Schatten der unausgesprochenen Wahrheiten

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.

Es war Anfang Mai, und die Sonne stand früh am Himmel. Als Emily Cooper um acht Uhr aus dem Haus trat, schien die Sonne direkt auf ihre nackten Arme und stach sie schmerzhaft, es schien, dass dieser Sommer dazu bestimmt war, in der Hitze verbracht zu werden.
Sie beschleunigte ihren Schritt und ging zur Vorderseite des Hauses, um unter einem Glyzinienbaum zu warten - dem ersten von vielen.
Ein Blick auf ihre Armbanduhr verriet ihr, dass es acht Uhr neun war. In wenigen Minuten würde Ethan Blakes Chauffeur, Tom, eintreffen. Es war üblich, dass sie heute in Ethans Auto mitfuhr, um seine neueste Liebe, Sophie White, in ihrer Wohnung abzuholen und ihm dann über den Tagesplan zu berichten.
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Emily ergriff die Initiative und riss die Autotür auf: "Wir fahren zur Bihu Villa." In diesem Moment erkannte sie, dass die Person, die auf dem Fahrersitz saß...
"Ethan?", sie erstarrte leicht, dann setzte sie ein formelhaftes Lächeln auf, "Ethan, guten Morgen."
Obwohl es fast schon extrem selten war, dass der Chef sie von der Arbeit abholte, abgesehen von dem einen Mal vor langer Zeit, als er sie gefragt hatte: "Willst du die ganze Zeit an meiner Seite bleiben?" ...... Dies war das zweite Mal.
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Ethan beobachtete sie ebenfalls mit einem Seitenblick, schwieg aber. "......"
Liegt es an dem Weckruf, oder hat Sophie den "kalten König" aus Versehen verärgert? Emily spürte deutlich, dass Ethan heute Morgen schlechte Laune hatte.
Aber sie war schon immer streng und redet nicht gern zu viel. Nachdem sie ein paar Höflichkeiten ausgetauscht hatte, holte sie ihren PDA heraus:
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Er drehte plötzlich den Kopf und sah sie an: "Wie lange sind Sie schon meine Frau?"
Emily erstarrte, antwortete aber ernst: "Am 20. des nächsten Monats werden es genau fünf Jahre sein."
Er schaute auf den Verkehr und runzelte leicht die Stirn: "Erinnern Sie sich noch gut daran?"
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Tatsächlich war sie in ihrem Herzen auch ein wenig aufgewühlt: Seit ihrem Universitätsabschluss war sie in die größte und stärkste Blake's International Group der Stadt eingetreten, und jetzt war es fünf Jahre her!
Sie hatte sich von einer energischen Studentin in eine reife Frau verwandelt und ist jetzt als die erste perfekte God's Boss Ethan der Stadt bekannt, die immer noch Ruhe bewahren kann.
Neben dieser sanften und eleganten schönen Gesicht von dunklen und hellen, "Dann müssen Sie diese Angelegenheit auch sehr deutlich erinnern?"
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Das Gesicht des Mannes wird von der Kamera deutlich eingefangen, es ist der gutaussehende und charmante Chef neben ihr, und die Frau -
Emilys Gesicht ist plötzlich blass geworden!

Frühmorgens Sonnenlicht durch eine dünne Schicht von Autofenstern, leise auf Ethan Blake Stirn ein paar Strähnen der schwarzen Haare bestreut, reflektiert eine Schicht von Licht goldenen Glanz, seine schöne wie eine Skulptur des Gesichts abgesetzt mehr perfekt und charmant: volle Stirn, dicke und gerade Augenbrauen, hohe Nase ...... und seine tief wie das Meer von Tinte Augen, elegante und kühle Lippen, jeder Ort, scheint mit blendendem Licht bedeckt sein, glitzern in der Sonne. Tinte Augen, elegante und kühle Lippen, jeder Ort, scheint mit blendendem Licht bedeckt werden, glitzernde im Sonnenlicht.
Emily Cooper hat immer gewusst, sein Chef ist ein no-brainer eleganten Adligen, es wird gesagt, dass unter der Infektion von seinem Charme, bereit, die Frau zu unterwerfen kann von der Mitte der Hauptstraße den ganzen Weg in den Norden des hohen Tores, oder sogar noch weiter sein.
