— I Received the Apartment as a Gift, So Get the HELL Out of Here! — Driven to Her Breaking Point, the Daughter-in-Law Pointed Everyone Toward the Door —
The air in the workshop was always thick and heavy, saturated with the smell of chemicals, dry wood shavings, and the distinctive scent of treated hides. Irina loved that smell. It meant peace, control, and, most importantly, the absence of unnecessary people.
She was a taxidermist—a profession that made ordinary people either grimace in disgust or giggle foolishly, but one that brought in a substantial income and required nerves of steel. Her hands, roughened by years of working with tools, were now carefully waxing the plumage of a rare pheasant.
The door flew open without a knock, allowing the noise of the city and the scent of expensive but overly strong perfume to invade the sterile world of the workshop.
“Ira, are you in this chemical dump again?” Daniil’s voice carried its usual note of contempt. He grimaced and covered his nose with his hand.
Daniil, her fiancé, worked as an antiques acquisition consultant. It sounded impressive, but in reality, he was merely a middleman who resold other people’s histories for a percentage. He possessed the polished, almost glossy kind of beauty that required constant investment and admiration.
A large figure appeared behind him. It was Daniil’s aunt, Tamara, a woman whose eyes assessed people as though they were cuts of meat at a market.
“Hello, dear,” she said through clenched teeth, refusing to step completely over the threshold, as though afraid that the concrete floor might soil her designer shoes. “Danya says you’re still being stubborn?”
Irina slowly removed her protective glasses and placed her scalpel on a metal tray. It landed with a cold, sharp clang.
“Good afternoon to you too, Tamara Igorevna. What exactly am I being stubborn about?”
“About upgrading our living situation,” Daniil said, walking farther inside and ignoring Irina’s warning look. He unceremoniously pushed aside a jar of varnish and sat on the edge of the worktable. “Mom found an amazing option. A townhouse. But we need a down payment—a large one. Your apartment is our ticket to a normal life.”
“My apartment,” Irina said quietly but clearly, looking her fiancé directly in the eyes, “is my apartment. I have no intention of selling it.”
“There you go again!” Tamara threw up her hands, finally stepping inside and immediately pulling the hem of her coat away from the surroundings. “Sweetheart, you’re joining a family. And in a family, everything goes into one shared pot. Danya is a man. He needs an office and a certain status. Meanwhile, you’re sitting on your precious property like a dog in the manger.”
“Danya already has status.” Irina nodded toward her fiancé’s expensive watch, which, incidentally, had been purchased with her help. “And we already have somewhere to live.”
“It’s a shoebox!” Daniil roared, and for a moment, his face lost its photogenic quality as it twisted with rage. “I can’t live in a museum where every corner reminds me of your grandfather! We need a modern home registered in both our names, so I can feel like the owner.”
Irina smirked. That was the entire point.
“Both our names.”
“I will not sign any documents to sell the apartment, Danya. The matter is closed.”
Daniil jumped off the table. He walked right up to her and towered over her. In the past, Irina would have become flustered at moments like this and tried to smooth things over. But today, as she stared at the button on his shirt that looked ready to fly off from the tension, she felt no fear—only a dull, dark irritation.
“Think about it, Irochka,” Tamara said in a syrupy voice, although the threat in her eyes was unmistakable. “The wedding is right around the corner. The expenses are enormous. We’ve already told everyone that the newlyweds are moving. Don’t embarrass Danya in front of the family.”
“I said no.”
Daniil suddenly grabbed the prepared body of a small bird from the table and squeezed it until its internal frame cracked.
“You’re selfish, Ira. A cold-hearted, selfish woman obsessed with dead animals. We’re leaving. But tonight, at Mom’s house, we’re going to have a serious conversation. And God help you if you miss that dinner.”
He threw the ruined piece onto the floor and walked out. Tamara snorted and followed him.
Irina picked up the bird. The frame was broken. Two weeks of work had been destroyed.
An ornate banquet hall had been rented for a family celebration—Daniil’s mother’s anniversary. Her fiancé’s family loved putting on a show. Everything in the room screamed of money they did not actually possess in the quantities they pretended to have.
Irina sat at the long table, feeling like a specimen displayed beneath the glass of a microscope. Beside her sat Zoya, Daniil’s sister—the only member of the clan who had retained her humanity and conscience.
