Artyom, frankly, I’ve had it with your antics!!! — shouted his father, waving his fist threateningly in front of his only son.

— Dad, but I didn’t do it on purpose, — the son replied lazily, glancing longingly out the window. Artyom was already thoroughly tired of his father’s moralizing lectures, and his head still pounded from last night’s party.

— Do you even realize what you’re doing?! You’re twenty-two years old! Because of your wild rides around the city center, I lost an important partner—the one whose bumper you wrecked! — continued Evgeny Mikhailovich, seething with anger. — I do everything I can so that you lack nothing! Your late mother would be shocked at what you’ve become!

— And what does mom have to do with it? — exploded Artyom. He cherished her memory, always recalling their last conversation.

At that time, Artyom was only nine, and he already understood that his mother was gravely ill. Every day, he and his dad went to visit her in the hospital, only to have her suddenly discharged. The boy was overjoyed and spent all his time in her room. He asked his mom to play with his toy cars, draw with him, and do his homework together. But one evening, she quietly told him that she would always love and care for them—even if she wasn’t by their side—and then asked Artyom to go out so she could call his father. After a while, his father, fighting back tears, announced that she had “taken flight to heaven” and would be watching over them from there.

Artyom understood that his mother had died, and it infuriated him that his father talked to him like a small child. When he learned that his dad refused to take him to the cemetery, he threw a full-blown tantrum. Eventually, he was allowed to say goodbye to his mother, who lay in a beautiful dress as if she were simply sleeping. Artyom wanted to wake her up and reached out to touch her hand, but quickly pulled back his palm upon feeling the icy coldness of her skin.

From that moment on, his father, trying to replace his mother, indulged him endlessly. At first, this irritated the boy, but soon he realized he could manipulate his dad and get away with mischief.

He barely finished school, thanks to his father’s money and connections, and then—under parental pressure—enrolled simultaneously in two university faculties: law and economics. He enjoyed university life: beautiful girls, new friends, and fun hangouts. His dad provided his only son with an unlimited bank card, so throughout his studies Artyom never once ate in the student cafeteria, preferring restaurants instead. His circle of friends partied in the best clubs in town and spent summers at upscale resorts. He was always surrounded by his best friends—Anton and Hera—as well as hundreds of girls dreaming of a relationship with the promising son of the owner of two banks.

Yet the young playboy’s heart remained free—he parted with the beautiful women with ease, who sought something in return in their relationships with him. He was amused by the feigned love of young students, ready to do anything for the latest phone model. He knew very well the story of his parents’ meeting: his mother came from a well-off, cultured family, but in the nineties her parents were left penniless while trying to survive. His father, like many young men of that time, was involved in petty trade, striving to break into the new class of businessmen. They met at a market when a beautiful young girl, virtuoso on the violin and a graduate of a pedagogical institute—dressed in an old coat and worn-out boots—dreamily gazed at a Turkish sheepskin coat sold in his father’s stall. With a cheeky smile, his father offered to introduce himself and spend an evening together, promising to gift her the coveted coat. But the mother, casting him a contemptuous look, gave him a resounding slap and advised him to find someone more like him. It was then that his father decided to win over this unattainable girl and teach her a lesson for her insolence. However, in the process of conquering her, he fell head over heels in love, and his life changed dramatically: she insisted that he enroll in the economics faculty, took over the trade herself while he crammed for his exams, supported his endeavors, and always believed in him. As a result, he and his brother managed to open a branch of a well-known bank and later create their own financial organization. After his brother’s death, the entire business passed to their father.

After his mother’s death, the very young father decided never to marry again, and Artyom never saw another woman by his side. Perhaps he had affairs, but his dad never brought anyone home.

— Why are you silent? — Evgeny Mikhailovich snapped, pulling him out of his reverie. — I’m not joking—if you don’t start using your head, I’ll block all your cards and accounts, and you’ll have to find a job to feed yourself!

— Dad, enough with the threats. I already told you—let me live quietly for a year after university, and then I’ll get a job, — Artyom retorted irritably, his entire demeanor making it clear that the conversation was over.

