Skillful, firm fingers delicately removed the bandage, tenderly touching the almost imperceptible suture, gently cleansing it with a moist pad, passing a warm phonophoresis probe over it, applying a resorbable cream to the skin, and covering it with a fresh bandage. Daniel lay on the medical bed, gazing silently at the ceiling, awaiting the conclusion of the procedure, attempting to grasp the elusive association that preoccupied his thoughts.

"The healing process is proceeding well," Dr. Lungin remarked with contentment. "You may get dressed, Mr. King."

"Thank you, Doctor."

Daniel settled onto the couch, his shoulders trembling faintly. Despite the warmth of the clinic, an unsettling sensation crept over him, eliciting a shiver. Hastily, he began to dress, pulling on a sock before pausing abruptly. A vivid and unsettling association sprang to mind: "The Skin I Live In" by Almodovar. The scene where the protagonist, molded to the desires of a deranged surgeon, dons special socks in tense preparation to jump on her Pygmalion to try to escape.

 Daniel grimaced, banishing the eerie image from his thoughts, and sighed, eyeing the patch on his foot. The scars, intended not to mar Alexander's satisfaction, were numerous - two on his right eyebrow, a jagged keloid mark on his neck - a grim souvenir from the deceased Bright - three on his thighs from the force of kicks, one on his arm, and the most agonizing of all - tiny scars around his anus from rape. While eager to erase these reminders of his harrowing past, the thought of undergoing such procedures as a mere pawn for his master was deeply humiliating.

He had undergone extensive repairs: chipped front incisors were extracted, his skin underwent corrective cosmetic procedures, numerous blood tests were conducted to detect any infections, and he underwent a regimen of vitamin and mineral injections, X-rays, CT scans, MRIs, and even a series of psychotherapy sessions. Despite all this, Alexander had yet to make an appearance, and the tension was palpable. Daniel bid farewell to the doctor and lethargically made his way out to the corridor, nodding in acknowledgment as Maxim checked the appointment sheet,

"Next up, the psychotherapist."

In the psychotherapy room, Daniel, lost in his own thoughts, prepared to maintain his customary silence. Ksenia spoke softly, pausing for long intervals in hopes of eliciting a response before moving on to the next question. Daniel perked up upon hearing a particularly sensitive question.

"Daniel, when you recall the negative experiences from your time in prison, what emotions arise within you?" Ksenia asked gently, her demeanor conveying empathy and support. Daniel remained sullenly silent, meeting her gaze but showing no intention of responding. Recalling the horrors he endured in that hellish place meant confronting them anew, inviting a flood of painful memories that threatened to overwhelm him. Daniel had learned to detach himself from the brutality of prison life, a feat of willpower that kept him teetering on the brink of sanity. He had intentionally numbed his senses to preserve his mental well-being, reserving introspection for a time when it felt safe to confront his demons head-on. For now, revisiting those surreal nightmares would only serve to weaken him further, at a time when he needed strength to regroup and navigate the uncertain path ahead.

And he had no inclination to open up to Ksenia.

As a psychotherapist, she was undeniably skilled and in high demand. This demand was evident in the luxurious silk of her blouse, a subtly lustrous, densely woven fabric tailored to fashion. Her sophisticated trousers were crafted from fine blue wool, the sort not readily available in mass-market outlets. The sizable diamond studs adorning her ears spoke to her refined taste. Despite Daniel's reluctance to cooperate, she maintained a composed demeanor, displaying no hint of frustration. With a psychologist of her caliber, Daniel could have easily confronted and uprooted his lingering pain in a secure environment. However, given the current circumstances of uncertainty, his instincts were sounding alarms of danger, urging him to remain vigilant and prepared for potential threats.

It had been three weeks since he arrived in Moscow, yet he still hadn't crossed paths with Alexander. Instead, a series of unsettling events unfolded, growing more alarming by the day. While Daniel understood the need for examinations at the prestigious medical center to address any potential health concerns for Alexander, the subsequent psychotherapy sessions felt like an endless delay that only irked him further. Anticipation of something unpleasant always breeds discomfort, and the prolonged waiting only intensified his inner tension. 

