Tất nhiên rồi, đây là câu chuyện 3000 từ bằng tiếng Anh, phát triển từ đoạn mở đầu đầy kịch tính tại đám cưới:
The Uninvited Glimmer: Anna’s Revenge at the Wedding
“Anna, well, where is your beloved husband? Did he tuck tail and run again?”
The booming voice of my father, Igor Mikhailovich, cut sharply through the joyful din. All the guests had gathered in the spacious banquet hall of the countryside complex somewhere near Kyiv. Sunbeams pierced through the panoramic windows, dancing like rabbits on the polished parquet floor where the first couples were already waltzing to live classical music. The wedding of my sister, Svetlana, had just begun, but the air already thrummed with tension, like before a storm.
I froze by the entrance, feeling like an unwelcome intrusion on this celebration of life. I was wearing a modest gray dress with a barely visible train—I had deliberately chosen an outfit that would allow me to blend into the walls and draw no attention. My family had absolutely insisted that I come alone, and here I stood, clutching a small, wrapped gift package convulsively in my hands. My heart betrayed me, squeezing tight as if in a vice, but I forced myself to lift my chin and meet my father’s heavy gaze, already slightly clouded by champagne.
“He didn’t run, Papa,” my voice was quiet, but I infused it with all my stubbornness. I was trying desperately to keep a composed face in front of this public. “I came alone, as you demanded. Today is Sveta’s celebration, and I didn’t want to spoil it with arguments or scandals.”
Aunt Galina Petrovna, who was stationed nearby by the snack table, scoffed demonstratively when she heard my words. Her bright scarlet dress hurt the eyes in the light of the massive crystal chandelier, casting red glints on the walls. “Showed up without a husband? Well, of course! Who needs that penniless computer nerd of yours?” Unconcealed venom dripped from her voice. She turned to my cousin, Oleg, who immediately snickered, nervously fumbling with his gold-embroidered tie. “See, Olezka, and take note of the kind of husband one shouldn’t choose.”
“That choice of hers is just a stain on the reputation of our entire family!” the aunt added loudly.
A ripple of snickers rustled through the hall after that phrase. Guests began turning around, shamelessly scrutinizing me and whispering, some even openly pointing fingers. Distant relatives hid sneering smiles behind their hands, and the younger crowd reached for their smartphones, clearly anticipating content for social media.
Igor Mikhailovich, whose face was already flushed with an unhealthy pink from the alcohol consumed, took a sharp step towards me. “You made a laughingstock of us three years ago when you ran off with that… what’s his name… Dmitriy,” his voice cracked with anger. “And now you show up here alone, like a desolate orphan! He roughly grabbed my elbow and yanked me towards the decorative pond with white water lilies, which served as the photo zone’s centerpiece. “Go on, refresh yourself! Maybe that will knock some sense into you. Stop shaming the family!”
I jerked my arm away, pain shooting up my shoulder. “Let go of me, Papa! I will not be humiliated!”
The music mercifully swelled, trying to mask the confrontation, but all eyes were on us. My mother, Lyudmila, appeared suddenly, her face a mask of anxious compromise. She quickly put a hand on my father’s shoulder.
“Igor, please! Not here! It’s Sveta’s day! Anna, just go sit down at the far table. Please. Don’t cause trouble.” Her plea was not for my dignity, but for the smooth running of the event.
I looked at the water lilies, then at my father’s contorted, furious face. Three years. Three years since I married Dmitriy, a brilliant but struggling software engineer, rather than the wealthy, unsuitable match my father had picked out. To my family, success was measured only in currency and ostentation. Dmitriy, with his quiet dedication and big dreams locked behind a modest income, was an embarrassment.
I found a small, isolated table tucked away in a corner near the service entrance. As I sat down, trying to regulate my breathing, I realized this wasn’t just about Dmitriy. This was about control. My father, a powerful man in regional logistics, saw my independence as a personal affront. My sister, Svetlana, was marrying into money—a “proper” match that validated their worldview. My presence alone, unmarried by their standards, was a threat to the perfect façade they were presenting to Kyiv society.
I placed my gift on the table. It was heavy, wrapped in silver paper—a simple, high-quality copper kettle, a gift chosen by Dmitriy for its durability and utility. My family would find it pathetic. They expected jewelry or stock certificates.