Seeing his son’s reaction, his father lost his temper completely and, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck, dragged him out of the building. Artyom was so shocked that he didn’t even resist, realizing for the first time that his father was not joking. Evgeny Mikhailovich hauled his son out in front of the astonished security guards and declared:

— So here’s the deal, my dear: you’re going to get married. But not to that flirty girl jumping out of your car—rather, to an ordinary girl. Now, the first suitable girl your age who comes along will receive an offer to become your wife.

— Dad, are you serious? Fine, I understand that I was wrong. I solemnly swear I won’t disgrace you again. But let’s skip all this circus, — Artyom said, shaking his head and looking at his father with an ingratiating expression.

— No, son, I don’t trust you anymore. Pray to God that your future wife is at least somewhat attractive, — snapped Evgeny Mikhailovich.

— I’m not going to take part in this idiocy, — the son exploded, heading for his car.

His father waved at the guards, and two burly men blocked the way for the wayward son.

— Artyom, it’s your choice—marry and work in my company, or become completely free but without my money, car, or house. I’m not a monster; if you must, I’ll give you a chance to live in an apartment in the city until you get on your feet, and for starters, I’ll allocate a few thousand so you can cover the metro and groceries for a month, — declared Evgeny Mikhailovich with finality.

Realizing that his father was not joking, the young man was at a loss: the idea of binding himself in marriage to the first girl he met seemed foolish but bearable, yet the necessity of working for his father’s company utterly crushed him.

— Oh, there she is! — his father exclaimed happily and added: — You’re lucky—she’s very attractive.

Outside the bank, a girl in a plain gray coat, with some outdated shawl on her head and a large handbag, was walking by. Artyom groaned quietly upon seeing this “shelf-style” look. The security immediately stopped her and politely asked if she could spare a few minutes.

— Don’t be alarmed, dear lady, — Evgeny Mikhailovich addressed her. — I’m the manager of this bank and I have a very serious conversation to have with you. Please come inside for a cup of coffee to discuss a matter.

She, shrugging her shoulders, agreed and entered the bank, followed by the men.

Anya didn’t understand what was happening, but she was so cold that the offer to come into a warm room seemed very attractive. Moreover, one of the guards took her heavy bag, which contained the exercise books of four different ninth-grade classes. They entered a beautiful office paneled in red wood, with a massive table in the middle and several leather sofas and a coffee table arranged along the wall. The room smelled pleasantly of real coffee and expensive men’s cologne. Anya felt uneasy—why had these rich men lured her into a bank, and in the evening, no less? Suspecting something was amiss, she quietly pulled a nail file from her purse and, gripping it tightly, mentally rehearsed a few karate moves she hadn’t used since her short-lived sports career.

Anya, taking her bag and donning her coat, left the office. Evgeny Mikhailovich watched her with an admiring gaze, then, turning to the stunned son, declared:

— This is the girl. If you manage to win her over, I’ll begin to treat you with respect. But if in three months you’re not dating, I’ll deprive you of all your funds. So get on, catch up with your chosen one.

Artyom sighed deeply as he left the office. The fact that his father was completely serious became even more obvious when he dragged this “gray mouse” into his office. Glancing around, Artyom noticed the gray coat disappearing around the corner toward the metro and reluctantly trailed after her. The girl deftly navigated through the crowd of passers-by, and the young man had to pick up his pace to keep her in sight.

Anya, mentally cataloging all the insults she knew, suddenly burst into laughter, recalling the expression on that rich old man’s face when she rejected his offer. She had always been straightforward—a trait she inherited from her grandfather, who, seeing her strong character, had enrolled her in a karate class so she could learn to defend herself.

Her grandfather had died four years ago, having looked long and intently at her face as she held his hand. After his stroke, he could no longer speak, but his eyes expressed how much he loved his headstrong granddaughter. After his passing, her world had seemed to collapse. Anya was completely alone: her grandmother had left them earlier, having literally burned away within a few months from an incurable illness. The grandfather had not left the bedside of his beloved wife for a step; he often sat with her, looking at their shared photographs and childhood snapshots of Anya. He kissed her on the forehead and always repeated, “Katyushka, we’ll make it, don’t be afraid!”

