasha, I’m asking you—please, —he turned abruptly, nearly stepping on her foot. —Just smile today. My father is turning sixty-five, important people are coming—partners, officials.
Don’t sit there with your usual sour face. And for God’s sake, don’t start talking about your warehouses and paperwork.— I manage a procurement department, Roma. That’s a normal job.
— That’s digging through vegetables, —he waved it off. —Just say you take care of the house. It’ll make my mother feel better.Daria didn’t argue. There was no point anymore.
They were intercepted at the double oak doors by Izolda Eduardovna. She looked almost statuesque—emerald suit shimmering under the lights, a heavy necklace resting on her collarbones.
— Romochka, my dear! —she kissed her son on both cheeks, leaving traces of peach lipstick. Then her eyes shifted to Daria. The smile vanished instantly. —I see you didn’t bother much with your outfit. Didn’t you wear this dress for Easter too?
— Good evening, Izolda Eduardovna. It’s a classic.— Of course… —she sneered slightly. —Convenient to save money. Go on, sit down. I had seats arranged for you on the left side. There’s a draft from the air conditioner, but you should be used to that.
The seats turned out to be right near the kitchen doors. Waiters constantly rushed past with heavy trays, and the air was thick with spices and fish broth.
Roman sat down and immediately buried himself in his phone.
The banquet quickly grew loud—laughter, clinking glasses, overlapping conversations. Daria glanced at the appetizers. The sturgeon was cut too thick, the edges already drying out. She noted it automatically. A professional habit.
Her phone buzzed. A supplier had delayed a shipment. She quickly typed a reply, rerouting the driver.— Playing with your toys again? —Roman nudged her. —Stand up, Mom’s making a toast.
Daria rose.Izolda Eduardovna stood at the head of the table, holding a crystal glass filled with deep red wine.
— My dear husband, —she began loudly. —We have built so much together. Our family has always known how to choose worthy people.
Then her voice sharpened.— Though sometimes… mistakes happen. Sometimes people enter a respectable home who simply don’t belong there…
The room fell silent.— Who are you talking about? —Daria asked calmly.— About you, dear, —Izolda replied, stepping closer. —For five years my son has carried you on his shoulders. And you? You’re still just a warehouse girl.
Roman shifted but said nothing.— Do you know why I seated you near the kitchen? —Izolda continued, now standing right in front of her. —Because that’s where you belong. Among the staff.
The movement was quick. The wine splashed across Daria’s dress.Cold liquid soaked the fabric instantly, spreading across her lap.Someone gasped. A few people laughed.
— Your place is in a barn, you ragged thing, —Izolda said with a smirk. —You can wash that out with cheap soap.Daria lowered her eyes. The fabric clung to her skin, the smell of alcohol sharp and unpleasant.
Memories flashed through her mind. The freezing rented room. Night shifts at the warehouse. Studying until dawn. The first contract. The first success.
Roman held out a crumpled napkin.— Go to the restroom… clean yourself up…Daria didn’t take it.At that moment, a man stepped onto the small stage and tapped the microphone.— Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention…Izolda waved dismissively.
— We didn’t order any entertainment.— I know, —the man said calmly. —This is an official announcement. The complex has changed ownership today. The new owner is here among the guests.
A pause.— Daria Mikhailovna, please.Roman dropped his fork.Daria slowly stood up. She didn’t try to hide the stain. She walked toward the stage, her steps echoing in the silence.
She took the microphone.— Good evening. Yes… that would be me.Dozens of stunned faces stared back at her.— The previous owners accumulated significant debts. The main creditor… was my logistics company.
Roman jumped to his feet.— Your company? What company?!— The one I run as CEO, Roma. You never even asked.The silence deepened.
— A month ago, we initiated bankruptcy proceedings. Today, we acquired this entire complex. From the kitchen you seated me near… to this stage.
Izolda’s face went pale.— Dasha… my dear… it was just a joke… You know my humor…— Family doesn’t humiliate each other, —Daria said evenly.
She handed the microphone back and stepped down.Roman grabbed her arm.— Let’s go home. We’ll talk, we’ll figure this out—— There’s nothing to figure out, —she said quietly, pulling her arm free.
—My lawyer will file for divorce on Monday.— Divorce? Over something stupid?!— Over five years of indifference.She picked up her bag.Then turned to Izolda.— I’ve paid for the banquet. Consider it a gift. You seem to enjoy living at someone else’s expense.
She walked toward the exit. The doors opened for her.Outside, the air was fresh after the rain. No perfume, no lacquer—just clean, cool night air.
She took out her phone and dialed.— Pavel, it’s me. Cancel the detour, I’ll handle it. And prepare the staffing plan for tomorrow. We’re restructuring. Start with the chef—he overcooks the fish.
She walked to her car parked at the front of the VIP lot.For the first time in a long while, she knew exactly where she belonged.
