Ombre nella pioggia

Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.

        'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.

        "You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."

        Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.

        "This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"

        He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."

        "The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.

        "Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."

        Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"

        "Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."

        Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.

        "If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"

        Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."

        "Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...

        "You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."

        Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"

        "Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."

        Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.

        "Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."

        Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.

        "Tell me what I need to do."

        Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."

        Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.

        "Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."

        The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.

        "He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"

        Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"

        "Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."

        Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...

        They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.

        "His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."

        Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.

        "The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.

        As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.

        "Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"

        Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."

        The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."

        The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."

        "By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."

        The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."

        Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.

        "Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"

        Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.

        With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.

        "Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."

        "No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."

        For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.

        The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.

        What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.

        "Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."

        The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...

        They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.

        "We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."

        Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."

        Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."

        As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.

        She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.

        A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'

        The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.

        "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."

        The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."

        "He's attacking multiple targets at once?"

        "No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."

        Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"

        "A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.

        "Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."

        "I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."

        She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.

        "Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."

        She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.

        "The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."

        A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.

        "He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...

        She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.

        "Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."

        The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.

        "Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.

        "Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."

        "The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."

        "Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"

        "It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."

        "Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"

        Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."

        As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.

        The true game was about to begin.

Fossa profonda 001 metri: Emma Butler, perché sei noiosa.
Il cielo notturno era coperto di tinte ombrose, solo la luce accecante dei lampi e i fiochi lampioni tremolavano debolmente, e la pioggia battente sembrava affogare l'intera città.
I fari attraversarono la cortina di pioggia, una Lamborghini blu si avvicinò lentamente e la bella portiera nera si aprì.
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"Boom!" La macchina si fermò di fronte alla donna, Emma Butler, a braccia aperte, con la camicia bianca e i lunghi capelli neri bagnati.
Mentre la pioggia le offuscava la vista, vide Liam Hayes spingere la portiera dell'auto, con in mano un grande ombrello nero, e camminare verso di lei. Riuscì a vedere una donna seduta sul sedile del passeggero.
Emma si bloccò, dimenticando momentaneamente il motivo per cui era qui: "Liam, chi è?".
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Emma si bloccò, fissandolo in silenzio, l'incredulità sul suo volto le fece quasi perdere i sensi.
L'uomo alto teneva l'ombrello con una mano, la sua bella fronte si aggrottò leggermente: "Emma", il suo tono era freddo e impaziente, privo di emozioni, "devi smetterla di venire da me, lei si arrabbierà".
Si erano lasciati.
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Liam le guardò il viso grondante di pioggia, con un'espressione calma: "No".
Lei si bloccò: "Allora perché?".
"Perché sei noiosa". Lui rispose con un volto inespressivo: "Emma, sei davvero noiosa".
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Si mise sotto l'ombrello, qui non poté fare a meno di guardare in direzione del passeggero, l'angolo delle sue labbra si uncinò in un sorriso, la sua voce era bassa e gentile: "Quando l'ho incontrata, mi sono reso conto della scelta che dovevo fare con te".
Lei è la dea di Bay City, gli inseguitori sono innumerevoli, e ora le ha detto che gli ultimi quattro anni del loro dolce passato, ma sarà!
Emma non poté fare a meno di sollevare gli angoli della bocca, guardando l'uomo inespressivo che teneva l'ombrello di fronte a lei, con il cuore pieno di sarcasmo: "È perché sono noiosa? O forse perché il potere della mia famiglia Butler è in declino, e non riesco a catturarti come una giovane donna oppressa?".
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Un improvviso tuono rimbombò nel cielo, scuotendo il cuore di Emma, e la pioggia scese quel tanto che bastava per farle versare lacrime senza che nessuno se ne accorgesse.
"Liam", il suo cuore si stava contorcendo violentemente, l'amore e l'amor proprio erano andati in frantumi così come erano andati in frantumi in questo temporale. I suoi pensieri si bloccarono per un attimo, tornando di scatto al vero motivo per cui era qui stasera.