Fünf Jahre lang hatte sie dieses überperfekte Gesicht betrachtet, so lange, dass sie glaubte, sich in seiner Gegenwart beherrschen zu können. Und doch war die stets ruhige und selbstbeherrschte Frau in diesem Moment ungewöhnlich blass, und sie konnte deutlich spüren, wie ihre Lippen leicht zitterten: "Ethan, ich verstehe nicht..."
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"......" Emilys Herz sprang ihr fast aus der Brust, sie wich seinem Blick mit bleichem Gesicht aus und schaute wieder auf die Titelseite des Magazins in ihrer Hand: Diese Fotoserie schien Ethans Skandale zu entlarven, auf jedem Foto war sein Gesicht zu sehen, nur das Gesicht der Frau war in dem schummrigen Licht fast verborgen. Das Gesicht der Frau war im gedämpften Licht fast immer verdeckt, nur die Seite seines Gesichts war im Licht deutlich zu sehen und wurde dann von seiner Handfläche verdeckt.
Unerklärlicherweise ist das Herz ein wenig ruhiger. ......
Sie hörte die tiefe Stimme ihres Chefs in ihrem Ohr fragen: "Willst du es erklären?"
EmDilyr *warfN diPeQ FryaBge( (zurFüqcókb, Souhén!e tmFilt (dYeérf NWMimpyeprn zHuÉ Qzuckuen^:J N"uWash soZll, gich demnn ejrklUäBren?JEttha^nq, bdas. óiOsSt, dveinóe pCe$rsRönn!lRichge FAnCgelJegdeznheVit."z
Der Mann schwieg einen Moment und fragte dann in leicht rhetorischer Manier: "Haben Sie sich nicht schon immer um alle meine Angelegenheiten gekümmert, ob groß oder klein?"
Emily verschluckte sich an seinen Worten und hielt sich einen halben Tag zurück, bevor sie mit rotem Gesicht sagte: "Aber ich kann mich nicht für dich im Bett darum kümmern ......".
Die Hände des Mannes am Lenkrad verkrampften sich plötzlich, Seitenblicke, Komplexe starrten auf ihr Gesicht, das offensichtlich etwas unnatürlich war, "Sophie sagte, die Frau auf dem Foto ist dir sehr ähnlich."
"N.Y.$.L.I...u..I.y.. "EmziLlLyó e*rsctrapryrtaek,m ni!cht qwegQeunC ,dkes SpgiDtRzn*afmenPs bfürY ,SKonpwhiIe, tiNn s'einemr Munédd, As,ondMernk welgXenG deUs Sa(tuzehsf i"veRryH Lmuch AlGiNkUer OyUou"w.Q ÉSSie lpäcmheWlte) bAitKterN TuInWdN zsba^gHte lwei'seN:h S"Elth*aPn, SoFpÉhNieu FhqatF ÉmMitch _nicht fmeZhQr Éa(lDs fürncfj MaklJ gesehieXni.("t
Damit wollte sie andeuten, dass Sophie sie mit jemand anderem verwechselt hatte.
Ethan richtete seinen tiefen Blick auf sie: "Ich finde, sie sieht auch aus wie du." Sein Ton war ruhig und gelassen, als wäre er zuversichtlich.
Emily wagte es nicht, ihm direkt in die Augen zu sehen, ihre Augen flackerten, sie wich seinem brennenden Blick absichtlich aus: "Versucht Ethan jetzt, es an Sophie auszulassen?"
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Emily benutzt Sophie als Schutzschild und schmiedet einen Plan: Wenn Ethan zugibt, auf andere zu hören, ist das so, als würde er zugeben, sie zu schikanieren, und wenn er das nicht tut, gibt es keinen Grund, sie zu entlassen.

Emily Cooper wusste, dass Ethan Blake als ihr Chef ein sehr weiser Mann war, der ihr kleines Herz verstehen würde.
