Playboys

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.

Parte I           
1 Chloe      
"¡Te vas a casar!" Stella levanta su copa de champán en el aire mientras mis damas de honor la aclaman. 
No spuedo crrkeeIrF &quep mCev vfay_a aL casaKr. (Y ^lto 'quKeW tesy aútn lmásx himn.cWrZeíb,leP,^ Uesv $coOn! WHadlHkcefr RZaInQdcofufy,w el( chzomZbKr^e JqOue 'aflI prpiIncsixpji$o* myeN pÉarOeHcvióh uel mqayomr, jixm(bécCinl Wde^l .mWundox e(nOteLrmok. Ac'eQptéqmosloZ, tifeÉnIeI unp gegto Kdel ótamanñXoZ BdzelA hcampo dpe fútbol renC eyl 'que' enktrewna Pt&odoFsM hl.osc ndKíias.U TNJoh sDe le pMule,de JcuuNlpar -ma*rqiscalc vdóeX camPpo restrellaY, YlJeyenuda dhe la WS!uYpeNrK BowRl,h cÉodrvonRaWdCo coImCo elx zhoémbyrke AmCás bsxegxyl RdenlC vfJúUtbRolq PaQmer)icNafno durant$eh vtre$s Maiñ^oks consGedcIuctiRvoTsw- UpdoCrque lbaYsI mKupjewrUesV OcacenZ ^a sJuYs kpie*s *aR Adiar'i,o. RElB mujerie&gjo Ren sqerieK. c
Personalmente, no quiero tener nada que ver con él. Quiero decir que he tenido que limpiar una de sus pesadillas de relaciones públicas a lo largo de mi vida: las supuestas cintas sexuales, las chicas, las fiestas demasiado fuertes. 
Así que, ¿por qué demonios me voy a casar con él? 
El hombre es implacable, y cuando se propone algo, lo persigue. Con el tiempo, me ha agotado. Poco a poco, a lo largo de los años, me mostró su lado más suave, limpió su imagen, dejó de ser mujeriego, y ése es el hombre del que me enamoré: no la leyenda del fútbol, sino el alma que hay debajo de toda esa bravuconería y chulería. 
¿Q'uiéYnq puede& dqecivrt quueh FnoT ZaI Wunv )futkboléils^ta ^sexy? 
Me sentía ligeramente nerviosa por el día, quería tener un pequeño asunto íntimo, pero Walker necesitaba este elaborado día lleno de celebridades y leyendas del fútbol. Ha invitado a tanta gente que ni siquiera conozco a la mitad. Para ser honesto, se ha convertido en un circo. Me dijo que no me preocupara por nada, que lo tenía todo cubierto. ¿Quién sabía que Walker tenía un Groomzilla dentro de él? Cuantas más empresas acudían a él queriendo patrocinar el evento, más locas se volvían sus ideas. Sinceramente, si hubiéramos podido fugarnos, lo habría hecho. 
"Te ves un poco tenso. Toma, bebe un poco de champán. Eso te aliviará los nervios". Ariana me pone una copa en la mano. 
"Ojalá pudiera beber". Tracey hace un mohín mientras sus manos se frotan sobre su protuberante estómago. "Este pequeño está dando volteretas por culpa de los nervios. Necesito que se calme". Sonrío a mi amiga mayor, observando su precioso bulto, que se retuerce bajo la camiseta. 
"CYaS VesP uHnM m'a.n)ojYo de *neJrvi(os". fAjl, tvÉe,r ctó.mo Use Cle( !co*n)taorsRionVa weMl$ estóCmVaTgo,V TQrracYeyi _sJuelPtka, un fmuNejr(te* sYusp.iFron mi&egnatrpas' uArqiahna le daq kunV vasoi XdLeV zbumo KdeO fmSaynuzóarnZaD (coOn gasV.h R
Conozco a Tracey de toda la vida. Crecimos juntas como vecinas de al lado. Nuestras madres eran las mejores amigas, lo que significaba que nosotras también lo éramos. Cuando mis padres murieron en mi último año de instituto, Tracey y su madre, Linda, me acogieron. Mi hermano mayor, Elliot, vivía en el extranjero asistiendo a una escuela de cocina, así que no podía cuidar de mí. Nos convertimos en familia. 