Each morning, Daniel would wake up with a mixture of longing and faint hope, wishing that today would be the day they finally met to discuss their "collaboration," perhaps even convincing Alexander of his innocence if luck was on his side. It was perhaps naive to hold onto such hopes, but Daniel couldn't help it. Instead of the anticipated meeting to clarify matters, however, he found himself being shuttled between various procedures, psychotherapy sessions, boutiques, stylists, and beauticians, followed by cultural outings.

"Daniel," Ksenia leaned in, her palms facing outward with a soft pink underside, a gesture meant to convey openness and an invitation to share. Daniel offered a faint grin. "Daniel, I'm here to support you. You've endured a profoundly challenging period that may have left you traumatized. The sooner we address these mental scars, the sooner you can begin healing. Please, tell me, do you feel uncomfortable working with me? I can recommend another therapist."

"It's not about you," Daniel sighed, collecting his thoughts before responding in a dry tone. "I simply don't want to dwell on past wounds. There's nothing wrong with me. All I want is to regain control of my life and move forward."

"How do you plan to regain control of your life?" Ksenia retrieved a notebook and pen from the table, her gaze fixed on Daniel. Daniel offered another faint grin; she hadn't asked about why he felt his life was spiraling out of control. Did that suggest Ksenia was more informed about his situation than the average psychologist should be? It was quite possible. He folded his arms across his chest, reclining more comfortably in his chair - speaking up now would be pointless; maintaining silence was key. Ksenia quickly realized her misstep and corrected herself. "What makes you believe your life is out of control?"

Daniel shrugged uncertainly, not inclined to respond, and gazed blankly at her well-maintained, attractive visage, which displayed subtle signs of aging. If Ksenia's moral compass hadn't been flexible enough to enable her to work calmly with survivors of abuse, assisting them in coming to terms with their circumstances, her complexion might have deteriorated much sooner. Wrinkles might have begun to form, and dark circles might have appeared under her eyes, typical of many Moscovites grappling with the pressures of time and finances. 

Her complexion might have taken on a jaundiced hue, and a sorrowful line might have formed around her mouth - listening day after day to the distressing revelations of patients is no easy task. Luxurious silks and wools might have been replaced with more affordable alternatives, and there wouldn't be glittering diamonds in her ears. Abiding by the rules of the influential has always been financially rewarding, while the Hippocratic Oath versus Tiffany is a tongue-in-cheek dilemma. You've got to be joking – there was no dilemma.

The rationale behind the seemingly foolish psychotherapy approach was apparent. It seemed probable that Alexander harbored concerns regarding the inner workings of the seemingly intact toy, desiring to ensure its full restoration before acceptance. Alternatively, he might have been probing Daniel's motives for delaying acceptance of his offer until after six months in the zone. This probing aimed to gauge Daniel's commitment to his decision and ascertain the extent to which he was willing to pursue it, including any potential efforts to alter his circumstances in his favor at the earliest opportunity.

Another possibility lingered: Ksenia might have been merely fulfilling her professional duties, independent of Alexander's directives, while Daniel, amidst the recent chaos, had succumbed to paranoia. With numerous possibilities at play, Ksenia found herself unable to relax and extend trust, especially considering her original inquiry, "How do you plan to take control of your life?" What if Daniel's response had been unreserved honesty, expressing a desire to prove his innocence, seek justice, pursue legal action for compensation, and distance himself from the situation as much as possible, ultimately aiming to rebuild his shattered life? In such a scenario, Ksenia would undoubtedly have relayed every word to Alexander, with the same gentle demeanor she directed towards Daniel, potentially leading to further trouble for him. Daniel hesitated to speculate on the additional subtle punishments Alexander's fertile imagination might conjure. His instinct for self-preservation guided him to maintain silence, a prudent course of action under the circumstances.