Anya didn’t remember her parents. They had died in an accident when she was just four months old, and her grandparents had replaced them as her father and mother. Her grandfather did not like to discuss the story of her birth, but a month before his stroke—as if sensing his impending end—he called her over and revealed that her father had been a prominent businessman. The grandfather suspected that it was because of that business background that their car had crashed into a fuel tanker. He and her grandmother had initially opposed their daughter’s relationship with this man, considering him a gangster. The grandfather didn’t even know his son-in-law’s surname because, after giving birth, Anya’s mother had only provided her own details to protect the family from criminal entanglements. On the eve of the accident, her mother had left her in a village, promising to return the next day. The grandparents never saw their daughter again: the collision had triggered a massive explosion and fire, and they buried the charred remains, adamantly refusing to claim the body of her husband, whom they blamed for their daughter’s death.

Left alone, Anya managed to finish university, graduating as a mathematics teacher. Even during her student years, she had been tutoring, and after graduation, she moved out of the dormitory and rented a tiny one-room apartment near the school where she worked. That day, she was returning from a tutoring session at a student’s home. Mathematics was a highly sought-after subject, and there was no shortage of people eager to hire her for their children.

On the personal front, Anya’s life was completely quiet. Her college sweetheart, Kirill, had gone abroad for an internship, and their relationship had ended. Lately, though, her heart fluttered at the sight of a private detective’s assistant, whom she had approached to get information about her father. The assistant’s name was Sergey, and he always blushed when Anya, hoping for a date, got his attention.

The girl boarded the commuter train and, settling by the window, began to think.

— You really zipped by; I could barely catch you, — came the voice of Artyom, who had plopped down next to her.

— What do you want from me? — Anya retorted indignantly.

— First things first—let’s introduce ourselves. What’s your name? — the young man declared brazenly.

— Listen, why don’t you just get lost? — Anya said, looking him straight in the eyes.

— Do you think it’s a pleasure for me to be running around the metro searching for you? I was here a couple of times back when I was still in school and they used to take us on excursions. The truth is, my father will really cut me off if I don’t charm you, — the guy admitted. — Tell me, how much do I need to pay you to play the role of my girlfriend?

— Look, money doesn’t particularly interest me. If you want my help, you’ll have to join our cult, — Anya said quietly, watching Artyom’s reaction.

— Cult? That’s strange. Is that something religious? — the young man stammered.

— Yes. You’ll have to shave your head and undergo circumcision, otherwise you won’t be able to become my spiritual brother, — the girl revealed, barely suppressing her laughter.

— Are you saying you’re like Buddhists? — the guy asked in shock.

— Wow! You even know that word! — Anya burst into laughter.

— Actually, I have two higher education degrees, — Artyom stated, hurt.

— That just proves how stupid you are—that you weren’t taught anything in one go, — the girl continued to laugh.

— So, about the cult—was that just a joke? — the young man asked irritably.

— Were you ready to agree to all the conditions? — Anya asked, squinting.

— How do you not understand? I’ll be left with not a penny. He completely lost it and even came up with such nonsense, — Artyom complained sincerely.

— Maybe you should just go to work and stop asking your dad for money? — the girl said sternly.

— And what job is there for me that pays that much? I mean, you know, I’m not used to scrimping and trudging to the office every morning with a sour face, — the guy replied, shooting a hostile look at Anya.

— Then only the cult remains, — the girl giggled and exited the train car.

— Let me help, — Artyom offered, catching up to her and grabbing her bag of exercise books. — Wow, are those bricks in there?

— No. Wine packets. That’s for my evening, — Anya answered calmly, openly ridiculing the new acquaintance.

— Really? You drink? — the young man asked in surprise.

— Well, not by myself, of course. I drink with my partner, — she replied, thoroughly shocking Artyom.

They walked together to her building, and after retrieving her bag, she said:

— Stop this circus. I’m definitely not your assistant.

The young man saw her off with a glance and, kicking an empty trash can in anger, sat down on a bench by the entrance.

— Sir, why are you causing a ruckus here? — he heard a female voice ask, and he saw an elderly woman leading a small Bolognese dog on a leash.

— None of your business, — Artyom grumbled as he got up from the bench.