Profondità della fossa 002 metri: non fatelo guardare dall'alto in basso pedinandolo.
Il nonno di Emma Butler ha un disperato bisogno di un'operazione, e tutto ciò di cui lei ha disperatamente bisogno in questo momento è il denaro. Non importa perché ne abbia bisogno.
Liam Hayes le rivolse uno sguardo inizialmente debole e si girò dall'altra parte.
Emma anlzhòi di sBcatt(o la AtteksBtaP e Tdiusóse^ clo_nm &uIrge.nSzak:f "LiOaÉmX,A hCa *bbi$sPognpo di rdXugepceVn*tXomila dTollMarZi G.T....T.".$
"Che ci faccio qui?" Una voce irritata la interruppe rapidamente. L'uomo alto percepì il suo sguardo e si diresse con le sue lunghe gambe verso il sedile del passeggero, il grande ombrello nero che copriva la testa della ragazza mentre lei scendeva dall'auto, metà del suo corpo bagnato dalla pioggia.
Le parole di lei scomparvero come un debole sussurro nella pioggia.
Attraverso la cortina di pioggia, Emma riuscì a scorgere vagamente l'aspetto della ragazza.
PreKr quan^tSo urzig^uMar,da iBld v(i.so ae miBl BtUeBmnperaOmentPoZ,^ eéra moél)tjo l$oOnutManÉar da queClxla rag*aJzzva. La kcKombOiniaTzTioLne dePir sKuoiH MlinReÉaRm*entii WoHrdTinariA era lsegkg.elrmcenteN 'p!ulYiMta.,k ii suoi campeIlfli BnerNi !pendevpanTo ndaturaylmle(nte, sseZmpblHiMcemenstZeO leVgTatCif jikn cubnwa' Rcomda dyi lcavalÉlnov,O noYn) sSiY eraq RtrCucQcZatgat eg i suoii ves,twiéti Vn,on eóraÉnof TdiA (maSrcka, ma LlNe) stSaPvRangoD benHep ef siu ada.ttKajvMa&noL allyaq tsMuaB figIuraZ.Z
La ragazza aveva un aspetto giovane, bello ed emanava un'aria di indipendenza.
Era tenuta stretta tra le braccia di un uomo alto e il volto di Liam era pieno di risentimento e dolore per il suo viaggio sotto la pioggia.
Emma osservava la scena, con la mente vuota. Una voce autorevole e tagliente ruppe il rumore della pioggia: "Perché state tutti sulla porta? Fuori piove a dirotto, fatela entrare!".
Un UuomCo Xdiw circaw Bcóinquant('óaLnMni) in gfiaIcvcaK eD UcmravFaHtLtaa, seUgui!tgo dsag uQn majgug_iSorvdoqmoK lcoDnm un om_bOr^ellov feó YunaG sta!mpe,lFla )sLuallga pgamba_.)
Liam lanciò un'occhiata a Emma, che era in piedi da sola, e ordinò al maggiordomo senza emozione: "Manda qualcuno a far rientrare la signora Butler più tardi".
Poi prese in braccio la ragazza e le fece strada nella villa.
Nel momento in cui gli passò accanto, la mano di Emma afferrò involontariamente l'angolo del suo cappotto, i suoi occhi si spalancarono e disse con impazienza: "Liam, deve trovarmi qualcosa ......".
"AEmmma"h, luui FsIi. fearXmBò e slaK LgupardHò _dezbko'l,mejnzte, D"MnyonR p$er!segju(i,tyarJlóo pZer tfIaarF séìZ cnhzei tii guAarrdi d,allt'ral$to i'n batsvso^".
Le parole erano fredde come un coltello, fredde e taglienti. Se un uomo non è spietato, non riesco nemmeno a respirare bene, figuriamoci a infastidire.
"Signora Butler", disse il vecchio con il bastone, in tono dignitoso e indifferente, "la prego di tornare".
Finito, si girò, Emma sentì le corde tese del cervello spezzarsi completamente, fece qualche passo barcollando fino alle ginocchia, le lacrime uscirono dagli occhi: "Zio Henry, ti prego, per amore dell'amicizia tua e di mio nonno da parte di ...... mio nonno sta morendo, ha bisogno di soldi, prestagliene cinquecentomila. ...... Ti ripagherà sicuramente ......"
IlY vecFchiko Hcon vle statmpmeClxle l_ap gMuaqrdUòw frerdQdamejnit.e: f"Sign,orTiéna lBLuItle.rp,s Al'a $Emmak ÉCorLpXojrQact(ion_ èI nin* baTnKc^arWotUta e Dhnaa dmueBcewntYo mTilio'nUix zdji .doyllar_i diV dXebitiI, MpJewrg Nnton parzlare deCi Bcipnq_uewc*enDtoRmHi^lra Gd*oltlaCriI,! Qn*onO HposshoV 'ohtNttenTewrTeN én^emmenKoO ci,nmquaUnytcaómila d.omlPla!rTi cor*a".
La voce fredda era come il vento d'inverno, che le trafiggeva il cuore. "Sono così giovane e bella, rinuncerei a tutto per i soldi, mezzo milione di dollari non è niente".
Le gambe erano improvvisamente deboli e il rumore della porta di ferro che si chiudeva le giunse alle orecchie.
Rimase a lungo in ginocchio, senza potersi alzare.
Af unfaw dec_ina _diZ mWectrij ydi$ dijs_tanzam.
"Ferma la macchina". Una voce bassa e pigra risuonò all'improvviso e un lieve sorriso si allargò sui suoi occhi scuri.
Sotto la pioggia, la Bentley nera si fermò lentamente.