Daniel remained lost in his thoughts, his gaze fixed on Ksenia, but his attention elsewhere. The sooner Ksenia became convinced that he had no intention of divulging his motives, the sooner the prolonged wait would come to an end. Then, he would finally face Alexander and negotiate the terms of a new form of captivity, albeit one without imposing stone walls or menacing barbed wire. Pinning hopes on an ideal scenario where Alexander believed in his innocence, issued an apology, and set him free seemed futile. 

Instead, focusing on a less favorable outcome, a plan B, appeared more prudent: perhaps Alexander would agree to a specified term, say, a year, before granting him release. If he embraced this plan B, he would have a year under Alexander's control - a year marked by both mental and physical degradation. Daniel clenched his teeth, reminding himself that enduring this year under Alexander's dominion was preferable to spending it in the zone, amidst harsher conditions. Motivation by pain minimization. He considered the comparison between a year in prison, which would undoubtedly be torturous given his strained relationship with Sennoy, and a year under Alexander's authority, which, despite its challenges, appeared comparatively more optimistic.

Daniel let out a grim sigh, pondering the implications of willingly subjecting himself to the role of a wealthy man's long-term sex slave. He corrected his initial perception, realizing that it wasn't a positive situation but rather the lesser of two evils. One could either futilely express outrage and vent their frustrations, as he had initially been inclined to do, or they could adopt a more rational approach and attempt to create better conditions for themselves given the circumstances. It seemed he had vocalized his thoughts, as Ksenia's tone shifted, becoming less neutral.

"What sort of conditions are we talking about, Daniel?" she inquired.

"Minimal," Daniel replied grimly, casting a glance at the wall clock. "Is it just me, or are we finished?"

"We are done," Ksenia responded calmly. "However, regrettably, once again without success. Daniel, please trust that I genuinely want to help you. Maintaining silence as a defense mechanism after enduring difficult life stages is ineffective. You'll experience much relief if you stop internalizing everything. It's healthier to release the negativity, to liberate yourself..."

Her final words grated on his nerves, causing his fists to clench nervously. Daniel shook his head, barely restraining himself, and spoke coldly,

"I understand your perspective, Ksenia. But there's nothing I need to release. I'm fine, as I've told you."

As Daniel left her office, he found Maxim waiting for him as expected. Maxim promptly rose from his seat, scrutinizing Daniel's somber demeanor before speaking.

"You need to see your primary care physician," Maxim suggested.

"I don't need to," Daniel muttered, dismissing the idea of further examinations entirely. "When can I meet with Alexander?"

"He'll let you know," Maxim replied calmly, his gaze assessing Daniel with a slight squint, as if gauging whether there would be any issues with him that day. Irritated by the scrutiny, Daniel turned away and briskly headed toward the reception area. He had reached his limit for the day, tired of the incessant waiting. Refusing to follow the program for the day, he resolved to remain in his apartment and persistently request a meeting with Alexander. Each passing moment, which could have contributed to resolving the situation, felt like time slipping through his fingers, with no certainty or resolution in sight.

By the office, Daniel noticed in his peripheral vision how Maxim extended his hand towards him, presumably to escort the unruly individual into the doctor's office. Swiftly dodging Maxim's grasp, Daniel slipped into the bathroom, cherishing this fleeting sense of freedom. However, his respite was short-lived, as Maxim followed him into the bathroom as if fearing that Daniel might attempt to escape through the fifth-floor window. Daniel entered a stall and waited for Maxim to occupy a urinal before swiftly exiting the stall himself. It was a small act of defiance against the imposing figure. Let him feel a sense of urgency now. As Daniel approached the bathroom door, still wearing a faint smile, he encountered the nurse, who handed him a plastic A4 folder containing printouts.

"You left your documents at reception," she informed him.

Daniel's throat tightened with nerves; here was an opportunity. It might have been small and unexpected, but it was still a chance. He swiftly retrieved the passport from the folder, discreetly slipping it into the concealed pocket of his sweatshirt, and returned the folder to the nurse - it took only a moment.