“I also don’t see why she shouldn’t know her place in the great scheme of things,” Kolya says.

“What?” I ask.

“She’s been your wife for six years and if she learns about everything, it will prepare her in case something happens.”

Yan holds him by the shoulder. “Fucking finally! That’s what I’ve been saying all along.”

I stare back at Lia. They think I’m doing this to keep her in the dark, when everything I’ve done was to protect her.

Her childhood wasn’t the best and I know how she feels about my world, so I’ve been trying my fucking hardest to keep her as far away from it as I can.

That, and I didn’t want her to meet my mother’s fate if her true identity is discovered.

I halt tapping my finger. “How about the other one?”

“The other one?” Yan frowns.

“The fake Lia.” I give him a glare. But on the bright side, even he couldn’t tell her apart from my Lenochka.

“Her name is Winter Cavanaugh, twenty-seven, American,” Kolya starts. “She’s been homeless for a few months after having a stillborn. The child’s father is unknown. She has an alcohol addiction and she comes from a lower-class background.”

“Is there more information about her parents?”

“Not really, but I’ll look further into it.”

“How about her medical condition?”

“She’s in a coma.”

“Keep her in the guest house until I figure out what to do with her. I don’t want Lia’s lookalike roaming the streets.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Lia’s fingers twitch in my hand and her eyes move beneath her lids before she slowly opens them.

“Call Dr. Putin,” I order, then lean forward as Kolya gets out of the room.

My wife blinks a few times, and as I witness life slowly creeping back into her, I make a vow to get her back, to make things right.

Somehow.

“Hey.” I stroke her chin and cheek. “How are you feeling, Lenochka?”

She stares at the ceiling, blinking slowly, but shows no signs of hearing me.

“Lia. I know you’re mad at me, but look at me.”

She doesn’t.

Instead, she’s limp, her numb expression making her blue eyes muted, almost like a haze has covered them.

“Lia,” I call again.

No sound or movement.

“There’s something wrong with her, Boss.” Yan is on the other side, watching the rapid rise of her heartbeat on the machine, which beeps at an alarming rate as she remains still, staring at nothing.

Her lips twitch and she releases a sound. I lean over to be able to hear her words. They’re low, haunted, and stab me straight in the fucking chest.

“Winter… My name is Winter…”

Then her eyes roll to the back of her head and she loses consciousness.

3

Adrian

Winter.

Lia said her name is Winter.

Not only that, but she also didn’t say anything beyond those five measly words. She’s been going in and out of consciousness for the past three days.

And when she comes to, she stares at nothing, not even acknowledging my—or anyone else’s—presence.

Dr. Putin said it’s purely mental at this point and that her bodily reaction is related to that.

I called in her shrink, or more accurately, I threatened her so she’d come to check on Lia. Dr. Taylor is a small brown woman with short black hair and an upright posture, who insisted on talking to my wife alone.

But that doesn’t stop me from watching through the glass window. Surprisingly, Lia is talking to the therapist, and she doesn’t seem to be repeating the fact that she’s Winter over and over again.

Kolya remains silent by my side after I send a grumbling Yan back home to look after Jeremy. I’ve had to go back for short intervals during the past few days to keep him company before putting him to sleep. He cried the first time I told him his mother had gone on a trip and would return for him soon. Then he refused to sleep anywhere but on my lap and in my company.

Jeremy has always been used to having his mother around, and I have no fucking clue how to ease him into the change of circumstances. For now, he needs to believe that she’s away and will come back.

Because she will come back.

Even if I have to threaten and coerce all the doctors and psychotherapists.

Dr. Taylor smiles at Lia, then walks to the window and pulls the shutters to block my view of them.

I’m about to barge inside, but I’m halted when the therapist steps out and closes the door behind her.

“Why did you do that?” I ask in a calm that’s laced with deep-seated anger.

The fact that Lia doesn’t talk to me, let alone recognize me, has been like being pricked by tiny needles. The sting isn’t sharp, but it’s constant and without reprieve.

Dr. Taylor slides her gold-rimmed glasses over her nose. Her hand is shaking and I can tell she’s intimidated by me, but she meets my gaze head-on. “Because you’re scaring her.”

“She recognized me?” I ask slowly, hopefully, and even Kolya’s body leans forward in anticipation of the answer.

“No, she doesn’t, but she recognizes you as a danger.”

I pretend those words don’t cut through me like a blunt fucking knife. “She said that?”

“Yes.”

“What else did she say?”

“That there are scary men outside her room and that she didn’t do anything wrong. She also seems to believe she’s Winter Cavanaugh and even relayed her life events. From what you told me, she already met Winter and talked to her, so the fact that she knows all the details isn’t a surprise.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s dissociating, Mr. Volkov.”

“Dissociating?”

“It happened due to the traumatic event she experienced, and other factors from her childhood, combined with adulthood traumas, are most likely what led her to this state. I believe her case to be a form of dissociative fugue. She doesn’t realize that she’s experiencing a memory loss and has invented a new identity to fill the gaps.”

“And how do I stop her from dissociating?”

“You can’t. She currently believes herself to be Winter and if you tell her otherwise or force it on her, she might get worse and develop other critical types of dissociations.”

“Are you telling me to sit by and do nothing?”

“Something like that. She needs to find her old self on her own. Her neurosis is quite strong right now. In other words, her mind is very fragile and she’s the only one who can build it back up. Any form of duress will have the exact opposite effect. In fact, victims of dissociation escape into their minds as a response to trauma or abuse.” She stresses the last word even as she tries to avoid my gaze.

It takes everything in me not to snap her neck and show her what true abuse is like. Instead, I hold onto my cool so I can get the answers out of her. “What does she need now?”

“A change from her usual habitat would be great. She also needs a supportive entourage and no judgmental dialogue. In order to open her mind again, Lia has to feel safe.”