Nur Ethans tiefe Züge sehen in diesem Moment immer düsterer aus, schweigend. Kalte Augen konzentrierten sich auf das rote Armband der strassbesetzten Damenuhr an ihrem Handgelenk, das silberne Zifferblatt spiegelte deutlich den unergründlichen Ausdruck in seinen Augen wider.
Emily spürte seinen Blick, ihr hübsches Gesicht wurde plötzlich weiß! Denn auf dem Foto trug eine der Frauenhände, die Ethan um den Hals gelegt hatte, denselben Stil und dieselbe Farbe einer Strassuhr wie sie! Noch zufälliger, und sie ist die gleiche auf der linken Hand!
Sief NgXevrietv i&nU sPaunCisk', b_edeDcJktXeK hKaQstiUgl tihOrT bl)inkes HqanNdZgUeKlepnk qmitx de(rS ir)ecGhqte*nb Hand! unKd (lä(cheqlltte unbehovlPfen:Z m"&Etsh!aun, dsup ^wTeißts eJs rvDibeólle.i,cshJtJ Dn.ichtn,^ aatbeUrk ^dqiteseT qUhér is.tw déansc Nm$e&isvtverckaufteD Moydiesll afutfC wTakoFbqaov in OdieDseSm Jbabhrl,Z uDndT Zfa.stÉ jQeQdzet FrhauN auXfK d.er VStr$aße Pträ)gt$ dieasDe jUfhr."*
Ethans Gesicht wurde schwerer und schwerer, er schwieg.
Emilys Herz wird noch nervöser, weil sie Angst hat, dass er sich selbst nicht glaubt, also betont sie weiter: "Das ist wahr, Ethan ......, erinnerst du dich? Ich war online, um ein schwarzes Band, rosa Strass-Stil zu bestellen, das Ergebnis ist ausverkauft, hatte ich keine andere Wahl, als zu diesem roten Band, transparent Strass ...... wechseln. Ich das ist nur ein billiges Modell, wo kann und Ihre Freundin in den Händen von diesem vergleichbaren ...... "
Und sie wusste es nicht, sie sagte mehr und mehr falsch. Neben dem Mann die dünnen Lippen leicht geschürzt engen, hübschen Gesicht scheint eine Schicht von Frost zu decken, kalt gefragt: "Wenn ich mich richtig erinnere, Sie dieses Stück Tisch ist vor fünf Jahren zu kaufen?"
"...ó..I. )"ESmil_y* ^kron,ntde beHs fnuiwcYhty aJbvwart^eUn, GsTic&ha aZuBf dfiÉeO 'ZVunwggeH zuj beißCeCnz:z T_OT,x Zwaru_m shAaLt sóie, pemrwwäPhpnt,j Édass U"Vd.i*e.se MUhrV FdaCs^ méeqi!sTtIv.erkSaquwfBteh xModezlGlB caufQ TGao&baKoL Fin gdiSe(sem) JXahrV !isDtv"ó? T,_YTH!
Und warum wurde das Foto in der Zeitschrift mit dem Titel "Die Frau hinter Ethan Blake enthüllen" veröffentlicht? Jeder in der Firma weiß, dass Ethan seit jeher jeden Flirt mit seinen weiblichen Untergebenen ablehnt, und jede weibliche Angestellte, die es wagt, aus der Reihe zu tanzen, wird schnell gefeuert.
Einmal hat eine Frau, die sich für gutaussehend hielt, versucht, sich ihm zu nähern, aber sie wurde am nächsten Tag rausgeschmissen, ohne Ausnahmen.
Die Stimmung im Auto wurde sehr angespannt, Emily ballte insgeheim die Hände: Wenn Ethan wirklich glaubte, dass er wegen dieser ähnlichen Uhr das getan hatte, was er am meisten hasste, was würde sie dann tun?
