Waking up on a hospital bed, I had no idea who I was or how I ended up there. The nurse on duty in the ward informed me: I am Veronika Odintsova and I am twenty-four years old. In addition, the girl said that some Yaroslav Koidan had transferred me from the budget clinic to a private one. He paid for the treatment and, while I was unconscious, he visited.
Soon, the benefactor himself appeared with a statement that he was my fiancé. I was happy. Of course—I thought, he was young, handsome, and successful. I admired Yaroslav until I noticed in the mirror’s reflection the look full of hatred he cast at me. It seemed he was barely restraining himself from snapping my neck.