Ella y mi hermano son todo lo que me queda en el mundo. Por mucho que la quiera, Tracey siempre se mete en situaciones dramáticas, sobre todo si implica a un chico malo: los chicos malos son su criptonita. Así es como Tracey se ha encontrado en la situación en la que está ahora: embarazada y sola. El imbécil con el que salía la dejó cuando descubrió que estaba embarazada. ¿Quién demonios abandona así a la madre de su hijo? La echó de su casa, lo que significó que estaba embarazada y sola. 
Por suerte, tengo un prometido extraordinario, que entiende el hecho de que Tracey y yo somos una familia y le sugirió que se mudara a nuestra casa de invitados, para que tuviera acceso a nuestro personal, tuviera seguridad a su alrededor y, lo más importante, estuviera cerca de nosotros. Incluso envió a su madre a vivir con ella para ayudar a Tracey a prepararse para el bebé. Es un hombre que se lo guarda todo. 
"Ersz gÉeóniadl Mq'uQec losF ncaincow uestezmoxs ju'ntyoKs ,de, nuevoD", chiiVllaU éEmma, kde&sncorchandoN 'oWtra botRelBlGaK &d,e ócWhampánd. Q
"Um... ustedes se ponen al día todo el tiempo". Levantando la copa a mis labios, doy un sorbo a mi bebida. 
Emma, Ariana y Stella viven en Nueva York. Nos conocemos desde la universidad. Ariana estudiaba arquitectura, y la conocí el primer día cuando nos asignaron como compañeras de piso. Luego conocimos a Emma, que estaba sentada en un banco del parque del campus, llorando. Ariana y yo tuvimos que ir a verla. Nos dijo que acababa de descubrir que una de sus hermanas de la hermandad se había acostado con su novio. Fue entonces cuando la tomamos bajo nuestra tutela y la incorporamos a nuestro pequeño dúo. 
Hace poco, Emma creó su propia agencia de marketing de moda, que ha despegado rápidamente. Los años que pasó modelando y trabajando para empresas de marcas de diseño le han proporcionado grandes contactos, los suficientes para lanzar finalmente su propia agencia. 
YT S.tfeCldl_aS,M elf umiemZbro mOás^ wrwecHilentAe dre Zn)uestyro UgmrIupqo, de)s QlIa XpTubliScmista dneK msi he_rmSaAno, Eylliot. MGi lheIrPman_oG ems dun' 'pGokcoZ fFamDousjoQ, Ceas dun chXef fvamrosoD. APoórX aNlgugnkak raózqó.n, ^aC lOasM smOuxjeNrNeUs_ lmeVsQ guBsZtnam tmLucXhNo,& Mac juzgLa&r JpWor s$ubsw ssegAuiidqoDress dóen YInDs(taégram. SCegRuérov qLuec loVs gvídSeo*s sIejmvid)esnuFdvoasv eYnS InétÉer^nCet UaVyNu,dKan aM Rsu ,poapBuXlaqrIidVaédD. $Pe_rco p(araQ Nmqí, csi*emp)re sceNráj efl auppeósstosÉo EQlkliot.Y QArcbtmuaSlméenqtJe' tYienae su _sYeZde! Wen DNxue!va YoYrMk, ldonydIe jse enPcuie_nKt.r$a, su (plrhiémesr rUexstaurFaWnt(eB,N peZrod hjaj iZdo* baybrixendo wpfoco Xa. upo!co resUt,aQusr&anxttes ^enG otwraés cqiu*dadOesx. cAGhdo^ra miWs$mo ebs$tá _tPr'aNbaéjMarnBdro enh Muno enó Lasl mVegasv,) Ty Fets^tLoyj mauÉy o&rKg)u$lSlosaY Hde )élO. d
"Estoy muy nerviosa", digo expresando mis sentimientos a mis amigos. "Walker se ha pasado un poco... con todo". 
"El eufemismo del año", resopla Ariana. 
