After my mother’s funeral, I inherited her favorite but old painting, while my sister got her three vacation homes…

We need to find out what exactly. The conversation with Olivia left a bitter, poisonous aftertaste. Elena sat in the silence of her apartment and felt invisible walls closing in.

Just now, for the first time in her life, she firmly said no to her sister. The feeling was strange—a mix of panic fear and unexpected intoxicating power. She refused to sell Mom’s apartment—the last refuge, the only place that still smelled of her scent.

But she knew Olivia wouldn’t leave it at that. And neither would Alex. The thought of Alex was the scariest.

Olivia with her rage and selfishness was predictable. Alex, awakened by greed, was capable of anything. The painting could no longer stay in the apartment.

It was too dangerous. In the evening, waiting for darkness, Elena wrapped the canvas in the blanket again. She called a taxi, trying to speak into the phone as casually as possible.

The whole way to her small restoration workshop, she sat in the back seat, clutching the heavy bundle. And flinched at every sharp turn. The workshop was her fortress.

A semi-basement in an old building with a separate entrance from the courtyard. Alex almost never went there, disdainfully calling it a dusty hole. There, under the dim light of the lamp, surrounded by book presses and stacks of old cardboard, she hid the painting in the far cabinet, piling it on top with rolls of restoration paper.

It wasn’t ideal, but safer than under the bed in the apartment where Alex ruled. Before leaving, she did something else. A few months ago, after the upstairs neighbors’ apartment was broken into, she bought a small inconspicuous camera with a motion sensor.

She planned to install it at home but kept putting it off. Now she took it out of the box, activated it, and placed it on a high shelf among jars of glue so that the lens looked straight at the door. Just in case.

It was silly, paranoid, but it made her feel calmer. Two days passed in ringing silence. Alex didn’t call or appear.

Elena almost began to hope that he had cooled down, burned out, that his rage had faded. She tried to work, disassembled an antique folio, but the letters blurred before her eyes. All her thoughts were there, in the cabinet, wrapped in the old blanket.

And then on the third day, in the evening, there was a knock at the door. Elena flinched. She wasn’t expecting guests.

She looked through the peephole. Alex stood on the threshold. In his hands, he held a huge bouquet of white roses.

She slowly opened the door. He looked terrible. Pale, with dark circles under his eyes, stubble breaking through on his cheeks.

He looked as if he had suffered all these days and couldn’t find peace. Forgive me, Len, he said quietly, and his voice was hoarse. I was out of my mind.

A complete idiot. He extended the flowers to her. Elena mechanically took them.

The roses were cold and smelled of the artificial freshness of a flower shop. I behaved like the last scumbag, he continued, not looking her in the eyes but staring somewhere over her shoulder at the place on the wall where the painting used to hang. This stress at work, the funeral, everything piled up.

I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. And especially on Mom’s memory. He entered the apartment.

Elena silently closed the door behind him, feeling everything inside contracting from a bad premonition. It was too staged. Too right.

Alex never apologized. For all the years of their life together, he never admitted his wrongness.

He could fall silent, pretend nothing happened, but never said the word forgive. For anything. She went to the kitchen to put the flowers in a vase. He followed her, sat at the table.

Olivia called, he said as if casually, looking at his hands. Told about the vacation homes. What horror! Poor Liv.

And it’s probably hard for you too. He raised his eyes to her. In them stood such universal sorrow that for a second Elena almost believed him.

I want to fix everything, he said with emotion. I want to make amends, especially for what I did to the painting. It’s unforgivable.

He said the right words. So right that they reeked of falsity. Where is it? he asked.

I want to take it. Elena froze with the vase in her hands. Why? I found the best framing workshop in the city, he spoke with enthusiasm.

They work miracles. We’ll make a new expensive frame for it. Restore the canvas if needed.

And I would like to have it appraised. Officially. So we have a document, a certificate.

It’s a memory of your mom. We should cherish it properly. As a relic.

And at the moment he said appraised, his mask cracked for a split second. In his eyes, which flashed too brightly for an instant, Elena saw not remorse. She saw a cold, predatory gleam of a hunter cornering prey.

It was the same greed, the same calculation she had always seen in him, only now it was covered with a layer of cheap performance. Olivia’s call explained everything. They conspired.

