Victoria watched as her mother’s hand trembled while setting the table for their usual Sunday lunch. It had become a tradition to gather once a week, though forcing a smile at these meals was becoming harder. Her stepfather had a way of turning every moment into a silent battle, and today was no different.
He adjusted his tie with an exaggerated motion, smirking. “Pass the salt, dear. You know, that white thing that costs less than your morning coffee.”
Victoria handed him the salt shaker, watching as he took it between his fingertips, as if afraid to dirty his hands. Three years ago, he had seemed like the perfect husband for her mother—polished, successful, always smiling. Who would have thought that smile hid the soul of a petty tyrant?
“Mom, the salad is wonderful,” Victoria said, trying to ease the tension.
“At least your mother knows how to cook,” Andrei scoffed. “Not like some career women who only know how to run around offices.”
Olga tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, revealing a faint yellowish mark on her wrist. Victoria’s stomach twisted.
After lunch, she helped her mother with the dishes while Andrei lounged in the living room, watching football. The sound of the match couldn’t drown out their whispered conversation.
“Mom, what’s going on?” Victoria nodded toward her mother’s wrist.
“Nothing, dear. Just bumped it on the cupboard.” Olga scrubbed a perfectly clean plate too hard, avoiding her daughter’s gaze.
“On a cupboard shaped like fingers?”
“Vika, please…”
Footsteps made them fall silent. Andrei leaned against the kitchen doorway, watching them.
“What are you two whispering about?”
“Work,” Olga answered quickly.
“Ah, yes. Our little Victoria is a big boss now. What’s it like up there in the clouds? Isn’t the air too thin?”
Victoria clenched her jaw, swallowing her anger. She simply smiled.
“It’s fine. By the way, how’s your project at the company?”
His expression flickered.
“None of your business.”
“We’re family, aren’t we? Just curious.”
Andrei took a step closer. Olga instinctively stepped back.
“Listen carefully,” he said, lowering his voice. “Just because you pretend to be some high-flying businesswoman doesn’t mean you can meddle in my affairs. In this house,” he gestured around, “I’m in charge. And you’d do well to remember that.”
He turned and walked away, leaving a heavy silence behind him. Olga quietly sobbed.
“Mom,” Victoria hugged her shoulders. “This can’t go on.”
“He’s just tired. Work, stress…”
“No, Mom. It’s not stress.” She looked out the window, watching the sun sink behind the trees. A plan started forming in her mind. “Things are going to change. I promise.”
She wasn’t sure how yet, but she knew an opportunity would come. She just had to wait. In the meantime, she would keep smiling, keep enduring, all while holding onto a quiet, simmering rage.
Victoria adjusted the cuffs of her blouse as she stepped into her new office. The scent of fresh paint mixed with the air of ambition. She ran her fingers along the smooth surface of the desk—*her* desk. A folder sat before her, listing the employees in her department. Her heart pounded when she saw his name.
Andrei Stepanovich Kotov. Senior project manager.
Her subordinate.
She remembered his words—*I’m in charge here.*
Well, times had changed.
The company meeting buzzed with anticipation. The news of a management change had spread quickly, but few knew the details. Victoria intentionally arrived a few minutes late, letting them sweat.
“There’s our new boss,” someone whispered.
She scanned the room, meeting a mix of curiosity, apprehension, and thinly veiled hope. Then she saw him. Andrei sat in the corner, pale, frozen, his shock barely concealed.
“Good morning,” Victoria said smoothly. “No need for introductions. Most of you know me.”
She flicked on the projector, launching into figures, growth strategies, and restructuring plans. From the corner of her eye, she saw Andrei fidgeting in his seat, his discomfort growing.
“Finally,” she said, highlighting a troubled project in red. “The ‘Fortuna’ project is significantly behind schedule. This is yours, correct, Andrei Stepanovich?”
His face turned blotchy.
“Yes, but—”
“I expect a full report explaining the delay. On my desk. By nine tomorrow morning.”
“That’s impossible! A full analysis—”
“By nine,” she repeated. “Unless, of course, it’s beyond your abilities?”
A quiet chuckle rippled through the room. Those he had once humiliated now watched with barely hidden satisfaction.
After the meeting, he stormed into her office without knocking.
“You set this up on purpose,” he spat.
Victoria didn’t look up from her papers.
“Learn to knock, Andrei Stepanovich. It’s basic corporate etiquette.”
“You think you can control me?”
She finally met his glare, calm and unyielding.
“I already do.”
“I won’t work under you.”
“You’re free to resign.” She opened a drawer, pulling out a resignation form. “I even have a template ready.”
His jaw clenched. They both knew jobs weren’t easy to come by. Not for someone like him.
He seethed but said nothing.
“And don’t forget,” she added. “The report is due in the morning.”
He turned and slammed the door behind him. Victoria leaned back in her chair and let herself smile.
The next few weeks became a carefully played game of chess. She demanded punctuality, and suddenly Andrei’s habitual lateness became a disciplinary issue. His extended smoke breaks were noted in his file. The ‘Fortuna’ project? It required long hours. Unpaid, of course. He had brought it to near collapse—he could fix it.
One evening, a young HR employee hesitated at her desk.
“Victoria, is it true you know Andrei Stepanovich outside of work?”
“Why do you ask?”
“He’s… changed. He used to be arrogant. Now he’s quiet. Almost polite.”
Victoria smiled.
“People change when their priorities shift.”
That evening, she passed the break room and overheard his voice.
“Yes, I’ll be late again… No, that witch piled more work on me… What do you mean it’s my fault?!”
She continued walking, knowing that at home, his wife would greet him with cold silence.
Driving home, she caught her reflection in the mirror. The steel in her eyes. The slight smirk on her lips. The firmness in her expression. For a fleeting moment, she saw a hint of Andrei in herself.
She shook her head. No. She was different. She had a reason. And until her mother was free of him, she would stay the course.
The message from HR arrived late that night.
“Employee evaluations tomorrow. Andrei Stepanovich is first.”
Victoria smiled. The game was nearing its end.
Two months of slow humiliation had worn him down. She saw it in his shaking hands, the dark circles under his eyes, the stench of alcohol barely masked by gum. She had expected a long fall. She hadn’t expected it to come so suddenly.
Her mother’s call came as she stepped into the elevator.
“Vika… he’s lost it…”
“What happened?”
“He came home drunk… smashed the pictures… said it’s all your fault…”
A scream.
Victoria never drove so fast in her life.
The door was ajar.
Andrei stood in the living room, ranting, his words slurring into nonsense. Broken glass covered the floor. Olga sat curled in the corner, a fresh bruise on her cheek.
Victoria stepped forward.
“Leave,” she said.
He laughed.
She lifted her phone. “I have an email drafted to twenty major companies. Detailing your professional failures.”
His laugh died.
“If I add ‘domestic abuse’ with photos, what do you think happens then?”
He lunged but tripped over a coffee table.
“You have five minutes to pack.”
His shoulders slumped. He turned to Olga.
“Dear…”
She didn’t look at him.
“Leave,” she whispered.
The next morning, they drank coffee in peace. Olga smiled.
“You’ve changed, daughter.”
“I know.”
And as Victoria watched the first spring flowers bloom, she knew it had all been worth it.