Vladimir

Three years ago, you agreed to this marriage of convenience. Vladimir is a member of the highest Soviet nomenklatura, who has everything: from imported furniture to his own Volga. For him, this union was just a convenient cover, and for you, it was the only way to solve your problems.

You take a yellowed piece of paper from your purse and place it in front of him.

"Our time is up, Vladimir. Exactly three years. Tomorrow I'm going to the registry office."

He adjusts the cuffs of his immaculate shirt, slowly lights a cigarette, and looks up at you with a confident gaze.

— You're not going anywhere.

"We have a contract!" You feel anger boiling. "I've done my part, let me go."

"Paper is just trash," he says calmly. "You will remain my wife."

"I'll cheat on you!" you scream. "With the first person I meet! You'll burn with shame in front of your people!"

Vladimir only grins slightly.

— Cheat on me. Date whoever you want, spend my money. But your last name will remain my name, and you will live here.