— What a rude fellow! And who does our Anya think she is? How can a well-bred girl, a teacher, have such a lout as a friend? — the woman fumed.

— So, Anya works as a teacher, — the guy smiled. — And what’s the name of her partner?

— What partner? — the retired woman asked in genuine surprise.

— I see. Thank you. Sorry for the trash can, — Artyom said and, in an uplifted mood, headed home.

Anya went up to her apartment and began preparing a simple dinner. She adored Friday evenings, anticipating the weekend. She had only one student scheduled for the next day, and she had two days ahead to devote entirely to herself. Her friends suggested going out to a club on Saturday night, and while planning her outfit, she hoped not to run into any of her school students. Suddenly, she thought of Artyom—he struck her as a bit silly, but not a bad person. The situation amused her, and the guy evoked some inexplicable warm feelings.

The next morning, while leaving her building to meet her student, Anya noticed a jeep parked by Evgeny Mikhailovich’s bank. Not surprised, she laughed. Artyom jumped out of the car carrying an enormous bouquet of roses.

— Hi, Anya, — the young man greeted, offering her the bouquet.

— Hi, Artyom. Can’t you ever calm down? — Anya smirked, squinting playfully. — Did you bring the bouquet out of habit? You think every girl swoons at the sight of flowers?

— I just wanted to do something nice, — the guy mumbled, embarrassed.

— Honestly, I’m not really into flowers, — she replied.

Artyom glanced at the bouquet uncertainly and tossed it onto the back seat.

— Where are you heading? Let me drop you off, — the young man offered.

— Listen, find yourself something useful instead, — Anya snapped as she walked along the sidewalk.

Artyom jumped back in his car and slowly drove alongside her. The girl, catching the surprised looks of passers-by, sighed heavily yet agreed to get into the vehicle. After she provided the address of her student’s home, she stared blankly out the window. Meanwhile, Artyom kept stealing glances at her profile, noting her beautiful emerald eyes and a neatly upturned nose. Overall, she was quite attractive, and without yesterday’s strange shawl, she looked simply stunning.

— You know, you’re very beautiful, — Artyom blurted out involuntarily.

— And you, as usual, are clueless, — retorted Anya.

— I’m not stupid at all, — the young man puffed up his cheeks.

— Just look at yourself. How old are you? — Anya asked.

— Twenty-two, — he muttered.

— I’m twenty-three. We’re almost the same age. But you, like some idle fellow, are just hanging around. Haven’t you ever wanted to earn your own living or achieve something? — Anya said indignantly.

Artyom slammed on the brakes and, looking her straight in the eyes, declared:

— What makes you think I never wanted that? I’ve been trying to help my dad since I was a child. But every time I heard the same thing: “Study, you’ll have time to work later.” I was told to clean the house—why? That’s for the servants. When I gathered scrap paper with friends to recycle—you weren’t supposed to lift heavy things. I signed up for football—only go with security. Once, a ball hit me in the head, and dad’s thugs nearly killed the coach. And it was always like that: “Don’t do that, don’t go there, don’t engage in that.” And yesterday, out of the blue: why aren’t you working?!

— And how did mom feel about all this? — Anya asked, suddenly feeling some sympathy for the guy.

— Mom’s been gone for a long time. She died when I was nine, — Artyom answered sadly.

— And I don’t even remember my own parents. They died in an accident when I was just four months old, — Anya said quietly.

— So you grew up in an orphanage? — he asked in horror.

— No. I had wonderful grandparents. And my childhood was happy, — the girl smiled.

— So, will you help me? — Artyom asked suavely.

— For a moment I thought you were normal, — Anya said disappointedly. — Now go work, you daddy’s boy!

Later, a call from Sergey reached Anya, who was informed that they needed to meet. They arranged to meet in a park in the very heart of the city, and the girl hurried to the rendezvous. The man explained that the detective agency had uncovered her father’s surname and that specialists were now searching for her relatives. Sergey took her hand and, gazing straight into her eyes, asked:

— Could I invite you on a date when we finish the investigation?

— Sure, — she replied shyly.

Overjoyed by the news, she called Artyom as she left the park to share the news with him, not noticing that Anton, who had been watching her from afar, snapped several photos and briskly walked out of the park.