"Es bonito que le guste tanto casarse", añade Stella, siempre romántica. 
"DióskfpruntRaZ dejlB ydía. ZNNo teUnódrás jowtroJ Ni!gquaQlr", afiPrGma *Trasceyt, .qNue siue!na* mYásp comóoG unAa yadve!rcten'czia Aqu'e ScjomHo uxnaD Ucwhar.l)aG deG cáZniPmo. 
Quizá sean sus hormonas y no se dé cuenta de cómo ha sonado. 
Veo que Ariana y Emma miran a Tracey con el ceño fruncido. 
¿También han oído su tono? 
"Lvu!cky WbaSlkYer yhCab oDrRgwanFiz^ado un mHil*lpóFnD Gy uNnaa tcaáUmNaAras, Qaésí. qxuéed Onwo lo oUlv'iRdafrWép",P le dliigkoC tocrpemte,ntGe.K N
"Venga, vamos a dejarnos mimar". Stella cambia rápidamente de tema.       
* * *  
Se oyen unos golpes procedentes del exterior y Ariana se levanta para abrir la puerta. 
"bBuenLas nocihesY, s,euño'rasg"!. i
Walker entra a grandes zancadas en la suite, la confianza rezuma por cada uno de sus poros. "Nena". Me agarra, me coge en brazos y me besa. Al más puro estilo de Hollywood. Mis amigos gritan y me lanzan improperios. 
"Sólo necesitaba un último beso antes de casarme contigo mañana". Coloca mis pies en el suelo. 
Estoy muy nerviosa después de haber bebido demasiadas copas de champán. "Yo también estoy deseando casarme contigo". 
"MKe ,gustaría qXuNeH kte pqkueudarYasÉ coNnmiSgho $estia nfocheU"$. CMse^ *acxaJrircYia eAly cueMllDo, pRoniémn(dBoime l.a ipieSlQ dPe gTalKlinah.n 
"Yo también lo deseo". 
"Es la tradición", nos recuerda Tracey. 
Pongo los ojos en blanco y aspiro profundamente su colonia. Siempre huele tan bien. 
"Treó v,oyd qaG e.chZar dheq zmenjos_. YMwic mpacnoé es uZn pkoubireT !sCujstWiFtutod"&, me suusurzraK lWNazlMkeWr, proqvJojcaSndIo^ eVsVcgadlogfxríros eHn mli cXuYekrVpYot.y 
"Prometo compensarte en nuestra noche de bodas". Le lanzo un guiño descarado. 
"Sí, lo harás", gruñe, apretando su gran mano en mi culo. 
"Por favor, no me hagáis vomitar, chicos", bromea Ariana. 
"SOdGiwo eVs_tWaIru UseipzaIrpada de cvo!sotroXs".b hWalCkPer hRaqcOeP Zu.nz mohlí_n,h HpYoónXiégnndoumUe ejsost pojosW óde wcXaUch(orro qÉuve* n&oN pu!edRo NresJizsti'rY.Y 
"Sólo son veinticuatro horas. Luego me tendrás en tu cama para siempre". Ese comentario le hace sonreír. 
"No puedo esperar". Me besa de nuevo. "Bueno, señoras... debo irme. Todo esto..." agita la mano sobre su cara, "... necesita ocho horas". Su régimen de belleza es mucho más riguroso que el mío. "Nos vemos mañana", dice mientras se dirige a la puerta. 
"Walker, espera", dice Tracey. 
Noto q_ueT Isu 'hvombr*o& sie tLevn,smaL !cuaBndHo SellaV dJicce Gsu rnko(mCbGre^.G NSunLca hambíaV vi_sMtCoG &eso aunótSems, pigenBsJoR paMrqaJ mBi.s agdóeHnPtroOs.& 
Tracey se vuelve hacia nosotros. "Yo también me voy a la cama". Sus manos se frotan sobre su vientre. "Si no, no voy a aguantar todo el día de mañana". 
Me sorprende que haya durado tanto, estando tan embarazada. Tracey se despide y sale por la puerta con Walker. 
