I froze in place.
“Anna Viktorovna will now also be responsible for the Moscow branch?” someone wondered.
“Yes, starting from the first of the month. Can you imagine the scope? Thirty people in the team.”
The corners of my lips twitched into a smile. Thirty people—a serious responsibility. But now I knew I was ready for any challenge.
“Do you know who works there?” continued the voice. “Sergey Vitalievich, her ex-husband.”
My smile slowly turned into a predatory grin. Oh yes, I knew exactly who worked there. And fate clearly decided to give me a special gift.
In the evening, I stood in front of the mirror for a long time, examining my reflection. The expensive suit fit perfectly, the new haircut added confidence, and my eyes shone with determination.
“Well, Sergey Vitalievich,” I whispered to my reflection, “ready to meet your new manager?”
Marina’s message vibrated on my phone:
“Heard the news! How does it feel?”
I quickly responded:
“Remember, you said life is the best screenwriter? It seems it just wrote the perfect ending to my story.”
“Ending?” Marina immediately returned. “I think it’s just the beginning!”
The first meeting with Sergey in the new role was to take place at the department’s general meeting. I was as nervous as before a first date. Two hours spent trying on different outfits, three times redoing my makeup. Finally, I settled on my favorite gray suit, which I once bought on sale. It wasn’t the most expensive, but it fit impeccably. And the shoes… I remember how he threw a fit then: “Just a pair of shoes! Why such money?” For me, they were a symbol of personal victory.
Looking at my reflection in the glass office doors, I almost laughed. Where was that bewildered woman, stumbling over boxes as she left his apartment? She was gone. In her place stood another—with a straight back and a cold gaze.
“Good morning, colleagues,” my voice sounded confident as I entered the conference room.
Thirty pairs of eyes turned towards me. The only pair frozen in shock belonged to Sergey. His face paled so quickly that I even worried he might faint.
“For those who are not yet acquainted,” I began, smiling professionally and politely, “I am Anna Viktorovna, your new manager. I’m sure we’ll work excellently together.”
As soon as the meeting ended, Sergey tried to catch me in the hallway.
“Anya, wait! This must be some mistake!”
I turned around, raising an eyebrow:
“Sergey Vitalievich, do you have work-related questions? If not, I’m sorry, but I have an important meeting in fifteen minutes.”
“What the hell, work-related questions?!” he exclaimed, grabbing my elbow. “You were always just…”
“Remove your hand. This instant,” each word sounded clear and cold. “And for the future, I advise being careful with expressions. I wouldn’t want to consider this a breach of discipline.”
He immediately withdrew his hand, as if burned.
“You’ve changed,” he muttered, clearly shaken.
“Really?” I feigned surprise. “I think I’ve always been like this. Just some preferred not to notice.”
Several weeks turned into a complicated game. Sergey alternated between trying to find common ground and flaring up with irritation. I remained impenetrable, focused solely on work. Without personal emotions, without compromises. Every day became a new step forward, every success—another proof that I could do more than he ever expected.
“Sergey Vitalievich,” I addressed him at one of the meetings, “your report on quarterly indicators… how to put it mildly…”
“What’s wrong with it?” he snapped. “I always compile reports just like this.”
“That’s exactly the problem,” I responded, lightly tapping the pen on the table. “You continue to use a methodology from five years ago. The world evolves, and you are stuck in the past. Reevaluate the =” considering new metrics. Deadline—by the end of tomorrow.”
“By tomorrow?!” he blushed. “That’s impossible! I already have plans, theater tickets…”
“Those are your personal difficulties,” I retorted coldly. “Work always comes first, or didn’t you teach me that?”
After the meeting, Olga, his new girlfriend who worked in the neighboring department, approached me:
“Anna Viktorovna, may I have a moment?”
I nodded, expecting a scandal or reproaches. However, she surprised me:
“I wanted to thank you.”
“For what?” I asked cautiously.
“For opening my eyes to his true nature,” she bitterly smiled. “Yesterday, I packed my things and moved out from his place.”
Three months into my leadership, Sergey hardly recognized himself. His former confidence was replaced by disarray, work performance went downhill, and attempts to maintain past authority seemed increasingly pitiful.
“Anya, we need to talk,” he intercepted me one evening at the exit from work.
“Anna Viktorovna,” I automatically corrected, taking out my car keys.
“Damn it!” he exclaimed, clearly on the edge of desperation. “I get it, okay? I was a blind idiot. Didn’t appreciate you, your ambitions, your potential. Let’s start over?”
I froze. How many times had I imagined this moment? How many nights had I dreamed of hearing these words?
“You know what’s ironic?” I slowly turned to him. “A year ago, I would have done anything for this. But now…” I shook my head. “Now it’s different.”
“Different?” he frowned. “You’re not even happy?”
“No, I’m grateful,” I calmly responded. “If not for you, I would never have realized how capable I am. Never found the strength to become the person I am now. You did far more for me than you could imagine.”
“And now what?” his voice trembled.
“Now?” I opened the car door. “Now you should write a resignation letter. Voluntarily, of course. And I will provide you with excellent references.”
“Are you taking revenge on me?” his face contorted.
“No,” I countered, starting the engine. “I’m just conducting business. Unfortunately, you no longer meet the company’s standards.”
In the evening, Marina and I settled on the balcony of my new apartment. The sunset painted the sky in the same pink hues as my curtains.
“You know,” Marina began thoughtfully, “when you talked about revenge a year ago, I thought it was just emotions.”
“And I was really angry,” I honestly admitted, taking a sip of wine. “But then I realized one important thing.”
“What’s that?”
“The best revenge isn’t causing pain to others,” I responded. “The best revenge is becoming so strong that the person realizes how much they were mistaken.”
Marina raised her glass:
“To strong women!”
“And to those who help them reveal that strength,” I added with a smile.
My phone notified me of a new message: the company approved Sergey’s resignation. I looked at the sunset and thought that sometimes life writes scripts far more interesting than any movies. Sometimes the end of one story becomes the beginning of another—much more exciting.
