Pavel Lavrentiev sat in his office and looked at his phone screen, where a notification from yet another microcredit service was displayed: “Reminder of the need to repay the debt.” The amount due was 127,000. Overdue by 14 days.
He looked at the screen, cursed, and exhaled heavily. Four such notifications in the last hour. The total debt had exceeded half a million, and that was not counting the bets he had placed last night, hoping to win it back.
He lost another 80,000. Kira knew nothing. His wife, the successful owner of a chain of care homes for the elderly, did not even suspect the abyss into which he had slid over the past six months.
Pavel had learned to hide the truth masterfully. A separate bank card for betting, a secret phone for correspondence with debt collectors, lie after lie about business meetings and trips. Kira trusted him unconditionally, and he used that trust as a shield.
But something else weighed on him most of all. Olga. A twenty-two-year-old girl with huge brown eyes and a childlike faith in his promises.
They met three months ago at a shopping center where she worked as a sales assistant in a clothing boutique. Pavel had gone there by chance, buying a gift for Kira for their wedding anniversary. Olga smiled at him so openly, so sincerely, that he lost his head.
A week later they were meeting secretly, and two weeks later she confessed that she was in love. Pavel promised her everything: an apartment in the city center, her own business.
She dreamed of a coffee shop with a vintage interior. And, of course, a life together.
“As soon as I resolve the issue with my wife,” he said, hugging her by the shoulders.
Olga believed every word. She didn’t know that Kira was rich, that she had a thriving business and impressive capital. She didn’t know that Pavel had married Kira precisely for this—for the money, the status, the opportunity to live without working.
He chose her seven years ago when he himself was broke after the failure of his own startup. Kira accepted him as he was, helped him get back on his feet, gave him everything. And he responded with betrayal.
But now betrayal was not enough. Pavel needed more. He needed money, and urgently.
Debt collectors started calling not only him but also his work number, which they had somehow obtained. A little longer, and Kira would find out. And divorce? Divorce meant ruin.
According to the prenuptial agreement, which her lawyer insisted on signing before the wedding, Pavel would get nothing. Absolutely nothing. All the business, real estate, accounts—everything was registered to Kira before their marriage.
She was not going to share. And Pavel knew this from the very beginning. But he also knew something else.
Two weeks ago, while sorting through documents in the home safe, he came across Kira’s will. She had drawn it up a year ago, after the death of her mother, apparently pondering her own mortality. Pavel read it furtively while his wife was at work.
And he froze. The sole heir to all property in the event of her death was him, Pavel Lavrentiev. No relatives, no charitable organizations.
Only him. The idea came by itself, dark and cold as the night wind. If Kira died, he would get everything.
The debts would disappear in a day. Olga would get her apartment and coffee shop. He would be free.
A new life—without the past, without mistakes, without the fear of being exposed. Pavel spent a week researching. The internet is full of information if you know where to look.
He read about poisons, symptoms of poisoning, and how different substances act. He needed something fast, but not instantaneous. Something that could be written off as a heart attack or anaphylactic shock.
In the end, he settled on a preparation that could be bought through a veterinarian acquaintance under the pretext of a rodenticide for a country house. Colorless, almost tasteless, dissolves in liquid. Acts within an hour, causing a gradual deterioration that looks like an acute allergy or food poisoning.
Tonight, he decided. Pavel invited Kira to a restaurant, her favorite place on the embankment where they celebrated important dates. She was delighted with the invitation.
In recent months, they saw each other rarely; both were busy with work. Kira put on an elegant plum-colored dress, put her hair up in a high hairstyle, and smiled at him the way she used to smile at the very beginning of their relationship.
“You look amazing,” Pavel said, helping her into the car.
“Thank you, darling,” Kira touched his hand. “I’m glad we finally found time for each other.”
The restaurant was striking in its luxury. Crystal chandeliers of Venetian workmanship scattered soft glints across the ivory marble floor, and massive columns with gilding supported high vaults painted in the Empire style. Tables were covered with snow-white linen tablecloths, on which cutlery made of real silver with engraving sparkled…
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