Page 13 of Cruel Submission

“Everyone out. I need space.”

We file into the hallway. Yanis plants himself against the wall, both hands tunneling through his hair. Stefan has vanished somewhere, probably home to comfort his daughter. I stay where I am, useless, listening to Harrison’s low, steady voice through the door and Debra’s broken breathing underneath it.

Forty-one minutes before the door opens.

Harrison emerges with his medical bag, looking ten years older than when he went in. “She’s stable. Heavily sedated.”

“What happened in there?”

“Severe panic attack triggered by acute PTSD.” He meets my eyes. “Mr. Laurov, that woman’s psychological state is extremely fragile. Years of sustained captivity and abuse have left her with severe dissociation, identity confusion, complex trauma responses. She barely knows who she is anymore.”

I look past him into the room. Debra’s curled on her side under a blanket, finally still, her eyes blank as she stares off at something only she can see.

“She doesn’t respond to her own name consistently,” Harrison continues. “Flinches at sudden movements, loud sounds, direct eye contact. Anything that registers as a potential threat.” He pauses. “I need you to minimize her exposure to new people. No visitors. No introductions. She can’t process that kind of stimulus right now.”

“How long?”

He shrugs. “Months, maybe, before she’s functional enough for normal interaction. This kind of chronic trauma doesn’t heal overnight.” He shifts his bag. “I’ll be back tomorrow to start building a treatment plan. But Arkady—she needs absolute stability. Routine. Zero surprises. Can you maintain that environment?”

I look at Debra again. At Mirabel’s face reflected back in broken fragments.

“Yes.”

Harrison nods and heads for the stairs. Yanis watches him go, then turns to me.

“You have to tell Mirabel.”

“No.” I’m surprised at how sharply the word comes out. “You heard him. Debra can’t handle new people. And Mirabel—” I stop. Try again. “She’ll want to see her. Talk to her. She’ll push for answers Debra can’t give, and I won’t let that happen. Not until Debra can survive it. The last thing Mirabel needs is to think she was the one who shattered her sister’s mind.”

“So what’s your plan? Keep them separated under the same roof? That’s insane.”

“Then I’m insane.” I straighten. “But I’m not letting these women meet until they’re both able to handle it.”

Yanis stares at me like I’ve suggested burning down the house.

Maybe I should. Would be simpler than what I’m about to do.

“You’re mad,” Yanis says. “This is all going to come out, and when it does, it’s going to be a shitshow.”

“Then I’ll deal with it when it happens,” I say, hating the fact that my goddamn brother’s probably right.

Pizdets!

My life was never meant to get so fucking complicated.

Chapter Five

Arkady

Yanis pushes off the wall, looking exasperated, which is normal when he’s dealing with me. “I gotta go. Check on the rest of the operation.” He heads for the stairs, then stops. “Call me later. We need to talk strategy.”

I watch him descend, then turn back to Debra’s door. My hand rests on the handle for a long moment before I push it open.

She’s sitting now, with her knees pulled to her chest, staring at nothing. The medication’s left her edges soft, blurred, but conscious enough to register my presence. She looks impossibly fragile.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, keeping my voice as gentle as I can.

She turns her head slowly, like the movement requires thought. “Floaty. Like I’m… not…” She blinks. Loses whatever she was reaching for. “Disconnected.”