“Hang in there,” Zoya whispered as she poured Irina some water. “They’re completely out of control today. Our brother Stas is here, and he’s quite a character.”
Across from Irina sat the birthday woman, Valentina Petrovna, a large and noisy woman covered in gold like a Christmas tree. Beside her was her favorite child, her eldest son Stas, who chewed so loudly it sounded as if he were grinding bones.
“So, future sister-in-law,” Stas said, wiping his greasy lips with a napkin without taking his insolent eyes off Irina. “I hear you’re playing hard to get. Danya says you’re being greedy.”
The music in the hall had faded, and his question sounded especially loud in the sudden silence. The guests—all relatives and “important people”—quieted down in anticipation of a show.
“Stas, don’t start,” Zoya tried to intervene.
“What did I say?” Stas leaned back in his chair and spread his legs. “If she’s joining the clan, she needs to measure up. Instead, she walks around dressed like a beggar, smelling of chemicals, while holding back her dowry. That little apartment in the city center must be worth thirty million now. Our brother could use that money to develop his business, but she’s sitting on a golden egg and refusing to lay it.”
Valentina Petrovna gave a theatrical sigh.
“Oh, son, don’t even get me started. I really believed Irochka respected us. We welcomed her with all our hearts…”
Daniil sat beside his mother, silently twisting the stem of his wineglass. He did not look at Irina. He was waiting for the pack to do its job.
“I have my own business, Stas,” Irina said evenly, although a spring was already tightening inside her. “And I have my own money. I help Daniil, but I will not allow anyone to touch my grandfather’s apartment.”
“Your grandfather!” Aunt Tamara laughed from her seat at the side of the table. “What’s even left of your grandfather in there? Dust and walls. Sell it, buy a proper house, and register shares in both your and Danya’s names. That would be fair. What happens if you divorce? Is Danya supposed to be left with nothing?”
“Are you already planning our divorce before the wedding?” Irina asked.
“We’re planning guarantees!” Stas roared. “Who are you, anyway? A craftswoman who digs around inside corpses. You were given the honor of being accepted into a respectable family…”
“Shut up, Stas!” Zoya slammed her palm against the table. “Ira is a talented artist. Museums commission her work!”
“Be quiet, you stupid hen!” Daniil snarled at his sister, speaking for the first time. “Stay out of men’s affairs. Ira needs to understand her place.”
Irina slowly stood up. Her chair scraped against the parquet floor.
“My place, Danya, is wherever I make my own decisions. Your place, apparently, is underneath your mother’s skirt, since you allow your brother and your aunt to divide up my property.”
“Sit down!” Daniil hissed. “Don’t you dare make a scene!”
“You’re the ones making a scene. You eat and drink, and it’s always at someone else’s expense.” Irina swept her gaze over the table piled high with delicacies whose bill, she suspected, they would later expect her to pay. “Enjoy your meal.”
She turned and walked toward the exit.
A shout followed her.
“Think very carefully, you bitch!” Stas yelled. “We know other ways of talking to people!”
Irina’s anger was no longer hot. It had become cold and solid.
A week later, after changing tactics, Daniil persuaded Irina to go to his uncle Vitaly’s country house.
“A peace agreement, grilled meat, only close family, and absolutely no conversations about property,” he promised.
Irina agreed only because she wanted to settle the matter once and for all. She had no intention of giving in, but she wanted to understand whether there was anything in their relationship worth saving.
Uncle Vitaly, the brother of Daniil’s father, was a simple and honest man, an auto mechanic with calloused hands. He greeted Irina warmly, but there was something pitying in the way he looked at her.
While the men lit the grill and the women chopped salads in the gazebo, Irina went to the car to get her phone. On her way back, she heard voices behind the dense currant bushes.
Daniil and his brother Stas were smoking, unaware that she was nearby.
“…we’ll break her eventually, don’t worry,” Stas said lazily and confidently. “First the registry office, the marriage certificate, and then we’ll work on her. If she refuses to sell, we’ll make her life unbearable. We’ll put her through hell until she runs away herself, and then we’ll exchange the apartment. Or force her out.”
