— Are you out of your mind? I said I wanted us—a blanket, the fireplace, and silence. What the hell are Viktor and Larisa doing in our New Year’s?
— Alice, don’t blow up. They called when they were already on the road. Total emergency—a pipe burst, their place got flooded with boiling water! What am I supposed to do, kick them out into the freezing cold? — Igor pulled the most pitiful face he could manage.
— Not my problem! — she snapped, tossing her tablet onto the couch. — I’ve been working like a damn machine, closing out the year—my deployment was stuck for two days straight! I want to lie down and watch stupid comedies, not babysit your trashy friend while she “teaches me how to live” again!
— Shh, they’re already in the elevator… Alice, please. For me. Just one night. I’ll take care of everything, — he whispered as the lift approached.
Part 1. Perimeter Breach
Alice stood in the middle of the massive living room of her apartment, feeling a dark, heavy fury begin to boil up inside her. The windows overlooked a city glittering with pre–New Year lights, but the festive mood she’d been carefully nurturing for weeks shattered into dust.
She was a DevOps engineer at a big fintech company. Her life was made of clean logic, predictable containers, and chaos she could control. But Igor—her husband—was the one variable that kept breaking the build.
Igor worked as a sales consultant at a boutique showroom selling luxury plumbing. He wasn’t exactly brilliant, but Alice had convinced herself his warmth and uncomplicated nature made up for the difference in their incomes—and in what they wanted out of life. She’d bought the apartment. She’d paid for the renovation. She’d filled the place with smart devices. Igor simply lived there, like a decorative element—helping create the illusion of a cozy home.
Tonight, that illusion was cracking.
— I asked you—no guests for New Year’s. If they come, you’ll celebrate alone, — Alice had said that morning, hurt turning into a low whisper as she spoke to her confused husband.
He’d brushed it off then, made a joke of it. Now—three hours before midnight—he was presenting it as a fact.
Viktor and Larisa. Alice couldn’t stand them.
Viktor, Igor’s old school friend, was loud and pushy, always smelling of cigarettes and stale booze. He acted like he was “the king of life,” even though he was constantly mooching money from Igor “until payday.” Larisa—his wife—was a sharp-tongued woman with bleached hair and a plastic smile. The last time she’d “accidentally” spilled red wine on Alice’s white rug and said, “Oops. You’ll call dry cleaning—won’t kill you.”
The doorbell sounded like an air-raid alarm.
Igor rushed to open it, his face already fixed into the eager mask of a loyal servant. Alice clenched her fists. In the dark glass of the turned-off TV she saw herself: an exhausted woman in an expensive suit, wanting nothing more than champagne and quiet.
— Look who’s here! Happy almost-New-Year, you rich people! — Viktor’s booming voice thundered from the entryway.
Part 2. Failure Points
It wasn’t two miserable victims of a plumbing disaster who piled into the hall—it was a whole invasion.
Viktor and Larisa were weighed down with bags, but not with emergency essentials. It was boxes and containers that smelled like mayo salads and cheap market food.
— Hey, Aliska, why so gloomy? — Viktor marched across the pale parquet without taking off his shoes, leaving dirty streaks. — We figured, why sit here rotting just the two of you? Your place is huge—you could play soccer in here!
Larisa tossed her fur coat straight into Igor’s hands and looked Alice over with thinly disguised envy.
— Hi, sweetheart. Wow, you’re wiped out—those under-eye bags are brutal. You need Korean patches. I brought some if you want. Otherwise your husband might fall out of love, — she giggled as she headed into the living room. — Igoryok, bring champagne, my throat’s dry!
Alice stared at her husband, waiting for him to mention the supposed flood—waiting for him to say they had no choice.
Instead Igor fussed: taking coats, unpacking bags, avoiding Alice’s eyes like they were dangerous.
— Igor, — Alice said softly, but it sounded like a threat. — Want to explain anything to me? Where are their things? If their apartment is full of boiling water, where’s the change of clothes?
Igor turned white. He stepped close and whispered, spitting from anxiety.