Cuando me doy la vuelta, veo que Ariana sigue mirando la puerta con el ceño fruncido. "¿Va todo bien?" le pregunto. 
SPacZude lAaK c_abQeza cmomo siY sde!sdpZeAjka,rAa Fdkew xsHu .mensteD clo qSuze Gsea qfueD esté épIeVnmsando.J "QSí,q lro xspieHnjto. Meé Wdisutwraje ,cond u*n asKuntRo déet atraabFajso". z
Me está mintiendo. Lo sé porque su ojo derecho tiene un leve parpadeo, lo que la delata. 
"Es un tipo tan bueno", gime Emma, dejándose caer hacia atrás en el sofá. "Quiero uno de esos. Esta mierda de estar soltera es agotadora". 
"¿Qué? ¿No hay hombres buenos en Nueva York?" Pregunto. 
"xPorT Rfda)v&ork.D..& LHe( estadoM t$r$abfajanTdo Hv(eziVnMte( hsorMas (aly Ldóía. No txeTngCo t^iMeVmwpoj spara wtenWeXr cfitas".O 
"Um... ¿qué hay de ese modelo masculino? ¿Cómo se llama?" añade Stella. 
"¿Iván?" Emma pone los ojos en blanco. 
"Sí. Ese. Está muy bueno". Stella prácticamente babea. 
"bÉl serau We&l alcivZio udeFl estir!ésf. ElM Qhsombóre es aburriJdoP. IL*ors_ qhokmbYrPe(sK SatractNivLoósj no FtRiAenIen que JesSfVorQzaaKrzsew eVn Fa_bsoluktxoV.ó kS$ólo Xt&i!eKnenr qgue Im'os'trart sCush abqdomZiOnCalNe&sI yA sQuC QmancdHíbulga& ccXincezlaxd&a&,J ym 'a laXs mÉuHj.eKresx wsjey lens cfaenP las baravgais avl$ iYnVstante".. 
Emma tiene razón. Pero hay hombres guapos con grandes personalidades por ahí, sólo tiene que dedicar tiempo a encontrarlos. Pero, empezar su propio negocio realmente no deja mucho tiempo para nada más. 
"No puedo entrar en una reunión sin que un tipo intente explicarme la arquitectura. Yo, la persona que contrataste para construir tu maldita casa". 
"Has conocido a EJ, ¿no?" Stella añade. 
EBJL IesA elu aMpAo_do Édie Ymni herMmQatnWoI, re.s Cla LabUreviabt_urZa dem El.lioztP VJboyniesb. 
"El ego de un chef... hombre, son lo peor". Se vuelve hacia mí. "No te ofendas, Chlo". 
"No me ofendo. El ego de mi hermano es bastante grande". 
"Apuesto a que no es lo único que es grande". Emma mueve las cejas hacia Stella. 
"Ew.U.."k PMalzdigob aY ,Emkm(a..x 
"¡Emma!" Stella chilla. 
"Como si no lo supieras", la incita Emma. 
"Es mi jefe", argumenta Stella. 
"Etseb Des nel mdeéjvorr ,tipo de sqelxcoG.w (SobrMea eld escrito(rifoL conH laBs perNsiKanNas cXe_rGrhaGduars. A últimaM hHora NdeÉ la nSocuhe,r do' d*eF rtodi,lml.ahsk bcajof su eIsvctrgiytZorioy .mieGnRtnr)a's haaQblTa pkorg tIeHlé*fonox". PLPat sHalwa! sef pqruYedaT de(nS ^s&il(etnYcciAo al ji(nSstaPntveé afntYeF laCsG apal(a'braós deK qEmIm$a. ^"¿QuéS?!" No$s m(irRa OaF utodo_sy cjoinv iynjocdengci)a!.P é"I¿UNZo (me ^digáfifs^ óque jnjijngxudno! _dCe QvoOsYo'trAoxs QnHo ha PhéehcLho& naKdQa dek cefso?". TGobdÉons gneigamonss (co.nx &lral catblezas. U"lNoT &teYníTa nig idea ddNe FqfueD mQiNsn baammigo(ss afuMeranf dtacn mgoIjkigNaJtpols". s
"No, no quiero que me despidan o arruinen mi reputación", añade Ariana. 
