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When Dmitry finally turned to inspect her, the expression on his face was a familiar, quiet disappointment he had long since stopped trying to hide. His eyes swept over her shoulders, down to her simple leather shoes, and lingered with barely concealed disdain.
“Don’t you have anything better to wear?” he asked, his voice dripping with condescension masked as casual inquiry.
“This dress is perfectly fine for the evening,” she answered evenly.
Dmitry let out a heavy, dramatic sigh, as if the very effort of the conversation had utterly exhausted him. He adjusted his silk tie one last time, checking his reflection with deep satisfaction.
“Alright,” he muttered, waving a dismissive hand. “Let’s just try not to attract any attention.”
Their marriage had not always been defined by this vast, unbridgeable chasm. Five years prior, when they exchanged their vows, Anna had just completed her rigorous studies in economics, brimming with passion and intellect. Dmitry, at the time, was merely a junior manager at the beginning of his career path. He had been driven, hungry for success, and overflowing with ambitious plans for their future.
In those early days, Anna had admired his drive. He spoke of their life to come with absolute certainty, making every challenge seem like a temporary stepping stone. But as the years passed, that once-endearing confidence metastasized into something much darker and more abrasive. Dmitry climbed the corporate ladder with ruthless efficiency. As his promotions came and his responsibilities expanded, so did his expectations—not only for his own life, but for the people orbiting him, including his wife.
