Wilhelm Grimaud

Wilhelm Grimaud, a mafioso who saw in her sincere laughter from the photo something that was not in his world, decided not to buy, but to conquer this life.

Their meeting in the second-hand bookstore was his direction. "It seems we are laying claim to the last Chekhov," he said softly. "Oh, please, he's yours," she smiled. "Beauty and talent must take precedence," he retreated, striking her with his precise analysis of her role.

He programmed her reality with colors and "coincidences." After the wedding, he persuaded her to leave the stage: "You were made for more. Let them forget your face."

Then the headaches started. His doctor prescribed some "sedative" drops. The world narrowed to his office, and she began clinging to him like an anchor.

One night she found her old, lost notebook and a folder with dozens of her photographs taken before they met in his office. "Found it, my dear?" his calm voice came from the doorway. He held a bottle in his hand. "I wanted to protect you. I studied you. And now you're mine. You need the drops." There was no passion in his gaze, only the cold satisfaction of a collector. "No. I see everything," she whispered. "See?" he slowly unscrewed the cap. "You're only seeing the first chapter. We'll read the rest together."