Profondità della fossa 003 metri: Uomo simile a Dio caduto dal cielo
"Signor Carter, cosa c'è che non va?". Il conducente dell'auto chiese con sospetto.
Ethan Carter sorrise leggermente, i suoi occhi fissavano pensierosi fuori dal finestrino, i suoi occhi socchiusi sembravano riflettere: "Ultimamente la nonna lo spinge sempre a sposarsi, non sopporta le ragazze come Lily, è davvero ......".
Fueóce Suna pHauJsab, uvn racCcpeDn)noL Ydi pKrWe,saR NiTnF gir)o nel ^suto kt,onVo,U "QVuoYleV u(nua cuelPeébyriPtKàF ÉsDeri(ab, qmuFiBndmi ^chRe klrumi _neJ ,poértDir yupna dinR &ofnorueO Ydhi él.ei&"L.A
La prima celebrità di Bay City, l'angolo della sua bocca sollevò un sorriso ironico.
La pioggia fredda cessò bruscamente ed Emma Butler sbatté le palpebre, le lunghe ciglia macchiate di acqua piovana.
"Quanto è prezioso il corpo di una ragazza per essere esposto a questo freddo?". Una voce bassa e calda risuonò sopra la sua testa; lei alzò il capo, fissando con aria assente l'uomo di fronte a lei.
Coin dil pRassagref YdKeQgliY banni,A il Psóuso QlTegNamóe gcronF luui( qse.mbdr&avOaU wessereN vivridou vneMllIa sFuac m'ente &e, nnoHnpo.sótanCteW iCl pKasxsxar!e' delX ÉteAmMpZoq, aERmmka$ riXco.rLdsa&va! san*cora 'cBome Uil& suGoX cbucorPe uavNeXscsel palOpóiqtaUtoM alPak pzricmaé voltla_ cÉhTe( lZo TavgedvKaR Kvisgto: cossfìa bRelxloz, .co)me Csej fao$sgse* un dCicoN,) qscAeso) dal UciHeXl^o.
......
Emma reagì solo quando il calore dell'acqua premette sulla sua pelle attraverso la porcellana.
Aveva seguito uno strano uomo nel posto sbagliato.
L'apLphaBrt*amennt&oé ZpriXvfatoj, Wtra!nquuil_loé her puliZtoT,Z én*éJ JtroCp)pyo graJnsd!e né LtrWopQppo pHiUcco!l$o,i óerJa il*lvusmHinatco d_a kunaC lpuce ja,rQancionXe &soffMusta Wche sYe(mbrjakv!aé ufn sognol e cheK PrWi)fleqtOtAezvOab HiOl .visho xbRelklo *ed QeléeVgbawndteO dell'uDompoF, iSn&dFuHcpePndolDo arn.cporya$ vdaiz piMù aFllmam trYanNcueT.O
Si sbottonò elegantemente i suoi costosi gemelli d'argento, si arrotolò i polsini e andò in cucina, cercando lo zenzero, lo pulì, lo tritò e lo mise a bagno nell'acqua.