I pulled out my phone. Dmitriy had insisted on coming, but I told him no. I couldn’t bear the thought of him enduring this venom. He was working today, putting in extra hours on a massive, secretive programming contract.
I texted him: Mission status: Survival. Initial attack endured. Target is now corner table.
His response was immediate: Hold the line, Commander. Remember what we talked about. Love you.
I smiled slightly. We had a plan, a ridiculous, theatrical plan, but a plan nonetheless. Dmitriy called it “Operation Unveiling.”
The Toast and the Insult
The toasts began. The crystal glasses clinked rhythmically. The speeches were uniformly lavish, praising Svetlana’s beauty and her husband’s future wealth. My father’s speech was the longest and loudest, a celebration of pedigree and prosperity. He conspicuously avoided mentioning me or my marriage.
Then came the turn of Cousin Oleg, Galina Petrovna’s son. He rose unsteadily, holding a microphone.
“To Sveta and her brilliant choice!” Oleg slurred, then zeroed in on my corner table. “And to Anna! Who reminds us that life is full of… choices. Some of us choose the path of gold, and some… well, some choose to work in the shadows, praying for scraps.” He raised his glass to me with mocking sincerity. “To the future of… freelance! May your coding assignments pay the rent!”
The hall roared with laughter. It was a thinly veiled, public attack on Dmitriy’s profession and our financial situation. My cheeks burned, but I kept my chin up, forcing a neutral expression. I knew the truth: Dmitriy’s intelligence surpassed everyone in this room combined. He just didn’t wear it on his sleeve.
I took a sip of water, feeling the weight of the silver-wrapped kettle on the table. It was more than a kettle; it was a symbol of our modest, hardworking life, and they despised it.
A few minutes later, as the main courses were being served, Galina Petrovna swaggered over to my table, blocking my view.
“Anna, dear,” she purred, her voice dripping condescension. “We’re taking bets. When does your little computer shack close down? Your Dmitriy looks like he hasn’t eaten a square meal since college. Maybe you should take him to the city market? They sometimes hire people to carry bags.”
“Dmitriy is very busy, Aunt Galina,” I replied calmly, meeting her gaze. “He’s working on a project that requires extreme confidentiality. He wouldn’t have time for the market.”
She laughed, a harsh, dismissive sound. “Confidentiality? Or just unemployment? Honestly, I feel sorry for you. You had the chance to marry status, but you chose poverty for… love? Such a cliché.” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice, but still loud enough for the nearby service staff to hear. “Just leave that embarrassing kettle here and go. Save yourself the rest of the embarrassment.”
I picked up the gift, holding it tightly. “Thank you for your concern, Aunt Galina. But I think I’ll stay for the cake.”
She gave me a final look of pitying disgust and walked away, her red dress a hateful smudge in my vision.
The Unveiling
It was during the final round of speeches, just as Svetlana and her husband were about to cut the towering cake, that the plan was set in motion.
I was watching the spectacle—the flashbulbs, the cheering guests—when I felt a gentle vibration in my palm. It wasn’t my phone; it was a small, high-end communication device Dmitriy had insisted I carry.
The screen lit up with three words: “Execute Phase Two.”
My heart hammered. This was it.
I stood up and walked calmly toward the head table. My father, in the middle of a grand gesture with the cake knife, saw me approaching and scowled, ready to intercept.
“Anna! What are you doing? Sit down!” he hissed.
Ignoring him, I stepped up to the microphone stand. The classical music faded slightly. The entire room went quiet, sensing another family drama.
I looked at Svetlana, whose face was a mixture of annoyance and confusion. “Sveta, I didn’t get a chance to make a proper toast, but I wanted to give you my gift, as a small token of Dmitriy’s and my hope for your future happiness.”
My father’s face was thunderous. “She doesn’t need your pitiful gifts, Anna!”
I held up the silver-wrapped package. “It’s true, she probably doesn’t need this simple kettle. But I hope she appreciates the thought.” I looked directly at Galina Petrovna, who was rolling her eyes.
“We chose something durable, built to last, something that doesn’t rely on fleeting appearances or borrowed prestige.”
Just as I finished the sentence, the entire atmosphere of the banquet hall shifted.
The large video screens behind the head table, which had been displaying a looping slideshow of Sveta and her groom, suddenly went dark.
Then, they flared to life, displaying a single, crisp, professional logo: “SYNERGOS GLOBAL PARTNERS.”