— Alice, don’t start. There was no flood. They just… Look, they rented their apartment out for the holidays to make some money. They were going to stay with Larisa’s parents, but they fought. They literally have nowhere to go. Please. Don’t humiliate me in front of my friends. I promised them.
Betrayal.
He’d lied to her face. Played on her pity to drag these parasites into her home—because he wanted to look like some big-shot in front of them.
— You promised? — she repeated, her voice turning to ice.
— Yeah. I told them my wife would be happy. Just endure it, — he tried to hug her, but Alice jerked away as if he were contagious.
— Family? You brought people into my home who despise me, you lied, you broke our deal—now you’re asking me to “endure it”?
— Larisa’s fine—she’s just simple, not like you with your tech attitude. Relax, Alice. Be normal!
In the living room Viktor was already opening the bar without asking.
— Oh, Blue Label! Lara, look what the rich folks drink! Igoryan, come on—let’s do a penalty shot!
Part 3. Parasite Invasion
The hour before midnight became a slow torture.
Alice sat in an armchair watching her perfectly calibrated space get defiled. Larisa was transferring their cheap “Olivier” and “Herring Under a Fur Coat” into Alice’s collectible Villeroy & Boch plates, clanging the spoons like she wanted to crack them.
— Alice, why don’t you have a real tree? — Viktor chewed loudly, already deep into the whiskey. — Fake designer one… ugh. Dead plastic. Lots of money, no soul.
— We care about nature, — Alice said dryly, eyes on her phone. She was checking the security logs.
— Nature… — Larisa mocked. — You’d be better off having kids, Ms. Nature. Thirty years old and still staring at a компуктер. Look at Igor—his eyes are hungry. He wants real borscht, not your sushi.
Igor sat between them with a stupid grin. He was in his element. For once, he felt important.
— Come on, girls, don’t fight. Alice is my career woman—she makes money, and I create the cozy home vibe, — he blurted, trying to smooth things over.
Alice lifted her eyes slowly.
— You create coziness? — she repeated. — You can’t even get your underwear into the hamper, “creator.”
— Oh, here we go! — Larisa threw up her hands. — Igoryok, how do you live with her? She nags and nags. A man should slam his fist on the table—bam! But you tiptoe around her like a servant.
Viktor howled with laughter, smacking Igor on the shoulder so hard he nearly dropped his glass.
— Exactly! Igoryan, tell her! Who’s the boss here? And by the way… we were thinking… since we’re all having such a warm little evening. Me and Lara don’t have anywhere to stay for a couple weeks. Tenants moved in for a month. So we’ll stay here, yeah? Your guest room’s empty anyway.
Alice looked at her husband.
Igor already knew. This wasn’t a one-night visit—it was a takeover.
— Uh… Alice and I will talk it over, — Igor mumbled, eyes sliding away. — I don’t think it’ll be a problem. Alice is kind.
That was the last straw—brazen entitlement mixed with pure cowardice.
Alice stood up. The fatigue was gone. Only an adrenaline storm remained.
Part 4. Critical Kernel Error
— You have five minutes, — she said. Her voice didn’t shake; it hummed with tension, sharp and controlled.
— What? — Viktor stopped chewing.
— FIVE MINUTES TO GET OUT OF MY APARTMENT. WITH YOUR SALADS, YOUR BAGS, AND YOUR “ADVICE,” — Alice didn’t scream—she clipped every word, and that made it scarier.
Igor stood too fast, knocking a glass of wine onto the pale couch. The stain spread like a bruise.
— Alice, what are you doing?! New Year’s is in twenty minutes! Are you drunk?
— I’m completely sober, Igor. Unlike your freeloading friends. I heard you talking in the hallway while you ran for ice. I have sound sensors. You were discussing how you’d con me out of money so I’d pay Viktor’s debt for his wrecked car. “A sucker isn’t a mammoth—it won’t die out.” That’s what you called your wife?
The room went dead silent. Larisa choked. Igor’s face turned ash-gray.
— You… you were spying?
— I HAVE A SMART HOME, YOU MORON! — Alice screamed, and it hit like a blast. — I control everything here! Every byte, every watt, every cent! And you—pathetic nobody—decided to pump yourself up at my expense in front of this trash?
— Hey, you watch your mouth, you cow— — Viktor started to rise.