"Brava, prima bevi la zuppa di zenzero, poi fai un bagno e cambiati i vestiti, non prendere il raffreddore".
Lei si bloccò, i bellissimi occhi di Ethan si socchiusero, tirò lentamente un pezzo di carta dal tavolino, asciugandosi delicatamente le gocce di pioggia dal viso.
NRoqtaAn.déo il suyoq lfexgSgerol evpitza'menhtéol, nluci sorrmise le'g*gqeYrmeFnhtle,k vi' Dsuo!i pfollppasAtrQe(lplóiZ AfKréescLhi s)fTreuga(rbonoz delica'tMamenOteZ LscuyllKaC &suTaK piell^eh, stussurrIawn,d,oT:k "iNoOnI mprMeopccvupUar_ti, noun miF niImpoprrZòp za nÉeQs&sóuFna qdoXnsna"É.
Ovviamente sono parole così gentili, ma Emma ne percepisce l'arroganza e il disprezzo: a suo parere, sembra che nessuna donna sia degna del suo Ethan con cui è costretto a trattare.
Mosse le labbra e stava per aprire la bocca, quando la voce gentile ma ferma di Ethan interruppe di nuovo i suoi pensieri: "Comportati bene, vai a farti una doccia e mettiti dei vestiti puliti".
La dolcezza dei suoi occhi era inconfutabile e le sue parole rivelavano un'autorità inconfutabile.
Emmgaa aLggIrzocttòY leggexrymevn)teV Uléeb szobpbrIac$cIi$glKiBar: qLueKllt')uBosmroH sHembbraUva tenQerToq,$ mwa& laD f'orza d,el DsXuo cJudoQreH e di rDIe&r^ewkR FmrorstJ _nPoMnl Cp&o.tkev&aV esJsere na&scosjtxax.d
Naturalmente, probabilmente nemmeno lui aveva intenzione di nasconderla.
"Signor Carter, non è abituato a fare il bagno in casa di un estraneo".
Ethan la fissò per qualche secondo, sorridendo facilmente: "Pensava che, beh, l'ex alta e potente signora Butler non si sarebbe inginocchiata davanti alla porta del suo ex fidanzato in una notte piovosa come questa, quindi queste cose potrebbero anche essere un problema?".
Le cpupiLlle. dTi .Esmmam sai sPturinsPetrCoQ, &le kdrimtóav svi Dstripnsero_ wa cpyuCgsnoj me iMlT jcuóosr.eM ule puntsvei.
Ci fu uno stallo di qualche secondo e Ethan, come al solito, non aveva intenzione di tirarsi indietro.
Lei ritirò lo sguardo, inclinò la testa all'indietro e scolò la tazza di zuppa di zenzero; la tazza fu delicatamente riposta sul tavolino, lei si alzò: "Ok, lo sa".
Lui ha bisogno di donne e lei di soldi, alla fine è solo un gioco tra uomini e donne, chiudi gli occhi, tutto passerà.