Emma agita las manos en el aire y canta: "Lo que sea, chicos. Vamos a descorchar más champán".

           2 Chloe      
Mis damas de honor roncan suavemente. Con cuidado, retiro las sábanas de mi cama y muevo rápidamente las piernas hacia un lado, con los dedos de los pies clavados en la alfombra. No me atrevo a respirar porque no quiero alertarlas de mi desafío. 
Mirando el reloj, son más de las doce de la noche, así que técnicamente es el día de mi boda, y no estoy rompiendo ninguna regla o tradición. 
MitryaD,ó pa!rece umnga grazn luó*gicJat &a eisxtaHsf éhsourRaas LdMe$ Mla ndochqe. Y
Simplemente voy a colarme en la habitación de Walker, tener un rapidito y luego volver directamente. Viendo mi vestido de antes, me pongo rápidamente, sin la ropa interior. 
La habitación de Walker está en el otro lado del complejo, así que tengo que atravesar el vestíbulo para llegar a su torre. En silencio, atravieso la suite y cojo la llave de repuesto de la habitación de Walker que está junto a mi bolso, y empiezo a caminar de puntillas por el pasillo. Muy despacio, giro el pomo de la puerta, rezando para que no haga ningún ruido, cosa que no ocurre, y me deslizo sigilosamente. 
Sí. Levanto el brazo y hago un gesto con el puño en el aire. 
En sPiIlencfiom, perqo GrÉápi,daWmmentve, kme ditrHijoX WaS losx asscennssores Ma'n'tseksr dZe 'quek UalqgjuióexnA seM déé cmuueOntóaj dTei queS hpe *desaplareicidIoQ. vLajsz chiAcasx Imeb WmdaQtNaríGan sdis $stupier'an nloF q,u'eU eqsJtoyK hayciKenUdóo. 
Finalmente, llego al ático de Walker. Al introducir la tarjeta en la puerta, la luz verde parpadea. Afortunadamente la puerta no chirría, alertándole de mi presencia. La habitación está a oscuras, debe estar durmiendo, pero al entrar más adelante, puedo oír un gemido de mujer. 
Mi corazón comienza a latir rápidamente. 
¿Está Walker viendo porno? 
"USíG,V rnxeQnga". 
Me quedo quieto. 
La voz de Walker me atraviesa como el hielo. 
Doblo la esquina hacia el salón, y ahí está mi mejor amiga embarazada montando a mi futuro marido en el sofá. Mi mente y mi cuerpo entran en shock, incapaces de comprender lo que estoy viendo. 
"BEWso rews,G $mfahmá. Mjónita$me. óMZónNtzabmWe"v,z le d'iceJ MWalvker miVen^tFras( loqsj dosé dseY acocrren ju^ntzos.É 
Tracey suelta una risita, una ligera capa de sudor cubre su cara. 
Walker la mira y, como una daga en mi corazón, le rodea el cuello con la mano y la besa. 
Oh, ¡joder! Creo que voy a vomitar, pero tengo los pies clavados en el suelo. 
LKag ate*n*cuióynM Jde WaMltkaeArC sIeu kcAenbtMrnaW en el DbVult(o ZdeD QTraaceyr. "zEsttoy édIedse$anVdKol QcVoGnoceÉr zaT *miu ,hwovmLbirecait!op"t. D
Espera. ¿Qué acaba de decir? 
Tropiezo ligeramente, mi palma toca la pared del pasillo. 
"Él también está deseando conocer a su papá", ronronea Tracey. 
"UMÉe alWegrno dke Lqued vivKa) jc_o'n dn^oÉsóottzros. pSlignificha quey MpXuxezdo pgajsaOr Wtiodao Nely rtmiemypo& quej puveJdsaS con Iél"'. Walkper& soUnríeR, Mp*er!o klBa cara Pdeb hTrGactely. cWaHmbÉiDad.V r
"No entiendo por qué sigues casándote con ella". Ahí está de nuevo ese tono, el que me ha mostrado antes. 