It wasn’t his idea. It was their joint plan. Something clicked inside Elena.

The fear didn’t go away, but cold, ringing rage mixed with it. She put the vase on the table. Water splashed, but she didn’t notice.

Thank you, Alex, she said as calmly as she could. Her voice didn’t tremble. That’s very nice of you, but I’ve already taken care of everything.

He blinked in surprise. What do you mean? I gave it to a restorer, she lied, looking him straight in the eyes. The day before yesterday.

The very one Mom always trusted. He’s very old and reliable. The smile froze on his face, then slowly slid off, turning into a hard, strained grimace.

Ah, well, he drawled. Well, that’s right. Good job taking care of it.

The main thing is that it’s okay. He stood up abruptly. The performance was over.

Well, I’ll go. Business? Need to work, Olivia’s debts won’t pay themselves, he threw with a crooked smirk. He left as quickly as he appeared, leaving behind a bouquet of white roses on the table and a sticky feeling of lies.

Elena knew he didn’t believe a single word. It was just the first attempt. A reconnaissance in force.

Now he would act differently. She threw the roses into the trash chute. Then locked the door with all locks and sat down to wait.

The night dragged on agonizingly long. Elena lay in bed without undressing and stared at the ceiling. The phone lay on the pillow next to her.

Every moment she waited. Waited for confirmation of her worst fears. And it came.

Around two in the morning, the phone vibrated quietly. The screen lit up with a notification from the camera app: motion detected, workshop. Her heart sank and beat fast.

Her hands grew cold and disobedient. She barely unlocked the phone, opened the app. On the screen appeared a grainy black-and-white image from the infrared camera.

In the frame was the door of her workshop. And in front of it stood a figure. Male.

Elena would recognize this silhouette anywhere. It was Alex. He wasn’t trying to open the door with a key.

In his hand was some metal object, either a screwdriver or a file. He was picking at the lock. Clumsily, roughly, scraping metal.

Then he leaned on the door with his shoulder forcefully. The door didn’t give. He cursed—Elena didn’t hear, but saw how his face distorted.

He looked around like a thief fearing witnesses. Then he made another attempt, even more furious. The lock held.

In impotent rage, he kicked the door with his foot, turned, and disappeared from the frame. The recording ended. Elena looked at the frozen image of the empty door frame.

Her breath caught. The repentant husband. The caring partner.

He didn’t just lie to her face. He tried to rob her. Tried to break into her sanctuary to take what he thought belonged to him by right.

War was declared. And she was completely alone in it. After the recording cut off, Elena stared at the black phone screen for a long time.

The cold that started in her fingertips slowly spread through her whole body until it turned into an icy shell. The rage she felt in the first second gave way to a strange, ringing calm. It was the calm of a person standing on the edge of an abyss and understanding there’s no way back.

She got out of bed. Mechanically, like a robot, she went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water. Her hands didn’t tremble.

She saved the video file. Saved it on the phone, then uploaded it to cloud storage, and for complete certainty, sent it to herself by email with the subject evidence. Now it wasn’t just a nightmare.

It was a fact. A document. As irrefutable as the certificate for the painting hidden in her workshop.

She didn’t sleep until morning. She sat on the couch in the living room, staring into the darkness. The apartment where she had lived with Alex for 7 years suddenly became alien.

Every object, every photo on the wall seemed part of one big ugly lie. His promises, his rare moments of tenderness—all that was a game, scenery behind which hid a predator patiently waiting for his hour. And she, a fool, believed.

Morning brought no relief. The silence in the apartment pressed on her ears. Alex didn’t return.

And didn’t call. Apparently angry that his plan failed. Elena understood this was only the beginning.

The failed break-in attempt wouldn’t stop him. Wouldn’t stop Olivia. Now they would act differently.

The first sign came around noon. The phone vibrated, displaying the name of a distant relative they hadn’t communicated with for several years. Elena answered in surprise.

Lena! Hi! Listen, I saw Olivia’s post, is everything okay with you? I’m so worried. What post? Elena didn’t understand. Well, on social media, check it out.

If anything, hold on. She hung up, feeling nausea rising again. She opened her page, which she visited at most once a month.

The news feed was filled with the same thing. Dozens of reposts. And at the top, the original source…