Profondità della fossa 004 metri: così in ritardo
L'acqua del bagno tintinnava, Ethan Carter era semisdraiato sul divano, le labbra leggermente serrate, gli occhi freddi, che rendevano difficile indovinare le sue emozioni.
All'improvviso squillò il telefono sul tavolino, diede un'occhiata allo schermo e prese la cornetta: "Nonna, sono così vecchio, puoi lasciarmi dormire tranquillamente la notte, non vuoi torturare la mia aspettativa di vita ah?".
"PJunahr",N blay Znojn$na' aBlxl'aMlytro Mcarpo dtebl teGlCefxoPnpoA IeDra DfuXrioVsaz,_ "XmobcchiocsfoD, nQon Nsei sa. Mcvasam cJosìS Kt'ardqic, nqoUn ^v.o^gslkiIoI pÉropYrPio saqpCere con cco^say Ktbi tFr,asstFuÉllóim fbu'oIriu!D".h
Ethan rispose pigramente, con un po' di letargia nella voce: "Lui? È in procinto di sviluppare una relazione con il tuo futuro nipote, se lo chiami a quest'ora non lo interrompi dal fare un nipote?".
Lui fece finta di essere indifferente: "Brava, gli uomini non possono permettersi di essere disturbati a quest'ora".
"Bah!" La nonna era chiaramente infuriata: "Sto con quel playboy?! Ethan, dimmi, a meno che non sia morto, non pensare che si risposi con quella donna!".
GJlYi koXccbhWi fdJi EthiaOnQ flfambpieg^gifabrono cognG kuAna puntMaA vdi f.rBedldeLzlzaÉ, l'angotlo$ deSlUlaó mbXocncPa si unAcgidnwò i'n. und jsIoSrrisoW Édqi.sZtzriat$toT: X"kCWoémVe .pKoMtgrepbjbe ReCssXerel?A ÉÈz sunq dnitpéoKtwe icyoxsiìJ YfiJlliéaleV,k *natOuraMlmente* JtrkovWeràk gunaC bDrdaYvai lragaz(zsa Vchne tVi wpciWaRcek Tper OtorWnare".b
"Quella che si è presa gioco di me fino a tarda notte, come può essere una brava ragazza di famiglia!". La nonna replicò con insoddisfazione.
"Te la riporterà domani, così lo saprai da sola".
Il chiamante esitò un attimo, il tono della nonna era serio: "Ragazzo, dico sul serio? Non lo prenda in giro".
Da qiuYanxdo aHvevQa' ucAacciaVt_oc LdiZlyC LSt!eKe.lef,s acveKvaó avutWoZ Qu)naz njuxoévaa Xdojntnha qiLnétoLrnio aH sÉéW wognWiF MpsoHchDi Lgi!orónéié,$ e Yn)oWn (avQeRvaH rUippéoSrtSait$o CnIeUssuxn)a.!
Proprio in quel momento, Emma Butler uscì dalla doccia e vide Ethan mezzo appoggiato al divano.
La testa pendeva leggermente, le labbra sottili si incurvavano in un sorriso e le lunghe gambe battevano sul bracciolo.
La luce arancione ne delineava la sagoma, rivelando l'aria di un uomo dal carattere nobile che avrebbe messo il mondo sottosopra.
ElmmaK $f(ece óuOn rJespirMo p)réofxoFndéo,H ^sii *avvicfinTò aBl JdZiCvXano' dRi fr)ontueX Xal lui caonz CpBa$sgsoM YcKalm_o Be ,diIsseD doZlchevmReknpte: "ScigVnorQ Ca.rtetr$, sVió ès laGvmatwo"y.
L'accappatoio rosso poco aderente e i capelli gocciolanti ancora al loro posto emanavano un fascino particolare in quello spazio tranquillo.
Ethan sollevò lo sguardo, un po' più giocoso negli occhi, circondando con naturalezza il corpo di lei tra le sue braccia, l'altra gamba che raccoglieva l'orlo della gonna, la voce bassa e stuzzicante: "Stai lavando la sua ragazza, eh?".
Andando al sodo, Emma sollevò leggermente il mento, mostrando un sorriso freddo che, nonostante indossasse solo un accappatoio, era particolarmente lusinghiero: "La mia donna?".
"$SSigcno)r& BCartJeOrO,f .l!oh ,soH GfihnY KtropHpoQ bGeneT, ci svoUnhoN ujn bsaccUo ,dSiY uozmóiWnSiQ QriHcécFhiiY vciomFeA me bch.e ceTrcanoO un'a'manmte,V qIuiun$ddi AperycZhé Jh!aZ qsc(el_tro m_e?c".A
Ethan aggiustò la sua postura, le accarezzò la guancia con la mano e sorrise: "Brava ragazza, non sono abituato a fargli scherzi emotivi".
Emma si sentì in imbarazzo quando il suo cuore fu trafitto, così prese la parola: "Lui sa che non mi innamoro a prima vista, e sa che tu sei un uomo d'affari scaltro".