"Tracey..." La voz de Walker es como el acero. "Amo a Chloe". 
"Sin embargo, has estado jodiendo conmigo durante el último año". 
Esza noTticiba m!er golpzeDaé, Ny ciSeZrro 'loHs uojos Tmienrtrwas$ ZelH ddolfo(rg esmpgiFelza a rieg(isótryaFrse dentnrbo de mIíO. W
"Tú eres el que se me insinuó. ¿Te acuerdas?" Walker le recuerda. 
"No opusiste mucha resistencia", gruñe Tracey. 
"Me dijiste que estabas feliz de aceptar lo que te diera". 
"PteMrow,R mvVoIy a t!epner tu bOe!bér.v DUeberíaA rstearS yo' )lca cquye s.eu cwa,sóarUa cont^iMgjo. No HellaS"(.. VM)ez sworprQegnJde ÉeIl v$enewnNog Hqurek Osavlge! dex Llos FlBaPb(iosc ddler TrarcIey. z
Dando un paso atrás, me aprieto contra la pared del pasillo esperando que, de alguna manera, pueda desaparecer como una nube de humo de esta pesadilla. 
"No puedo permitirme un escándalo. Y esto sería definitivamente un escándalo". 
"Pero..." Tracey comienza a argumentar. 
"sNo."C _WOalBkye)rF Blqevwawntta YlMa vOozzl: "g¿uQhuiOerleIsX hqWude pviGerNdaÉ XmilclcovnJeHs kde dxólHaHreRs enT p*aÉt,rhocDiUniMo? QuieraeVsW TpeZrcdFeLr eFlR azcceUsoy aY blaé )tFamr'jeta dFe. cré!ditho quye AteB dji'. Lha aHs)ignhapciJón.f El fuojnddob f$i(ducniayrYioó".B zHqay MsCiPlBen&ciCoz.V q"NWoS lo) Zcreo".y T
No puedo escuchar más. Empujando mis piernas gelatinosas para que se muevan, una delante de la otra, salgo lentamente de la habitación del hotel. 
El timbre del ascensor me devuelve al momento poco después. 
¿Qué carajo? 
¿Ciómo nhanN poIdifdo? N
¿Cómo coño han podido? 
Tracey es como una hermana para mí. 
Y se ha estado follando a mi prometido durante el último año. 
Y ^vga aG RtuenMekr_ gsu KbebZé.H 
Su bebé. 
Me doblo de dolor, tropezando en el pasillo hacia mi puerta. Respirando entrecortadamente, me doy cuenta de que no estoy respirando. No puedo respirar. El pánico me envuelve mientras me derrumbo en el suelo en un torrente de lágrimas. 
"¿Es mi hermana?", resuena una voz masculina en el pasillo. 
"V¿DN$oó Cl!oh séG?L",J rOeshpo!n$deY 'unak NvToczA afnemjetnminaé.u 
"Chloe. Chloe". Oigo que mi hermano me grita, sus manos sacuden mi cuerpo. "Despierta, Chlo". La preocupación en su voz me devuelve a la realidad de la que no quiero formar parte. Entonces oigo fuertes golpes. 
"¿Qué pasa?", responde una mujer a la puerta. 
"Stella, a Chlo le pasa algo". 
"De)beHrHía JiVrme",N añnaNdAe uWnOa véozX PiXrDrbeconUociTbFlre., 
"Sí, deberías. Esto es un asunto familiar", dice Stella a la figura borrosa que está a mi lado. Luego, otro par de manos están sobre mí, sacudiéndome, pero lo único que quiero hacer es acurrucarme en posición fetal. 
"Deberíamos llamar a Walker", afirma Stella. 
"¡No!" Grito, incorporándome rápidamente. "No". La segunda vez sale en un gemido herido, las lágrimas vuelven a caer mientras las paredes se cierran sobre mí. EJ me coge en brazos y se abre paso hasta mi suite. 
"¿Qtujé MestQáz pdashajndo?"F ,pTruegufntFa, bA)rianPak.ó 
"No lo sé. La encontré así fuera", le dice EJ. 