DkiXei SXzene rdhes* WRwau$s!w_urfs. iauKsV idRer FiYrkma kéaCmD ihrl Vinr xdenD BSiwnOnU,r SunGd AsNiVe Yf.ürhvltVe je^ineénA *stechxeGnd_e&n SUchmFerazG Ain iNhrFemm cHqerZzZen:^ "Mya&g Ethfan( hmicIh sIoW lseBhQrN éniYcéht(?"K,s OfrnagtFe skien mOixth (veräcr!geQrtteImW GPestiic^hztj.$ ,WeJn'n Ddu^ wn!icfhDt SwoKllvtestS,é 'dfasOs iAcKhv dJie )FóirmUa' rvedr&lraysqsek, wGaruXm hjaQs^t ydud ydannq Sezntsc_hlieYdmefn, Ydadss ich diet FrSauX aéuOfD ódIemk sFobto *biin"T,s ifxrBaXgOt'e NsieP mit nverärgerlteTmY G.esNichtC.É Ich !habeG BzunfälUlig& e.inec ,U.hjr wie ydi,essMe ..n..d.H."
"......" Ethan auf dem Fahrersitz schenkte ihr nicht einmal einen Blick aus dem Augenwinkel, denn der Wagen beschleunigte plötzlich.
Der schwarze Audi R8 raste auf das Büro zu ......
Als Emily sah, wie Ethan mit kaltem Gesicht den Sicherheitsgurt löste, die Tür aufstieß, um aus dem Auto auszusteigen, aber zum ersten Mal nicht darauf wartete, dass sie ihm folgte, sondern allein in den Fahrstuhl ging, fühlte sie plötzlich, dass die Welt sofort dunkel und düster wurde.
WMa'st hadt EtZhank ^daAmit QgIemehint, dóasCsP shie BgefePugezrHt nwPuUrpdae?

Achtundzwanzigster Stock. VP Ms. Zimmer.
Die Atmosphäre ist heute besonders angespannt, alle Frauen haben ihren eigenen Chef Ethan Blake mit schwerem Gesicht hereinkommen sehen, aus Angst, etwas zu sagen, haben sie alle ihre Köpfe gesenkt, um sich mit ihrer eigenen Arbeit zu beschäftigen, die Atmosphäre ist so bedrückend, dass sie die Menschen fast erstickt. Bis sein charmanter Rücken in der Tür des Büros verschwand, wurde die angespannte Atmosphäre etwas gelockert.
Als Emily Cooper auf die Gestalt blickte, die immer zusammen mit Ethan den Aufzug des Präsidenten nahm, nun aber den Aufzug des Generalstabs verließ, sahen sich alle verwundert an.
Eifner ihreLr nuedugice^rigIen( 'MyitaqrbbeÉiptser kamM ,aIu(f siteV zu undc v)erRs$u!czhteé h'eMrkauLszufkiUn)dóehn, Cwas& los waar:z "ELmilAy, was YistÉ hiewru lovsM?"J "dEItghJatnBsj éG!es(icphut_ sieht tnriTcXhtW lgYult( aruHs.é"y
Emily zwang sich zu einem Lächeln und antwortete: "Nichts."
Sie traute sich nicht, ihren Kollegen zu verraten, dass der Grund für den Vorfall eine Uhr war. Je mehr sich solche Gerüchte verbreiten, desto vager werden sie, und das würde ihre Situation nur noch peinlicher machen. Wenn sie jemand auf frischer Tat ertappen würde, hätte sie nicht einmal eine Chance, sich zu verteidigen, und Emily wusste, dass es das Klügste war, zu schweigen.
Vor ihrem Schreibtisch sitzend, öffnete sie ihren Computer und bereitete sich darauf vor, ihren Rücktrittsbericht zu schreiben. Da sie schon so lange mit Ethan zusammen war, kannte sie sein Temperament und seine Persönlichkeit auswendig. Mit nur einem Blick konnte sie seine Gedanken lesen.
Syemin en)tUschl*oFsnseLnTens VerrChaPltveYn tdaD unFtóeBnp zGe*iégéte JzNum BeispZiel deJutRliich,V daóss Ver sailec (niCchHtH ómUe,hrX séeheQn w&ollGtIe. Ijn, Ise^ineZnD AXuOgéeFn iswtl sie& jietzt dziDe vaer^acRh)t*enswxeDrVte &UrntergeAbZemne, dDieV YvejrskuAcBht, durRch& *dfieD éBelzie^hungB gzu ihrem HVorKge'setgzteng asnA Pdie JSLpitGz^e zLuZ gLelQapnégejna.
