“Either you transfer the business and the dacha to my mother, or there will be no wedding!” the groom declared, as though it were a business deal.
Veranne poured herself a coffee and walked over to the window. Dawn was just breaking, but her mind was already racing with the day’s responsibilities. A meeting with a supplier, reviewing accounting reports, a call with a client from Tver after lunch. Her schedule was packed, but she thrived on that sense of order.
The small print shop Veranne had inherited from her father five years ago required constant attention. Her father, Pollan Dimitt, always said that business was like a child—neglect it for a moment, and it could either cause trouble or fall ill. He was old-school—demanding, principled, and dedicated.
“Veranne, remember the main thing,” Pollan Dimitt had repeated, “Three things will make you successful: keeping your word, mistrusting manipulators, and respecting work—your own and others’.”
Even their dacha in the Moscow suburbs was viewed as a responsibility, not a place of leisure. It had its own order, its own rules. Veranne remembered how her father planned every spring what to plant and emphasized the importance of caring for the garden.
When Pollan Dimitt passed away suddenly from a heart attack, both the business and the dacha passed on to Veranne. Many doubted that a young woman could handle it, but in five years, the print shop not only stayed afloat—it thrived, and the dacha became a well-kept retreat where Veranne recharged.
The Fiancé’s Unexpected Attitude
The phone rang. It was Amarcus.
“Good morning! Already up, workaholic?” his cheerful voice came through.
“Long ago,” Veranne smiled into the phone. “I’m finishing my coffee.”
“What time will you be done today? Maybe we can meet after work?”
Veranne glanced at her planner. “I’ll be free around six, but then I have to stop by the restaurant to finalize the wedding menu.”
“Oh, this wedding,” Amarcus sighed, a hint of weariness in his voice. “Sometimes I think it would’ve been easier to just sign the papers and fly off to some island.”
“Come on, it’s only two weeks away,” Veranne laughed. “I’ve nearly organized everything. You don’t need to worry.”
“Exactly! You’ve taken it all on yourself, my practical girl.”
A few months earlier, Veranne had met Amarcus at the gym, where they h!t it off immediately. He was spontaneous, witty, and charming—completely different from the serious men she’d dated before. He seemed perfect.
Six months after they started dating, Amarcus proposed in a fine restaurant, and Veranne said yes, convinced that Amarcus was the right person for her.
Veranne’s first meeting with Amarcus’s mother, Irene Klark, had been revealing. Irene, a slim, impeccably groomed woman in her mid-fifties, had studied Veranne carefully. Over lunch, she casually remarked, “The most important thing in a family is holding on to your man. Amarcuschik has a temper, but if you give in on the small things, you’ll live in harmony.”
Veranne nodded, though the idea felt foreign to her. She had always been taught to be independent. Still, she kept quiet, not wanting to upset anyone.
The Wedding Ultimatum
Two days before the wedding, Amarcus invited Veranne to a café for a “family council.” When she arrived, she found not only Amarcus but also his mother, Irene, waiting.
“Verannechka, dear,” Irene began, “Amarcus and I have talked and would like to propose an idea… for the good of the family.”
Veranne felt a sense of unease. She sensed something was wrong.
“We think,” Amarcus joined in, “that we should play it safe. You know, in case something goes wrong.”
“What are you talking about?” Veranne asked, confused.
“And we think,” Irene continued, “that you should transfer your business and the dacha to me, or the wedding is off!”
Veranne’s stomach twisted. “What…?”
“Don’t look at me like that,” Irene said condescendingly, placing a hand on Veranne’s shoulder. “It’s just a formality, for peace of mind. When you have kids, I’ll sign everything back.”
Veranne stared at them, speechless. Memories of Irene asking about the business’s clients and turnover flashed through her mind.
“Why?” Veranne finally asked, looking straight at Amarcus. “Don’t we love each other?”
“Of course we do,” Amarcus answered quickly. “But that doesn’t mean anything. It’s just… insurance. You never know.”
Irene added, “A woman should enjoy life, not worry about documents.”
Veranne couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She had trusted Amarcus, but now he and his mother were demanding everything she had worked for.