Anya met up with Artyom and told him that she would soon learn the history of her father’s family. The young man said he was very happy for her and pulled out a photograph.

— I haven’t shown this photo to anyone. You’ll be the first, — he said sheepishly.

The picture showed a beautiful, fair-haired woman embracing an eight-year-old boy against a backdrop of a seascape.

— That’s my mom, — the youth said with tears in his eyes. — This is our last photograph.

— She’s very beautiful, — Anya said and took his hand.

They fell silent for a moment, then agreed to meet that evening since the girl had to go to her tutoring sessions.

Artyom drove up to the bank building when suddenly he noticed Anton.

— Hi, Temych. We didn’t really talk well yesterday. Are you still holding a grudge against us? — the young man said, clearly in a hurry, not wanting to converse with the impertinent friend.

— Everything’s fine, — Anton replied.

— And who is that girl? — Anton asked.

— For now, just a good acquaintance, — Artyom replied evasively.

— Oh, thank goodness, I thought she was your girlfriend—I saw her today in the park with some other man and got surprised, — Anton casually added.

— With what man? — Artyom asked, bewildered.

— Just look, — Anton readily showed a photo of Anya and Sergey to him.

It felt as if icy water had been splashed on Artyom. No, he wasn’t in love with Anya, but he enjoyed spending time with her. They got along great, and he couldn’t understand why she hadn’t told him she had a boyfriend. Realizing once again the treachery of women, he helplessly looked at Anton.

— Let’s go somewhere to sit down, — he immediately proposed, understanding that his plan had worked.

That evening, Anya couldn’t get through to Artyom by phone. After sending him several messages, she began to worry that something had happened to him. Soon, however, she received a reply in which he, using a swear word, demanded that she stop bothering him. The surprised girl stared at her phone screen for a long time. Suddenly, a call came from Sergey.

— Anya, we need to meet. Are you home? — the young man asked.

— Yes, I’m home. Come over, — she replied.

After half an hour, she met Sergey at her building and received an envelope containing information about her father’s family. She could hardly wait to open it, but Sergey kept delaying, describing how the investigation had unfolded, clearly not wanting to part with the girl. Deciding she’d had enough romances, she curtly said goodbye and went inside, noticing how sadly the young detective looked at her.

With trembling hands, Anya opened the envelope and almost screamed with surprise. After reading the information several times, she called the school principal and, citing illness, asked for leave. She couldn’t close her eyes until morning, and as soon as dawn broke, she began to get ready.

At eight in the morning, she was already standing in front of the bank, waiting for Evgeny Mikhailovich.

The man arrived about fifteen minutes later and, upon seeing the girl, became agitated:

— Is something wrong with Artyom? He didn’t come to spend the night.

—I don’t know. It seems we had a fight. But I really need to talk with you, — Anya said hurriedly.

They entered his office, and with trembling hands, the girl handed him the envelope. The man, not understanding what was happening, opened it and studied it for a long time.

He looked up at Anya, his eyes full of tears, and quietly said:

— You’re Oleg’s daughter?

The girl nodded.

— My goodness, I thought you had perished, to be honest. There was almost nothing left. Your mother’s parents didn’t even want to speak with me. I’m sorry I didn’t look for you myself. I only saw you once in my life when your mother and I came to the maternity ward for your discharge. He was so happy. Your parents were wonderful—they loved each other madly, — Evgeny Mikhailovich recounted, unable to hold back his tears.

— So, you’re my real uncle? — the girl burst into tears.

— You have no idea how happy I am, — the banker embraced Anya.

— Let’s do a genetic test to be absolutely sure we’re related, — she suggested.

— Agreed, but I already know that you’re my niece. You have Oleg’s eyes. How could I not notice that immediately, — the man said, not letting her go.

At that moment, Artyom entered the office and, upon seeing his father embracing Anya, froze.

— Wow, — he said, coming to himself. — You turned out to be sharper than I thought. Decided to switch over to dad right away. That’s smart. I’m the unreliable option, in case father stops giving me money. And you, you love to spend, as I’ve noticed.

Anya burst into laughter, which only infuriated the young man further.

— Artyom, please stop, — her father began, but his son interrupted him.