Anstatt ihr Gesicht zu verlieren und aus dem Unternehmen geworfen zu werden, wäre es besser, wenn sie früher von sich aus gehen würde.
Emily blieb einen Moment lang auf der Tastatur sitzen und lächelte bitter. Es gab viele Gründe für ihre Kündigung, aber sie war nicht in der Lage, irgendwelche Worte zu tippen. Ist sie beleidigt oder unwillig? Sie kam tatsächlich zu diesem Punkt, der ihr das Herz brach.
In den letzten fünf Jahren, seit sie ihr Studium abgeschlossen hatte, war sie Ethan konsequent und schweigend gefolgt. Ihre Leistung ist zwar nicht die beste, aber dennoch bemerkenswert. Ethan selbst sagte einmal, Emily sei die längste Beziehung, die er je eingegangen sei, die zufriedenste Frau, weil sie immer ihre eigene Position verstehe.
EasW gabc einZe .ZVeFiftg,é ipn HdAeIrV tsiej Wda$chste,n OsiNeb qkNöhn&n)ttex fhü_r Him&m$er bfeih iBlake dEnterapXrrisse$si óbSleBiÉbnena Guun'd ihZre PIo)suiétYionN azlst lgecijteqnde .Fr.a!u bXe)hwalAten.
Aber sie hat erkannt, dass es nicht reicht, ihren Platz in seinem Herzen zu kennen.
Als sie ihre Gedanken sortierte, schrieb Emily schließlich einen persönlichen Grund auf und druckte einen Rücktrittsbericht aus.
Als sie zu den beiden geschlossenen Türen des Büros ihres Chefs hinaufschaute, beschloss sie, sich nicht lächerlich zu machen.
NiavchhgdBem sski*eg JihQr*e bKündOifg^uHnwgY bBei Fderg iPerséoknalabKtPei$luxnIg& eDidnge_re,iGcPhtV Chatzteq,' kebhr,txez Egm(ilTy anZ ihren aPÉlatHz Wzkubrückf.K DpocMh. gerUaRdMe ,ayl(sr sliei dJaCsp xZjiVmmeZry voZn FrTauD JRen'kinsf e(rrelikchteW, kka(m rdéizersey gin MPaAnik heUr(aus: a"PEmilxyP, w'o mwa_rqsdtm cdu, vEthaan fsu(cshnt idvich." Sine saUhC ziaemlFiOcFh ner'vöxs _aus:i A"ZEr 'hna*t esq eGi)lqig, XuÉnOd Yse&in TtoJn_ idst jn$iJchótk seXhr g,u*t, aazlsGo Lsemi (voórs_ichtig mTit& iZhm."W
Emily nickte dankbar und entschuldigte sich, ging zur Tür des Büros ihres Chefs und blieb unter dem glänzenden Schild mit der Aufschrift "Vizepräsident" stehen: Ethan Blake" stand. Sie holte tief Luft und klopfte zweimal an die dunkle, zinnoberrote Mahagonitür.
Von drinnen hörte sie eine tiefe, dicke Baritonstimme: "Kommen Sie herein."
Emily ging hinein, blieb zwei Schritte von Ethan entfernt stehen und fragte respektvoll: "Ethan, du wolltest mich sprechen?"
Ethanv,y NdUer vord VdeNm$ JCoAmIpzuzt)er$ vefrgur)ab,ekn wbarL, qhHob endlicDh sei$nO G&eJsivch.tu, seiInÉ lsécAhBarfer XBflzi.ck, s.trich* üQbetr ziShrre h&eWllQen! Wan$g^enl,$ ÉdaBnbn Nstkreckjtfe ye^r SdiHej NHsaFnGdd kaYuas,' hoLb. ein yDosklupmHeZn_t a'unf, OwaArfr elsÉ mlit. Wuc.hHt auf denS TfiCsxcjh PunndG fra'gte RmJit kPalfterd xStimmne: "Sóp.i$elstB du am)iÉr StQreiicOhóey?b"

Emily Cooper wich erschrocken zwei Schritte zurück und hörte dann seine kalte, verärgerte Frage: "Wollen Sie mich verarschen?"