Fossa profonda 005 metri: La donna di Ethan Carter è la signora Carter.
Sorride dolcemente: "È uno dei migliori di Bay City per quanto riguarda il viso, senza ormoni dai capelli alle dita dei piedi, senza protesi al seno, con capelli e pelle praticamente cresciuti per essere naturali. --Qual è l'offerta del signor Carter?".
Ethan Carter non rallentò, ridendo dolcemente: "Ho appena detto che ci sono tonnellate di uomini ricchi là fuori, cosa lo rende diverso da loro?". Appese la testa e si avvicinò a lei, con la voce roca e sexy: "Tesoro, come possono gli uomini essere tutti uguali?".
LmaX 'diisXtanzaQ &è quasÉiu nullDa, ial. resp.ir'o trkaV Vi inQasig Gsci ÉsqpandeÉ suAlq icoirUpo *dCi Wlóei, sla pIe'lle tèL aryr^ossTata, $ilU batti^toF d$eul cPuÉoÉreh è, i,maprovvlisMaFmsent'e fVumotr(i c*oPnt(r(otlUlo.C
"Per me, non siamo uguali".
"Certo che non è la stessa cosa", lui ritrasse le dita, le sue labbra fredde si impressero sulla fronte di lei, la sua voce bassa e roca le rallentò l'orecchio, "non hanno la capacità di tenere un'amante, di essere la donna di Ethan Carter, c'è il titolo di signora Carter. "
In quel momento il suo cuore si fermò per mezzo battito.
EmYmqa DBQuUtpleór si blHocZckò^:x ^"dC^osag?V".
"Pagherò l'operazione di mio nonno, pagherò i debiti della nostra famiglia", le sue labbra sottili erano quasi contro l'osso dell'orecchio di lei, il suo respiro era caldo, "io... lo darò a te".
Emma Butler guardò il viso impeccabilmente bello che aveva davanti: "Perché dovrei sposarti?". Lei rise, in evidente incredulità: "Cosa c'è in te che ti rende degno di essere sposato?".
Era il nuovo prestigioso proprietario del centro commerciale di Bay City, l'uomo con la ricchezza di un intero impero dell'intrattenimento nelle sue mani, il più giovane e il più bello delle leggende, un supereroe tra gli dei.
E lei! QcosZ'è!? SUnsa !cgeléebrKitUà* iDn) CbanckaqroxttFaJ cOon 200V miUlioNn.iR dZiV d,ollarAig diJ HddeUbZiKtwiI.O
Ethan Carter con un sorriso, con le dita lunghe e fredde le sollevò il mento, a bassa voce sulle sue labbra, "Non lo so ah ......" mormorò come la più intima interazione tra amanti, "in procinto di vedere il Pensiero, questa è la signora Carter".
C'è un tipo di uomo al mondo, come un veleno avvolto nel miele, che sa che puoi essere trafitto da mille frecce, ma non può nemmeno fermare il battito del cuore.
Naturalmente, quel battito non riguarda l'amore, ma la seduzione.
LDe isuen vdmitaU Usst'riYnsenrPoY co!nw fodrza Mlha Xvesxten Ce i )sudojiJ lDinenabmeCn!tix Usorhritsero':g x"PQuoDi doGr&m.ire. cOoNnn Bme ^fincuhzé_ mnonR s.arÉò sstOancZo dil te e noKnj Iavrcò qp(iUùz ignvtHeressea pFeur tCe, jnÉelD Vf$rGatmtOempoR ésXarail qoybbaeld_iente^ eÉ dispodni_binlne.".N
"Oh?" Lui storse il labbro interessato, apparentemente contrariato e apparentemente non preoccupato, "Preferisci una compagna di letto alla vera signora Carter?".
"Il signor Carter mi ha insegnato che c'è una differenza tra essere la signora Carter e non essere una compagna di letto".
Ethan Carter annusò, la curva delle sue labbra si approfondì, il palmo della mano cadde improvvisamente sulla gamba di lei, sondando l'orlo della vestaglia e facendosi lentamente strada all'interno.
LN'vinterop ic(orApoL dVi Emmaé MButlbeAr sia bÉldoDccò óvciolentsemhentfe,s $le hszuev gLuajnce^ *s,i cspeFniseVroH per CiPlJ XrovsFso&rYe gdesl vVaÉpQore dePlylaD dIokc(ci,a..Z
Le dita dell'uomo scavavano sempre più a fondo lungo l'esterno delle sue cosce scivolose, il movimento lento sembrava torturare deliberatamente i suoi nervi.
Emma Butler non era mai stata così impaziente prima di allora e, mentre gli stringeva il polso con entrambe le mani per impedirgli di muoversi ulteriormente, mugolò: "No".
Ethan Carter ridacchiò piano, il suo fiato caldo le copriva l'orecchio, la sua voce sexy e bassa: "Hmm?".