— Dad, she’s a fraud. She’s already got three of us: you, me, and some other guy with whom she likes to meet in the park. That’s what a wonderful teacher she is, mind you, — Artyom insisted contemptuously, glaring at the girl. — What a scoundrel!

— Artyom, please address me by my patronymic. After all, I’m your future stepmother! — Anya declared defiantly, looking provocatively at her cousin.

The young man was taken aback by such outrage, staring at his father in confusion.

— Anya, you’re going to drive him to a heart attack, — Evgeny Mikhailovich chuckled. — Son, meet your cousin.

The young man, shaking his head in bewilderment, asked:

— Which cousin?

— She’s the daughter of Oleg, my late brother. Young people, by the way, I hope nothing… — the banker stammered.

— No, nothing. I don’t like her at all, — Anya joked.

— Look at yourself, — the man snapped.

— This really does look like a brother and sister relationship. I hope you won’t fight, — the banker smiled.

Anya looked at Artyom and suddenly burst into tears. He approached her and, hugging her tightly, comforted her while stroking her back.

— Forgive me for my harshness. Honestly, I consider you a real man, especially after what happened in the parking lot near the club, — she said affectionately, looking at him as a brother.

— Oh, that was when I almost ran away, thinking that, well, bullies shouldn’t mess with girls, right? — Artyom laughed.

— You pig! — Anya exclaimed playfully, playfully kicking him.

A few days later, Anya and Evgeny Mikhailovich underwent a genetic test, which confirmed their kinship. The banker insisted that the girl move into their home, but she refused. Then he proposed going to the apartment of her father.

The residence had been empty for over two decades. The air reeked of dust and forgotten things. Photographs stood on the sideboard: one showing her mother and father smiling together, and another featuring a discharge certificate from the maternity ward, where the happy parents, along with Evgeny Mikhailovich and his pregnant wife, posed joyfully for the camera. Everything had remained untouched since the very moment Oleg and his young wife left the apartment one morning. A pair of jeans, carelessly tossed on the back of a chair, hung there. Anya picked it up and inhaled its scent, hoping to catch a hint of the past. However, the jacket smelled damp, as if hinting that the old days could never be revived.

— Look, here’s some compromising material on you, — Artyom laughed, holding a photograph in which a naked little girl was reaching toward her father with pudgy arms.

Anya smiled, trying to hide the tears that threatened to fall. She tidied up the apartment and decided to spend the night there. The girl thought that perhaps, at least in her dreams, she could meet her parents. But all night, she was haunted by dreams of a hospital ward and a huge blue bow tied around her arm. When she woke in the morning, she brushed off the strange dream.

Months later, after graduating from school, Anya noticed Artyom’s car parked near the gate. Believing that her brother had come to visit her—since they hadn’t seen each other for several days—she headed toward the vehicle. However, he suddenly sped away. On the front passenger seat, she saw her friend Olya, happily clutching a huge bouquet of white roses. Anya smiled to herself and headed home. On the way, her phone rang—it was Sergey, who timidly suggested they meet.

A year later, while cursing Sergey and fate, the girl struggled to cope with the bouts of pain that seemed to tear her body apart. Her husband shuffled awkwardly nearby, holding a bag with an envelope for the hospital discharge.

— I shouldn’t have rushed things. Then I would have bought it later, — Anya managed to say with difficulty.

— It was the most beautiful envelope, — Sergey replied sheepishly.

They had deliberately not found out the baby’s gender. However, Sergey was convinced it would be a boy, and he filled the nursery with toy cars and robots.

— And if it turns out not to be a boy? — the girl asked sarcastically.

— And who? — the future father asked, genuinely surprised.

At the discharge appointment for the young parents, Evgeny Mikhailovich, Artyom, and Olya arrived. Olya, supporting her huge belly, looked enviously at Anya. Her delivery was scheduled for the following week, and she kept asking her friend if it hurt.

— Not at all, it’s even pleasant, — Anna lied enthusiastically, recalling how she bent over in pain on the delivery chair.

She held her tiny daughter, wrapped in a pristine white envelope with a huge blue bow, and, glancing threateningly at her husband, seemed determined to get even for that decision.

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