“Mom says we need to get her to sign a general power of attorney,” Daniil replied. His tone was businesslike, without the slightest trace of doubt. “We’ll tell her it’s needed to prepare the documents for the country house we’re supposedly buying.”
“Exactly. The important thing is to be affectionate for now. Once she signs it, you can do whatever you want with her. You could even have her committed to a psychiatric hospital. With all those stuffed animals, she already looks insane.”
Irina froze.
Something inside her snapped. The final thread connecting her to this man broke with a deafening sound.
There had never been any love. There was only the cold calculation of a pack of jackals surrounding its prey.
Uncle Vitaly approached after noticing her condition.
“You heard them?” he asked quietly before spitting into the grass.
Irina nodded silently.
“Run from them, girl. They’ll devour you. My brother—their father—was a decent man, but these people… they take after their mother. Rotten to the core. Your Daniil is hollow, nothing but shiny wrapping. All he cares about is money.”
“I’m not going to run, Uncle Vitaly,” Irina said, her voice now carrying a growl. “I’m not prey.”
She did not cause a scandal at the country house. She simply turned around, got into her car, and drove away, leaving Daniil without transportation.
When he called, she rejected the call and blocked his number.
But she knew he would come.
All of them would come.
She unblocked him a day later and sent him a short message:
“We need to meet. At the tile store on Leninsky Avenue. We’ll discuss your renovation.”
Daniil rushed there, shining like a freshly polished coin. He believed his plan had worked—the foolish woman had finally surrendered.
His mother Valentina and Aunt Tamara came with him as moral support. Apparently, they were afraid he might lose his chance at the money again.
Irina stood beside a display of luxury Italian porcelain tiles. She was calm.
Frighteningly calm.
“Sweetheart!” Daniil tried to embrace her, but Irina stepped aside. “I knew you would come to your senses. Mom, look—this is the tile I want in our bathroom.”
“It’s expensive, but the quality is excellent,” Valentina Petrovna said approvingly as she felt the sample. “Irochka, did you bring your bank card? We need to pay the deposit now to lock in the price.”
“And we need to pay for the bathroom fixtures too,” Daniil added. “There’s an incredible hot tub. It’s only four hundred thousand.”
Irina looked at them and saw not people, but parasites—fat, glistening bedbugs.
“Danya,” she said loudly enough to attract the attention of the sales consultants and other customers, “why should I pay for a hot tub in an apartment where I’m not even registered? An apartment that exists only in your imagination?”
“But we’re a family!” Daniil’s smile became strained. “Almost a family. My money is your money…”
“You don’t have any money, Danya,” Irina cut him off. “You’re a nobody. You live on your mother’s money while showing off with mine. I heard your conversation at the country house. I heard everything about forcing me out and sending me to a psychiatric hospital.”
Valentina Petrovna’s face turned blotchy and crimson.
“What kind of nonsense are you talking about, you insolent little brat?”
“I’m telling the truth. I’m not buying anything. Not the tiles, not the hot tub, and not your love.”
Daniil seized her by the elbow. He gripped it painfully and roughly, hard enough to leave bruises.
“You are going to take out your money and pay the bill right now,” he hissed in her ear. “Otherwise, I’ll make you regret it. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
At that moment, Irina’s anger overflowed.
She did not cry. Instead, using a quick, professional movement she had learned while working with tough hides, she twisted his wrist.
Daniil howled and doubled over.
“I know exactly who I’m dealing with. A kept man and his pack of dogs.”
She shoved him, and he crashed into a rack of tile samples. A tremendous clatter echoed through the store.
“You’ll regret this!” Tamara shrieked. “We’ll drag you through every court in the country! We’ll destroy you!”
“Try it,” Irina replied before walking out of the store to the ringing accompaniment of the scandal Valentina Petrovna had begun creating for the staff.
The final confrontation came two days later.
Inside her apartment.
Inside her fortress.
Irina was waiting for them. She knew they would not give up so easily. Greed was a fuel that did not burn out quickly.
The doorbell rang long and insistently.
Irina opened the door.
The entire leadership committee stood on the other side: Daniil with his hand bandaged, his enormous brother Stas, their mother Valentina, and Aunt Tamara.
“All right, we’ve talked enough,” Stas said, rudely pushing Irina aside with his shoulder and entering the hallway. The others poured in behind him. “Pack your things, sweetheart.”