— OUT! — Alice screamed so hard their ears rang. — OR I CALL BUILDING SECURITY AND THEY’LL THROW YOU OUT LIKE GARBAGE! I PAY THEM ENOUGH NOT TO ASK QUESTIONS!
Her face twisted with rage. She grabbed Larisa’s fur coat and hurled it out into the open stairwell.
— Get out of here! And take your husband with you! I don’t want the stench of you anywhere near my door!
Viktor, instantly losing all swagger at the sight of a woman genuinely unhinged and ready to get physical, backed away. Larisa shrieked and ran after her coat.
— Psycho! Igoryok, who are you even living with?! You need treatment! — she screamed from the stairs.
Igor stood amid the mess, staring at his wife in horror. He’d never seen her like this. He was used to her swallowing it, sighing, and paying. He hadn’t expected fury. He hadn’t expected the “doormat” to turn into a demon.
When the door slammed shut behind the guests, Igor exhaled and tried to smile.
— Damn, you’re something… You went too far, sure, but… okay, they were out of line too. Let’s clean up, sit down—
— You still don’t get it, — Alice said, standing by the home control panel, her fingers flying across the touch screen. — You’re leaving too.
— What do you mean? — Igor blinked stupidly. — Where would I go? It’s New Year’s.
— To hell. To your mother. To Viktor at the train station. I don’t care. Get out.
— Alice, stop with the hysterics. This is our apartment.
— This is my apartment. Bought before we got married.
Part 5. Full System Reset
Igor tried to laugh, like the whole thing was ridiculous, but the sound came out more like a cough.
— You won’t kick me out on New Year’s Eve. I don’t even have keys to my parents’ place on me.
— Your problem. I warned you: “If they come, you’ll celebrate alone.” You made your choice. You chose them. You chose lying. You chose playing “tough guy” on my dime. So be that guy—go solve your own mess. For once in your life.
She snatched his jacket from the hook and threw it into his face.
— But my cards, my money… — he stammered.
— Your cards are just duplicates of my account. I blocked them two minutes ago. Your phone is corporate—registered through my company. I cut it off the network. You’re nothing, Igor. Without me you’re just a file with no extension.
Igor’s face cycled through disbelief to animal fear. He finally understood this wasn’t a tantrum. Alice wasn’t screaming anymore. She was looking at him with cold disgust—like a bug in the code that had finally been removed.
— Alice, forgive me! I’m an idiot! I’ll fix it! — he dropped to his knees, trying to grab her hands.
— NO. — She shoved him back with her foot, hard, in the chest. — Leave. Before I lock you inside and cut the ventilation. I can do it, and you know it.
The fury in her eyes was real. He saw something there that looked like madness edged with a killer’s resolve. Igor stumbled backward, grabbed his jacket, and bolted into the corridor, hoping she’d cool off and let him back in within an hour.
The door shut with a heavy, final thud. Electronic locks clicked. Hands shaking, Igor pulled on his jacket. No wallet. No keys to the car—because the car was hers too. Just his smartphone, the screen dead and unresponsive.
He rushed back to the door and started pounding.
— Alice! Open up! Come on!
Silence.
He pressed his ear to the door. Nothing.
He hurried to the elevator and hit the call button. The panel lit up red: “Floor access restricted.” The penthouse security system had triggered. He was trapped in the stairwell. Downstairs, the concierge wouldn’t let him out without a resident’s confirmation—and he’d never bothered learning the exit code. He always used the app.
From outside came the first explosions of fireworks. Somewhere below, people were popping champagne, laughing, hugging.
Igor slid down onto the cold floor. A nasty draft crawled up the stairs. Nearby lay a cigarette butt Viktor had tossed.
He looked at his reflection in the phone’s black screen: a lost, pathetic man who’d thought he was in control—when he’d really been nothing more than a guest in someone else’s life.
Then the intercom panel beside the door flashed a message. Igor lurched to his feet, hope surging.
A scrolling line of text glided across the screen:
“SYSTEM UPDATED. USER ‘BELOVED HUSBAND’ DELETED. HAPPY NEW YEAR.”
The hallway light went out.