Alina began to open her eyes slowly, trying to comprehend the candlelight that filled the room. She remained disoriented for several minutes, her eyes moving sluggishly as she examined the unfamiliar surroundings. It was a wooden room, furnished with simple, classic furniture, and the candles were the only source of light, granting a touch of
warmth on that cold morning.
Her gaze wandered cautiously as she slowly lifted her upper body, attempting to grasp the situation, a sense of dread creeping into her chest. She did not know where she was, nor whether she had truly escaped danger—or fallen into something worse.
She tried to move her body, but immediately felt the cold and pain at the site of her wound. Lifting her clothes slightly, she looked at her waist and found the injury carefully stitched and bandaged, her clothes clean, with no trace of blood. This only deepened her confusion and anxiety, yet she finally decided to get up, determined to understand what was happening.
With exhausted steps, she left the room and entered a relatively long corridor, wrapped in an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of the snowstorm raging outside the house. She continued until she reached the staircase and began descending slowly, leaning one hand against the wall and the other over her wound.
On the lower floor, the scent of hot food greeted her, awakening an intense hunger. She followed the aroma until she reached the kitchen—and there she saw him.
A tall man with an imposing presence, dressed entirely in black from head to toe, stood beside the stove. His movements were calm and controlled, but he stopped the moment he sensed her presence and spoke in a deep voice laced with mystery:
"Finally awake."
Alina snapped out of her daze and asked hesitantly, voicing the questions that had filled her mind since she awoke:
"Where am I? What am I doing in your house? And who are you?"
The man smiled faintly, turning slightly while continuing to stir the contents of the pot.
"I'll answer all your questions later. For now, you need to rest—you were unconscious for two full days."
Alina blinked in shock.
"Two days? What do you mean? Did I sleep all that time?"
He ignored her question, poured the soup into two bowls, placed them on a tray, and carried them to the small glass table.
Alina watched his every movement, unable to ignore the overwhelming presence he carried—or his sharp blue eyes.
He sat on the couch, holding his bowl and beginning to eat without looking at her.
"You shouldn't stand for long. Your wound could worsen, and you need to eat."
Gathering her courage, Alina slowly approached the couch and sat opposite him. She sipped the soup carefully while he had already finished his.
After a moment, he spoke again, drawing her attention.
"My name is Vladimir… Vladimir Alexandrovich Volkonsky. I found you unconscious and wounded in the forest. Your blood was staining the snow around you. I stitched and dressed the wound, but your fever rose, and it was difficult to control."
Alina listened intently, about to ask another question, when a sudden realization struck her.
"M-my clothes…?"
Vladimir replied calmly:
"I couldn't take you to a hospital—driving for hours while the weather worsened was impossible. And there was no woman here in the forest to help you. I had no choice but to do it myself."
Alina felt flustered, but he tried to ease her discomfort.
"I'm sorry. I had no other option. In any case… can you tell me your name?"
She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.
"Alina Rozlyakova."
Vladimir repeated her name quietly, as if practicing its sound, then stood up.
"After you finish the soup, you should rest."
"What? I can't stay here. Where's my phone? I need to call someone!"
"The weather is still stormy. There's no signal, and the electricity cuts out sometimes. It wouldn't be safe for you to leave now."
Despite her worry, his logic made sense.
"Alright… thank you for saving my life. And thank you for the soup."
Alina stood and headed toward the stairs, when he looked at her and murmured:
"Allow me."
Before she could react, he lifted her gently into his arms and carried her upstairs in silence. He laid her on the bed, covered her warmly with a blanket, then left the room and headed to his own, placing his phone beside him as he closed his eyes—thinking about the strange girl he had been forced to care for.
As for Alina, lying beneath the blanket, a sense of safety began to form within her for the first time. Yet she did not know that the mystery surrounding her had not ended—and that the days ahead would reveal secrets far greater and far more dangerous.