“You’re not coming — there will be decent people there

“Fine,” I said calmly. “Have fun.”

In the morning, he left euphoric. I put on a new Dior dress — dark blue, elegant, fitted, yet reserved. Makeup and hairstyle — flawless. The mirror reflected a new version of me: confident, radiant, powerful.

At the luxury restaurant, Mikhail Petrovich greeted me.

“Anna Sergeevna, what an honor.”

“Thank you. Ready to discuss our future plans.”

Inside, the hall pulsed with suits and spectacular dresses. Business was discussed warmly as I got to know the leaders. Some were already whispering that I was the new owner, though it hadn’t yet been officially announced.

And then he appeared — Dmitri, impeccable, in his best suit, fresh haircut, radiating confidence. His eyes scanned the crowd.

We met each other’s gaze. Confusion. Then fury. He rushed over.

“What are you doing here?” he whispered in my ear. “I told you this place isn’t for you.”

“Good evening, Dima,” I said coldly.

“Leave! Now! You’re embarrassing me,” his voice low but venomous. “And what’s this? Another one of your little mouse rags you mock me with?…”

…but I didn’t get the chance to answer. An older man, with a glass of red wine in his hand and the vice president’s badge on his jacket, approached with a broad smile.

“Miss Volkov, we were just discussing the financial recovery strategy. So glad you arrived. Dmitri, I assume you’ve already congratulated her on her new position?”

I turned my head slightly toward Dmitri. His gaze went blank. He blinked a few times.

“Her… her position?”

“Oh, he didn’t know?” the vice president interjected, unaware of just how much truth he was pouring into that wine. “Well, it seems you’ve missed the last few important meetings. Anna is the new majority owner of our fund and, consequently, of TradeInvest. We were informed today.”

Dmitri seemed to run out of oxygen. His lips moved without sound. I looked at him with the same calmness you’d give a man who once slammed the door in your face, but to whom you’ve since bought the house.

“Excuse me,” I said calmly. “I should join the board.”

I left him there, between crystal glasses and the shame beginning to drip down his starched collar.

The evening was a success. The company’s reorganization plan was approved. I publicly announced my intention to personally lead the restructuring, and for the first time in my life, I was listened to, not merely tolerated.

The next day, Dmitri waited for me in the kitchen. With dark circles, no Swiss watch. In his hand, a coffee — the one I always used to make for him.

“Anna… can we talk?”

“You can start with your resignation.”

He said nothing more. Just nodded, defeated.

I watched him walk out the door. No luxury car. No superior air. Just a man who forgot that sometimes, the little gray mouse is in fact the lion in sheep’s clothing.

That day, I remembered my grandmother’s words from the countryside:
“A good girl shows herself in hard times. But in good times… she rises.”