In the center of each table stood compositions of fresh orchids in crystal vases. Soft jazz music flowed from invisible speakers, creating an atmosphere of intimacy and sophistication. A waiter in an impeccable black tailcoat brought them a salad with tiger prawns adorned with edible flower petals and dressed with cold-pressed truffle oil.
The prawns were large, almost transparent, with a delicate texture. Then the main course was served—marble beef fillet, medium rare, with a sauce of porcini mushrooms and red wine, which literally melted in the mouth, leaving an aftertaste of nuts and smoke. Next to it, on a separate plate, lay a dorado baked whole with sprigs of rosemary and thin slices of lemon on a bed of grilled vegetables: zucchini, eggplant, sweet peppers.
With the dishes, the sommelier suggested a 2015 French red wine from the Bordeaux region with a rich bouquet of black currant and vanilla. Every detail of the service, every movement of the staff spoke to the status of the establishment, where dinner for two could cost a month’s salary for an ordinary person. Pavel had chosen this place for a reason.
Here Kira felt relaxed, happy, unsuspecting. Pavel tried to act naturally, joked, talked about work, asked about her affairs. Kira talked about a new care home she planned to open in the suburbs, about how difficult it was to find qualified staff.
She was engrossed in the conversation, and Pavel waited for his moment. When Kira excused herself and went to the ladies’ room, he quickly took a small glass vial from the inner pocket of his jacket. His adrenaline was off the charts, but Pavel did not abandon his plan.
He looked around: the waiters were busy with other tables. Pavel poured the contents of the vial into Kira’s glass of red wine, gently swirled it so the liquid would mix, and put the empty container back in his pocket. He simply waited for his wife’s return, trying not to show his nervousness.
Kira returned a minute later, sat down, and raised her glass.
“To us, Pasha! To us always being together!”
Pavel clinked glasses with her, trying not to look into her eyes.
“To us!”
She took several sips. Pavel watched as she put the glass on the table, as she continued to talk about her plans. Twenty minutes passed. Then thirty.
Kira finished her wine and ate the main course. Pavel had already begun to doubt whether the drug would work at all when he noticed that her face had turned slightly pale.
“Kira, are you okay?” he asked, feigning concern.
“I don’t know,” she ran her hand over her forehead. “I feel a bit dizzy. Maybe the wine was too strong. Shall we go out for some fresh air?”
They asked for the bill. Pavel paid with Kira’s card and helped his wife put on her coat. She held onto his arm tighter than usual, and he felt her fingers growing cold. When they went outside, Kira suddenly stopped and clutched her stomach.
“I feel sick,” she whispered. “Very sick.”
“Hang in there, darling,” Pavel hugged her shoulders, leading her to the car. “I’ll take you to the hospital now. Everything will be fine.”
He sat her in the front seat and fastened her seatbelt. Kira leaned back against the seat, breathing rapidly and unevenly. Her face was covered in perspiration. Pavel started the engine and drove onto the road, heading ostensibly toward the nearest hospital. But ten minutes later, he turned off the main highway onto a country road leading into a forest belt outside the city.
“Pasha, where are we going?” Kira’s voice was weak, barely audible. “This isn’t the way to the hospital.”
“I know,” he replied coldly.
Pavel stopped the car deep in the forest belt, where the trees closed over the road, forming a dark tunnel. He turned off the headlights. He turned to his wife.
Kira looked at him with wide eyes, in which pain and misunderstanding mingled.
“I put poison in your food,” Pavel said, and a smile slipped across his lips. “You have about thirty minutes left, maybe less. Get out of the car.”
“What?” Kira tried to reach for him, but her hands wouldn’t obey. “Are you… Are you joking? Pasha, this isn’t funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
He unfastened her seatbelt, got out, and opened the door on her side.
“Get out. Immediately.”
“But why?” tears flowed down her cheeks. “I love you. I gave you everything.”
“Exactly because of that,” Pavel grabbed her arm and roughly pulled her out of the car.
Kira fell to her knees on the damp earth, gasping for air.
“You gave me everything except the right to manage it. Your prenup, your lawyers, your control. I’m tired of being an appendage to your successful life.”
He stood over her, looking down with contempt that he had previously hidden so carefully.
“For seven years, I endured. For seven years, I listened to you talk about your successes, your projects, what a good girl you are. And me? I’m the husband of a successful businesswoman. An app. An accessory at your corporate parties. ‘Meet my Pasha.’ You introduced me like a lapdog.”
Kira tried to say something, but he didn’t let her get a word in.
“Did you think I didn’t know your friends laugh behind my back? That they call me a gigolo? A freeloader? I heard everything, Kira. Every word. I noticed every mocking glance. And you did nothing to stop it. Because you didn’t care about my dignity. As long as your business prospered, right?”
He squatted down and looked into her eyes.
