— You just need to rest, sweetheart,” my husband Stas said, his voice dripping with fake concern. “Just a couple of weeks at the best health resort. You’ll calm your nerves down.”
I stared at him, trying to focus. My head felt heavy and dull, as if it were packed with wet sand.
“I don’t want a resort,” I whispered.
Tamara Igorevna, my mother-in-law, sitting in the front passenger seat, let out a short laugh.
“Whether you want to or not, you have to, dear. You’ve completely run yourself into the ground. You snap at people, you don’t sleep at night.”
She didn’t look at me—her eyes stayed fixed on the road. The last few weeks had turned into hell.
The two of them kept convincing me that I was losing my mind. My things would go missing—then turn up in the most ridiculous places.
They swore I’d said things I couldn’t remember.
The car turned off the highway, and instead of the promised pines and spa hotel, a gray, monumental building with bars on the windows rose up in front of us.
“Psycho-Emotional Correction Center ‘Harmony.’”
My heart skipped a beat.
“This isn’t a resort.”
“It’s better,” Tamara Igorevna snapped as Stas parked the car. “They’ll definitely help you here.”
Stas pulled me out of the car. He wouldn’t meet my eyes; the hand gripping my elbow was clammy and weak. Two orderlies in white coats were already waiting by the entrance.
“We’re leaving her in your care,” my mother-in-law said with a wide smile, handing them some papers. “The full course. Paid in advance.”
Cold triumph splashed in her eyes. In that moment, the haze finally lifted from mine. This whole game wasn’t about my “health.”
They led me down echoing corridors that smelled of medicine and bleach. They took my bag, my phone. I didn’t resist. What was the point? Everything had been decided for me.
“The head doctor will see you now,” a nurse said indifferently, stopping at a massive door.
I stepped into the office. By the window, his back to me, stood a tall man in an impeccably pressed coat.
“Hello,” I said, and my voice sounded surprisingly steady.
Slowly, the man turned around.
And the world tilted.
It was Arseny. My Ars—the one I hadn’t seen in almost ten years. The very man whose career I once saved by taking the blame for his medical mistake.
He looked at me, and his face showed everything: shock, and then a vague, creeping guilt. He recognized me. Of course he did.
My dear husband and mother-in-law had dumped me in a psych ward to get their hands on my money—but they had no idea the head doctor was my ex, and he owed me.
A smile formed on my lips all by itself. It looked like the game was only just beginning.
“Arseny?” I asked softly. “What an unexpected reunion. You’re in charge here now?”
He swallowed, unable to look away.
“Alina… What are you doing here?”
“Came to get treated,” I stepped forward, feeling strength returning to me. “My husband says I’m not myself. And what do you think? Do I look crazy?”
Arseny walked around the desk and picked up the file with my name on it—clearly the one Stas and his mother had brought.
His fingers twitched nervously over the cover. He was trying to put his impartial-doctor mask back on.
“The documents say you’ve had recent outbursts of aggression, memory lapses, depressive episodes…”
“You can write anything you want in documents,” I cut him off. “Especially when you’re desperate to get access to your wife’s money. My father died six months ago. Left everything to me. Stas and his mother can’t stand it.”
I moved closer to his desk, looking him straight in the eyes. I could see professional duty fighting with memories.
“You owe me, Ars. Or did you forget how I took the fall for your failed diagnosis and left my residency so you could keep your career? So you could become… this. Head doctor.”
He flinched as if I’d slapped him.
“I haven’t forgotten anything, Alina.”
“Then prove it.”
For a few seconds he froze, staring somewhere through me. Then he pressed the intercom button on his desk.
“Valentina, come in.”
A heavyset woman in a white coat entered, her gaze unpleasant and appraising. She looked at me like an insect pinned under glass.
“Place patient Alina Vorontsova in Room Seven. VIP wing. Start a course of vitamins and mild herbal sedatives. No strong medication without my direct order. I’ll monitor her personally.”
The nurse’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, but she didn’t dare argue.
“Yes, Arseny Igorevich.”
As she led me out, I caught Arseny’s look. The message was clear: Play by my rules. I’m on your side.
The room turned out to be more like a decent hotel suite: a comfortable bed, a private bathroom, and even a window without bars, looking out onto a quiet inner garden.