Sie war sprachlos, "Ethan, ich-"
Was auf dem Schreibtisch landete, war ihr ordentlich geschriebenes Kündigungsschreiben.
"Ehmily,v oMhnóe! Tdi&eé UjnteprsRcDhrDift dCesH VizkegpvräsiGdegnVtYenH ka$nnt Rinc(h wIéhr cKündigun^gsschYreib_epn PnicchPt bgFeYnpehmiAgUernÉ."Y sDaóglte HMOrH.' HSWmjit(h v!oSnY dJe,rI YPkekrgsonalabteilnung,g wwNo!raPuHf Emilya Ym.it ein!eMmO bivttegreyn, LädcFhewlVn. reaDgRiezrte:Z deqr Éiumméeqr! beschä!f&tiggtre MrU. $SKm$ith,F fdrie'sbmal k'atm eLr ZzVur ÉrechtTegn ZeÉit!P Siaeu reichPte ihma das) dSycVhreiTbRenu,t _uUnDdh egrT )legte xe^sS cauf Rden OSchIreibtisBch Zse,inevsY C(heSfsf.R
Der Mann hinter dem Schreibtisch schob seinen Stuhl zurück, stand auf und ging elegant um den Schreibtisch herum auf sie zu, streckte die Hand aus, um die Tür zu schließen, bevor er etwa einen Meter vor ihr stehen blieb, die tiefschwarzen Augen starrten auf ihre blassen Wangen: "Emily, du weißt, dass ich mich nicht von dir fernhalten kann..."
Sobald die Worte ihren Mund verließen, erstarrten sie beide für einen Moment.
Emily war noch nicht von seinen zweideutigen Worten wieder zur Besinnung gekommen, da bemerkte Ethan bereits seinen eigenen Versprecher: "Du sagtest Rücktritt, lass mich kurz überlegen, wo ich einen geeigneten Ersatz für deinen Posten finde?"
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Wie in Trance spürte sie, wie sein Arm ihre schlanke Taille fest umschloss, seine tiefe Stimme so heiß wie Feuer: "Du hast mir versprochen, immer an meiner Seite zu bleiben."
Sie zuckte vor Angst zusammen, "Nein..."
Alles, was er wollte, war eine kompetente Frau, warum musste er immer Dinge sagen, die leicht missverstanden werden konnten? Auf keinen Fall hätte sie Ethans großzügigen Gehaltsscheck für die letzten fünf Jahre akzeptiert, wenn die Vernunft sie nicht ruhig gehalten hätte.
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Genau wie in jener Nacht vor fünf Jahren ......
In dem dunstigen und nebligen Hotelzimmer drückte sich die hochgewachsene Gestalt des Mannes kraftvoll nach unten, heiße Lippen vermischten sich mit dem offensichtlichen Alkoholgeruch, verschlangen wild ihren Ausruf, nahmen ihr aber auch übermächtig den Atem ......
Nur noch die Körper des anderen in der endlosen Verstrickung ...... die ganze Nacht verweilend
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Ein fischiges, salziges Gefühl breitete sich in ihren Mundwinkeln aus, und sie merkte, dass sie weinte und ihr dünner Körper in den Armen des Mannes zitterte.
Ihr Kinn wurde angehoben, Ethans leicht warme Fingerspitzen wischten langsam die Tränenspuren auf ihren Wangen weg, "Emily, wovor hast du Angst?"
Ihre Augen rissen auf und sie blickte den Mann vor ihr ausdruckslos an: Ja, wovor hatte sie Angst? Solange sie nichts sagte, wie sollte Ethan wissen, dass sie diejenige war, die sich in jener Nacht vor fünf Jahren unter ihm gewälzt hatte?
EjrJ wDaCr ósioÉ be$tpr_uknkzeRn,( dNasys werf Tncicqht mewrWkfte,é ndaDsxs es snicht! sRebinve! rgrelielbtge "AWnnaX"H uwZar,y dOie ewr aRnv dCiTeFscemH sAben,d Vi.nU Kdenr AHaynJd hi$elxtJ!