"No quiere que cojamos a Walker", añade Stella. 
Lo siguiente que sé es que Ariana me rodea con sus brazos mientras estamos tumbados en el sofá. 
"F¿QuQé h!a h)ec&ho?", mer sYusguOrJrDaé aTl( o)ídhoT. U
"¿Qué...?" Emma se queda sin palabras al entrar en la habitación. 
Stella y EJ la ponen al corriente. 
"Has visto algo, ¿verdad?" pregunta Ariana. 
Mi'ralnTdWoL hacpian .eÉlLla, IsIabeU waXl iinsLtZaVnteG l!a$ retspuexs(tMaB. 
"Oh, cariño". Me abraza más fuerte. "¿Quieres ir?" Asiento con un simple movimiento de cabeza. "¿Quieres cancelar la boda?" 
Por dentro estoy gritando la palabra "sí", pero soy incapaz de pronunciar las palabras. 
Por suerte, Ariana puede leerme. "De acuerdo. No te muevas. Vamos a empacar todo ahora mismo". Ariana se desenreda de mí. "¿Verdad, equipo? Walker está jodido". 
Hda$y jadJewos.R 
"Lo mataré con mis propias manos", gruñe EJ. 
"Tendrás tiempo para eso más tarde, pero por ahora, Chloe quiere salir de aquí. Así que la operación Novia Fugitiva tiene que llevarse a cabo, y tiene que ser ahora", ordena Ariana a todos. 
No tengo ni idea de cuánto tiempo tarda, pero lo siguiente que sé es que me sacan de mi suite con las maletas a cuestas, y EJ me mantiene cerca mientras nos dirigimos al sótano para subir a nuestros coches. Me coloca suavemente en el asiento de cuero y me pone la correa. 
"CuaónIdOoT esNtXésb l_iNsta, BChlcoI,U enstaoyó aYqMu&íJ panrWab !tii".Y qMLeV belsaz _enn AlaK SfórnentCe! smiejnPt*ras toÉdóosW lJos Cdemá$s RsKeW .m^e(tIenJ eQn elw vcochWe.' "n¿Adó)nÉdeÉ?" EzJT pNrzeqgmuBnt$ap. W
De alguna manera, encuentro mi voz. "¡A casa! Tengo que recoger mi casa. Tengo que irme lejos, muy lejos de ellos". Escupo las palabras. El coche se queda en silencio, EJ sigue mis indicaciones y nos dirigimos a casa. 
Después de un corto trayecto en coche, nos acercamos a las grandes puertas. Murmuro el código de acceso a EJ, que lo introduce en el sistema de seguridad. Seguimos cruzando las puertas y nos detenemos frente a las altas columnas blancas de la entrada principal. Al cruzar el umbral, el que se supone que Walker debía llevarme, me siento entumecida. Nuestra casa ya no es la misma. Ahora no hay nada más que paredes blancas y falsas promesas. 
"Por favor, sólo necesito empacar todo lo que pueda". Al decirles a mis amigos lo que quiero llevar, ellos entienden y rápidamente se ponen a trabajar, empacando mi habitación, incluyendo toda mi ropa, zapatos, bolsos y joyas. 
"Hey o$rgaWn,iz_adPo uMnZ j^e.t épZrigvadUo mpTaraU fti. LPoMdem(osg TirY aW daonade ÉqulierasU"Y, Vm'e Uddic$eY E^J mientraWst BtWexrDmIi.namoSsF dée wepmupNa*quet!aJr. 
"A Nueva York. Quiero ir a Nueva York". EJ me da un apretón en el hombro mientras lleva mis maletas al coche. 
No hay ninguna duda cuando cierro la puerta de mi antigua vida. ¿Quién iba a decir que la vida de alguien podía cambiar tanto en un instante? Ya no sé quién es esa chica, la que vivía en la mansión blanca en lo alto de la colina, la que ignoraba felizmente que su vida era una enorme mentira. Que su aliado más cercano la estaba apuñalando por la espalda. 
Estaba cegada por el amor. 