“And you know what’s funniest? I never loved you. Not a single day. You were just a convenient option. A rich, lonely fool who fell for pretty words. I thought over time I’d get access to the money, but you turned out to be smarter. Or is your lawyer smarter? That stupid prenup… You always tried to control me, but I found a loophole. The will. You signed your own sentence, darling.”
Pavel straightened up and brushed off his trousers.
“Olga is young, beautiful, and most importantly—she looks at me with adoration. She doesn’t try to control me, doesn’t impose her rules. With your money, we’ll truly live. And you? You’re just a mistake that needs correcting.”
He kicked her, and Kira fell to the ground again.
“Lie here and think about how wrongly you lived your life. You have thirty minutes. Maybe less. Goodbye, Kira. I can’t say it was a pleasure.”
He slammed the door. Kira tried to stand, but her legs gave way. She slumped onto the grass by the roadside, clutching her chest. The pain was becoming unbearable.
“Pasha, please…” her voice turned into a wheeze. “Don’t leave me here. I’ll die.”
“That is the plan, darling,” he started the engine. “Goodbye.”
Pavel turned the car around and drove away without looking back. In the rearview mirror, Kira’s figure flashed, bent double on the roadside. Then the trees hid her from view. He turned the music up louder to drown out the voice of conscience that was still trying to break through his cold determination.
Fifteen minutes later, Pavel was driving through the city streets, heading home. His phone vibrated. A message from Olga: “When will we see each other? Miss you.”
He smiled and typed a reply: “Soon everything will be decided. We will start a new life. I promise.”
Olga sent a heart. She understood nothing. But she was happy, naively believing his words.
Pavel imagined how in a few days he would announce his wife’s disappearance, how he would feign grief when she was found, how he would receive the inheritance and finally pay off his debts. Olga would get her apartment, her coffee shop. They would be together, and no one would ever know the truth.
And Kira? Kira would remain in the past. An unpleasant memory he had finally gotten rid of. Pavel parked the car near the house, went up to the apartment, and poured himself some whiskey.
His hands no longer trembled. His conscience was silent. He had done what he had to do. Now he just had to wait. He took out his phone and wrote Olga another message: “Get ready for changes, my love. Very soon you will get everything you dreamed of.”
The girl replied almost instantly: “Are you serious? Love you.”
Pavel grinned. She believed in the fairytale he had invented for her. Believed that he was an honest man stuck in an unhappy marriage. Believed that his wife didn’t understand him, didn’t appreciate him. Olga asked no unnecessary questions, content with promises and rare meetings in a rented apartment on the outskirts of the city.
Her mother, Larisa Cherkasova, however, was wary of Pavel. Several times she tried to talk to her daughter, hinted that a married man was unlikely to leave his family, that promises were just words. But Olga brushed off the warnings, saying that mom didn’t understand anything, that Pavel was special, that he truly loved her. Larisa sighed and fell silent, realizing her daughter was blinded by feelings.
Pavel finished his whiskey and looked at his watch. Forty minutes had passed since he left Kira in the forest belt. If the drug worked as it should, she was already dead. Or nearly dead. In any case, help wouldn’t arrive in time. It was too far from the road.
She was lying in the woods, surely unconscious. And the road there was deserted, especially late in the evening. No one drives by. By the time someone finds her, it will be too late.
He lay down on the sofa, closed his eyes, and tried to relax. The plan worked. Now he just needed to wait until morning, and then play out the act. Call the police, report his wife missing, say that she felt unwell after dinner, he drove her to the hospital, but she asked to stop by the road, went out to use the toilet and breathe fresh air, and… disappeared into the woods. He searched for her, called out, but didn’t find her.
Pavel replayed this story in his head several times, honing the details. Everything had to look plausible. Tomorrow a new life would begin. A life without debts, without fear, without Kira. A life in which he would finally become the master of his own destiny.
Kira lay on the damp grass by the side of the country road and felt life slowly draining from her body. The pain in her stomach was excruciating, every breath was a struggle, her arms and legs wouldn’t obey. She tried to call for help, but her voice turned into a weak wheeze that instantly dissolved into the silence of the night. Tears flowed down her cheeks, mixing with the clay and dirt on her face.
Pavel. Her husband. The person she trusted for seven years. The person she loved despite all his flaws. He poisoned her. Cold-bloodedly, calculatingly, with a smile on his lips. And left her to die in the woods like a useless object.
Kira closed her eyes, trying to gather the last of her strength. She didn’t want to die. Not here, not like this. But her body refused to obey. She tried to get up, pushed off the ground with her hands, but immediately collapsed back down. Her breathing was becoming shallower. Her thoughts were confused. Cold was gripping her entire body.
She resigned herself. She closed her eyes and prepared for the end. But suddenly, through the veil of pain and stupor, she heard the sound of an approaching car. The engine ran smoothly, softly—clearly an expensive car. How did a car end up on this country road?…
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