“Listen,” Amarcus said, taking her hand. “It’s just a formality. Mum’s right—what difference does it make whose name is on the assets?”
“Since when do you care about my business?” Veranne asked quietly.
Amarcus became irritated. “I respect your space. But this is different—we’re becoming a family.”
“And that’s why you want me to sign everything over to your mother?”
“Don’t dramatize!” Amarcus raised his voice. “Just sign the papers. It’s for the common good!”
Veranne remembered her father’s warning about manipulators: “They always talk about the common good when they want something for themselves.”
“I have to go,” Veranne said, picking up her bag.
“Wait, wait!” Amarcus grabbed her arm. “Where are you going?”
“I’ve heard enough,” she replied. “I need to think.”
“There’s nothing to think about,” Irene said, her voice harsh. “The papers are ready. Just sign.”
Veranne felt a cold clarity wash over her. She looked at them, her trust shattered. “See you tomorrow,” she said and walked out.
The Non-Wedding
At home, Veranne took out her wedding dress, the one she had dreamed of for so long. Then she opened the velvet box with the sapphire ring.
“What now?” she thought, sitting on the edge of her bed. By morning, she knew the answer: she would cancel the wedding.
Without calling Amarcus, she went to the registry office and canceled the ceremony. The clerk looked at her sympathetically but didn’t ask any questions. Veranne called every guest, canceled the restaurant, the decorations, and the cake.
Her phone rang nonstop—Amarcus. She didn’t pick up. Messages poured in: “What’s going on?” “Are you crazy?” “Call me!”
She responded briefly: “No wedding. Thanks for showing your hand before, not after.”
Amarcus’s response came quickly—“You ruined my life!” “You care more about your business than family!” “Selfish!”
Veranne bl0cked his number. An hour later, calls from unfamiliar numbers began— Irene Klark.
“Verannechka, what’s happening?” Irene’s voice was filled with barely concealed irritation. “Amarcus says you canceled the wedding. A misunderstanding?”
“No, not a misunderstanding,” Veranne replied firmly. “I won’t marry someone who gives me ultimatums about transferring my property.”
“You made this up!” Irene snapped. “Amarcus wanted to protect the family, and you didn’t even give him a chance to explain! Foolish girl!”
Veranne hung up. The calls stopped, and she felt a sense of relief.
Her friends supported her. When the sh0ck wore off, Veranne told them the full story. “You did the right thing,” Liza said. “Imagine what would’ve happened later.”
Veranne’s mother, Alla Sergeevna, was firmly on her side. “Your father would be proud,” she said, hugging Veranne. “He always believed you’d make the right choice, even if it was hard.”
A Life Without Amarcus
Two weeks after the non-wedding, Veranne met with a longtime business partner, Mikhail Andreyevich. Over coffee, they talked about staffing.
“A young man dropped by,” Mikhail Andreyevich said. “Amancus—forget the surname. He said he had consulting experience and could work with clients.”
Veranne froze mid-sip. “He didn’t mention me, did he?”
“Well,” Mikhail hesitated, “at first no. But then, as we were wrapping up, he suddenly mentioned his ‘promising entrepreneur’ fiancée, claiming if she transferred her business to him, it’d be very profitable for us.”
Veranne smiled grimly. “Sounds familiar.”
“Yeah,” Mikhail laughed. “Apparently it’s not such a rare trick for him.”
Veranne didn’t reveal that Amancus was her ex-fiancé. She just thanked Mikhail. Now, everything was clear.
Amancus had never loved her—he only wanted the business.
She focused on her work with renewed energy: upgraded equipment, expanded staff, new contracts. At weekends, she enjoyed her time at the dacha, drinking cocoa, reading, and reflecting on the lessons her father had taught her.
Six months later, she received a message from Amarcus: “Veranne, forgive me. I made a terr!ble mistake. Let’s talk.”
Veranne stared at it, remembering his failed scheme. She bl0cked his number again and smiled.
“If anyone ever says to me again, ‘Either you transfer the business and the dacha or there will be no wedding,’ I’ll just smile,” she thought. “Indeed—there won’t be a wedding. Thanks for the honesty.”