Larisa had always known that Denis had a talent for taking more than he gave. But it was only now, standing in their cramped kitchen with the sickly scent of parsley and betrayal in the air, that she realized how far he was willing to go.
“I said I would sell it — and I will!” he snapped. “So, my dear, shut your mouth and sign it over to me in a nice way. Otherwise…” he narrowed his eyes, voice dropping into a dangerous whisper, “you’ll regret it.”
There it was.
The threat. Bare and shameless.
Larisa didn’t flinch. She’d spent the last two years gradually replacing her naivety with observation — watching Denis spin fantasy after fantasy of “big plans,” “just one more investment,” and “you’ll see, it’ll all work out.” None of it ever worked. What did work was her apartment: her modest, neatly-rented one-bedroom flat that paid for her therapy, groceries, and the dentist Denis never bothered going to.
And now, he wanted it signed over “in a nice way.”
“Regret it?” she repeated softly. “Will you hit me, Denis?”
He blinked. For a split second, something vulnerable flashed across his face — fear? Shame? — but it vanished just as fast.
“Don’t twist my words,” he growled. “You always do this. Always play the victim. I’m trying to build something here.”
“You’re trying to take something here,” Larisa corrected. “And I’m not handing it over.”
Denis stepped back, pacing now. “Fine. Don’t sign. Then I’ll make you. Legally. We’re married. I’ll go to a lawyer. Prove it’s joint property. You’ll lose in court.”
She gave a slight, amused shake of her head.
“I owned it before we married, Denis. Fully paid, no mortgage. The paperwork is rock-solid. I consulted a lawyer long before you ever brought up ‘investing.’” She let the words hang. “Do you know what else I learned during that consultation?”
He narrowed his eyes.
“That if I suspect financial abuse or coercion, I can file a protective petition. That if I want, I can start dividing our current assets… including your car, your gadgets, your ‘business fund.’ And if you keep raising your voice, I can also involve a police report.”
Denis stared at her. The confidence in her voice hit him harder than any slap would’ve. Larisa had changed.
“You’re bluffing,” he muttered.
She smiled faintly. “Try me.”