“What is going on?” Irina asked, standing in the middle of the hallway.
“Justice is going on,” Valentina Petrovna announced as she dropped heavily onto the entryway bench and looked around like the owner of the place. “You deceived my son and betrayed his expectations. You used him and wasted his time. We consulted a lawyer. You owe him compensation for emotional damages. This apartment will cover the debt.”
“Have you all lost your minds?” Irina laughed. “This is my property. Get out.”
“Or what?” Stas walked right up to her. He reeked of stale alcohol. “You’ll call the police? We’ll tell them you attacked us. We’ll say you’re unstable. Danya will confirm it. We have witnesses. You’ll sign the apartment over to Danya as a gift, and then we’ll leave you alone.”
Daniil stood beside the mirror, fixing his hair with his left hand.
“Ira, don’t make this difficult. You humiliated me in the store. That comes at a high price. Stas has a hot temper. He may not be able to control himself.”
They had backed her into a corner.
Literally.
Stas towered over her, pressing one hand against the wall beside her head.
“Sign it, you bitch, or I’ll rearrange your face so badly that even your own mother won’t recognize you.”
Irina felt a supernova explode inside her.
The fear vanished.
All that remained was the primal, animal fury of a creature defending its den.
“So you’re going to use force?” she asked quietly.
“Force,” Stas replied with a grin.
Irina roared.
It was not a woman’s scream, but the growl of a wild animal.
She grabbed Stas by the lapels of his leather jacket and, with the unbelievable strength produced by adrenaline and years of working with heavy tools, yanked him toward her and drove her forehead into his nose.
The crack was so loud it could be heard from the kitchen.
Stas stumbled backward, clutching his face as blood sprayed across the wallpaper.
“You filthy bitch!” Daniil lunged at her.
Irina spun around. Her strong hand, accustomed to gripping pliers, seized his designer shirt. The fabric crackled and tore open from top to bottom, exposing his pale chest.
She was not merely tearing his clothing.
She was destroying his image.
She shoved him in the chest with such force that he flew backward into the coat rack, bringing coats and jackets crashing down on top of him.
“I received this apartment as a gift!” she screamed so loudly that the glass in the cabinet rattled. “So get the HELL out of here! Out!”
Apartment Insurance
She grabbed the heavy metal umbrella stand and raised it above her head.
She looked insane: hair disheveled, eyes blazing, and fists clenched until her knuckles turned white.
She looked like a witch.
Valentina Petrovna shrieked and pressed herself into a corner. Aunt Tamara, forgetting all about her dignity and status, was already pulling at the front door handle as she tried to escape.
Stas, whimpering in pain and attempting to stop the bleeding, backed toward the exit.
“She’s insane! She’s sick! Let’s get out of here!”
Daniil, tangled in the remains of his shirt, crawled pitifully toward the door while staring at his former fiancée in animal terror.
He had expected tears, begging, and calls to lawyers.
He had not expected to be beaten.
He had not expected the quiet little “mouse” to transform into a steamroller.
Irina leapt toward Daniil, grabbed him by the collar, and literally threw him out onto the landing.
One of Stas’s shoes, which had fallen off during the struggle, flew out after him.
“Never show your faces here again!” she roared through the open doorway. “If I see you one more time, I’ll tear you apart and turn you into stuffed animals!”
The neighbors were peeking out through their doors.
Daniil’s family—that proud pack—fled down the staircase in panic.
Stas smeared blood across his face. Tamara had lost one of her shoes. The heavyset Valentina gasped for breath as she ran, while the half-naked and ragged Daniil stumbled after them.
They fled like rats abandoning a sinking ship, pushing and trampling one another.
Daniil looked back only once.
There was complete bewilderment in his eyes. He still could not understand the exact moment when his perfect plan had shattered against a taxidermist’s fist.
He was accustomed to manipulating people through guilt and pity, but he had proven powerless against pure, undiluted rage.
Irina slammed the door shut with a crash.
Breathing heavily, she looked at her hands.
They were not trembling.
She fixed her hair, stepped over the torn sleeve of her fiancé’s shirt lying on the floor, and walked into the kitchen.
There was ice cream waiting for her in the freezer.
And tomorrow, she would change the locks.