The music stopped completely. A collective gasp swept through the room. SYNERGOS was not just a company; it was the name of the international tech conglomerate that had recently dominated the global news—the company that had just been purchased by a major American financial group for an astronomical, nine-figure sum.
My father, forgetting his anger, stared up at the screen. “What… what is this, Anna? What kind of joke is this?”
On the screen, the static logo dissolved, replaced by a high-definition video conference. The video was live, featuring Dmitriy.
He was sitting in an impeccably modern, minimalist office with a sweeping panoramic view of a massive city skyline—not Kyiv, but clearly a metropolis like New York or London. He was wearing a sharp, custom-tailored suit that looked effortlessly expensive. He looked exhausted, but his eyes were bright, focused, and utterly composed.
Dmitriy spoke, his voice projected clearly and professionally through the banquet hall’s massive sound system.
“Hello, everyone. My apologies for not being there in person for Svetlana and Sergei’s wedding.” He stumbled slightly on the groom’s name, a small, human touch that grounded the spectacle. “I am Dmitriy Tkachenko, Anna’s husband, and unfortunately, I am currently finalizing a major closing agreement.”
He paused, a slight, knowing smile touching his lips. He looked directly into the camera, and his gaze seemed to pierce the screen, landing right on my father.
“Mr. Igor Mikhailovich, Aunt Galina, Oleg. I know you all worried about my lack of a ‘real’ job. I apologize for the necessary discretion, but the contract was ironclad. For the past eighteen months, I have been the Chief Architect and primary code developer behind SYNERGOS GLOBAL PARTNERS’ core operating system.”
Another, much louder gasp swept through the room. My father’s face went from angry red to an ashen white. Galina Petrovna actually stumbled backward, knocking over a champagne flute.
Dmitriy continued, his tone humble but firm. “My work concluded successfully this morning. The acquisition of SYNERGOS by American interests closed three hours ago. As per my employment contract, which included a stake in the company I helped build, I am no longer merely a ‘freelance coder’.”
He smiled widely now, an expression of relief and triumph. “I am one of the company’s founding shareholders. I believe my final compensation, factoring in the equity buyout, currently places my net worth slightly north of two hundred million hryvnia.”
The hall erupted into utter chaos. Screams, gasps, and the furious clicking of smartphones. Two hundred million!
Dmitriy raised his hand to quiet the room, his eyes returning to me.
“Anna, my Commander. Your mission is over. I’ve sent a small asset to retrieve you. Please come home. We have a lot of paperwork—and a lifetime—to plan.”
Just as he finished speaking, the panoramic window behind the head table, the one that offered a grand view of the countryside complex’s parking lot, was suddenly obscured by a shadow.
A black, armored Mercedes Maybach, the kind typically reserved for heads of state or tech billionaires, slowly pulled up to the main entrance. A chauffeur, immaculate in a black uniform, stepped out, holding a large umbrella.
The screens switched back to the SYNERGOS logo.
The crowd was speechless. My father, Igor Mikhailovich, stumbled toward the window, peering at the car in disbelief.
I gently placed the silver-wrapped kettle on the head table, right next to the massive, untouched wedding cake. I looked at Galina Petrovna, who looked like she might faint into the appetizer display, and at my father, whose entire worldview had just imploded.
I walked toward the main doors. I didn’t rush. Every step was a silent assertion of dignity and power.
As I reached the exit, I stopped and looked back at my sister, Svetlana, who was clutching her groom’s arm, her perfect bridal face ruined by shock and envy.
“Congratulations, Sveta,” I said, my voice carrying clearly in the stunned silence. “I wish you genuine happiness.”
I glanced at the kettle. “And perhaps, when you use the kettle, you can remember that value isn’t always wrapped in gold.”
I walked out of the opulent banquet hall, leaving the cacophony of shattered egos and whispered speculation behind. The chauffeur opened the door of the Maybach. I slid into the luxurious silence of the back seat, pulled out my phone, and texted Dmitriy one last time.
Mission complete. Extraction successful. Target acquisition: two hundred million hryvnia and a lifetime of happiness.
The Maybach pulled away, leaving the wedding, the scandal, and the petty judgments of my family in the dust. My quiet husband hadn’t just proven them wrong; he had bought the entire playing field. And now, finally, our life was truly beginning.