That evening Valentina came in again. She carried a dinner tray and a small paper cup with pills.
“Here, take these,” her voice turned syrupy-sweet. “Doctor’s orders. For good sleep.”
I looked at the pills, then at her.
“I sleep just fine. Thank you.”
“Arseny Igorevich insisted,” she pushed, her smile tightening.
I understood right away—she was their person. Stas and Tamara had surely paid her extra for “special care.”
“Fine,” I took the cup and a glass of water. “Thank you for your concern, Valentina.”
She waited until I brought the pills to my mouth, nodded, and left, closing the door firmly behind her.
The moment she was gone, I spat them into my palm. Two white ones and a yellow one. I had no idea what they were, but they definitely weren’t “mild herbal sedatives.”
I hid them in the pocket of my robe. That was my first piece of evidence.
I had to act. Arseny had bought me time, but he wasn’t all-powerful. They could audit him. They could pressure him. I couldn’t just sit and wait for him to find a way to get me out.
I had to prove I’d been put here by force and deception. And for that I needed an ally—or at least access to information. A phone, for example.
I went to the door and listened. In the corridor, there was only the steady hum of the lights.
A plan started forming in my head—bold, risky, but the only possible one.
And it had to start with Valentina. She was the weak link. She loved money. And luckily, for now, I still had enough of it.
The next morning, when Valentina came for rounds, I was waiting. I sat on the bed—calm, collected.
“Valentina, sit down for a minute. I have a business proposal.”
She blinked, startled, but curiosity won out.
“What kind of proposal?”
“I know my husband and mother-in-law paid you to give me medication that isn’t what the doctor prescribed,” I said quietly but firmly. “Don’t deny it.”
“I’m not going to report you. On the contrary—I want to pay you more.”
Her face stretched, her eyes darted.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about…”
“You do. You know exactly what I mean,” I smirked. “How much did they give you? A hundred thousand? Two? I’ll give you a million. I can write an IOU right now. For one small favor.”
The word million worked like magic. She stopped pretending and swallowed.
“What favor?”
“I need a phone. For one hour. And I need you to confirm, if necessary, that I’ve been completely sane since I arrived.”
She didn’t hesitate for long. Half an hour later her smartphone was in my hands. First, I called my lawyer, Igor.
I explained the situation briefly. He was shocked, but he immediately understood what to do. Then I dialed Stas.
“Sweetheart,” I cooed into the receiver, turning on call recording. “It’s so awful here… I understand everything now. You were right. I’ll sign whatever papers you need—just get me out of here.”
Stas took the bait instantly.
“That’s my good girl, Alinka! Mom and I were just planning to visit tomorrow. We’ll bring the documents for you to sign, so I can manage your affairs while you’re getting treated.”
The next day they arrived—glowing, expecting victory. Arseny led them into his office.
Where I was already waiting.
Not in a hospital robe, but in my own clothes—returned at Arseny’s request.
“Alina?” Stas faltered when he saw me like that. “But where’s—”
“Where’s the unstable wife ready to hand you everything?” I finished for him. “She never existed.”
Tamara Igorevna flushed purple.
“What is the meaning of this? Arseny Igorevich, why isn’t the patient in her room?”
“Because she isn’t a patient,” Arseny said calmly, stepping to my side. “But you, it seems, will soon have serious legal problems. Fraud. Unlawful imprisonment…”
The office door opened, and my lawyer Igor walked in.
“Good afternoon,” he said, setting a voice recorder on the desk. “I think we all have something to discuss. For example—this recording.”
“And testimony from a witness: Nurse Valentina. And an independent lab report on the medications you tried to force on my client.”
Stas’s face turned as white as a hospital coat. Tamara Igorevna opened and closed her mouth like a fish thrown onto shore. Their perfect plan collapsed in an instant.
I looked at them without hatred—only cold contempt. My revenge wasn’t in putting them in prison. It was in taking away everything they’d been so desperate to get.
And I did.
When they left—crushed and ruined—I turned to Arseny.
“Thank you,” I said simply.
“I just paid my debt,” he smiled. “What will you do now?”
“Live,” I answered, looking out the window at the free, enormous world. “Just live.