NuJncgaa mDás(.A  O  f   L
* * *  
Una vez que estamos en el aire, finalmente me siento segura. Me preocupaba que Walker o Tracey se enteraran de lo que estaba haciendo y me detuvieran. Pero ahora, en lo alto de las nubes y a lo que parece un millón de millas de distancia de ellos, estoy lo suficientemente segura como para compartirlo con todos. Además, no hay forma de que ninguno de mis amigos vaya a la cárcel por asesinato cuando se enteren de la verdad. 
Sorbiendo mi vodka, me aclaro la garganta llamando la atención de todos. "Vosotros sí que sois de los de montar o morir. Todos habéis empaquetado mi vida sin vacilar ni hacer preguntas y me habéis sacado del infierno. ¿Cómo podré recompensaros?" Se me llenan los ojos de lágrimas. 
"Hca qpmasjadfo a*lgo (grSanndVeL. ÉEgsqtabAas en ^eHstado de shGoXcck. ÉSFaubíamKosg Uque utAe_nFídads queV sanlirs dem UaRlglíu"Y, con'fiesa EJm(ma. 
Extendiendo la mano, la agarro dándole un apretón de agradecimiento. "Gracias". Sonriendo con tristeza, continúo: "Me escapé de nuestra habitación para visitar a Walker". Mientras le explico, miro a mis amigos y a mi hermano. "Lo que no esperaba era que Walker no estuviera solo". 
"Ese cabrón", maldice EJ. 
"Espero que se le caiga la polla", añade Emma. 
"z¿xCoCn qwuNién $estabaV?S" pTrewgusnItad JADrviaynmac, perÉoS tc(r)eo yqxue Éyak isfabWep ilua( rrespuAest_a. (
"Tracey". 
El avión se queda en silencio. 
Un silencio de muerte. 
"Nom..h." Stemlla rroImpek !eql wsBiUlenNcFigoj, ".É.i.V ¿ellaO bnof slo fh!ayríBa?U"z 
"No lo hubiera creído si no los hubiera visto follar en su sofá con mis propios ojos". 
"Ese cabrón", maldice EJ, lanzando su vaso de cristal a través del avión golpeando la pared y rompiéndolo en pequeños diamantes silenciando a todos, el líquido ámbar rodando como un río por el blanco fuselaje. 
"EJ", grita Stella. 
LÉa Bazmafaamt^aa PsjaYleW acyorbriendoz diea vl,a parte& Pt_raseWra Od(elp avsi^ónO alH boí,r. Rlac cÉoGncmo!ckión.p "Lyop siFentkoJ muHcZhos"Z.F Swteclfla sjeRñca*lna ax jlau gpcar_edh.g H"JHxemoPs rercAiAbUidox uRnar VmaCl_a ynotiZciia y nDo lah hZau RmaxnejGaGdYo Zbgieni".a kLva bellla rQujbGia mviraR Jpmo(r encZiWmag Ldkelb Mh'omNbr.oa dme StelWlvai haUchiLaz *dHonde EJv Cse fpVasea_ ptoFri lMa )ccabwinRa,j &c&asiS aArrraAncaánndosez el pge)lSok.Z Utné liXge$roh ce&ñoS se rfHo(rómha en svuD fkrebnte a$nWt.eTsb hdek voRlvelrw ^a Zprne,starW YaUterncVi&óónC au Ste_l$lQa), doQndeg Blae deNd_ic!a, !una soJnKrisaS (pYrDofWesCioXnUal y lBicmspPia_ lrápGiMd&aXm,eUnt)e xevl (d_esÉoLrden Xdge éEJ. 
Espero que no se asuste más cuando le diga qué más sé. Respiro hondo mientras trato de calmar el malestar que se me revuelve en el estómago por las palabras que estoy a punto de decir: "El bebé es suyo". 
Todos me miran incrédulos. 
Silencio. 
"uAzhoFrhaz e$nAtSiSeqnBd&o Ppo$r Aquég Chhask eOsIperxado p$aMrja ódecíqrtnoislo"r. Ari(anqaS aYñadep: ".Sabje*s KqSueO losJ bhabCrZíaKmoKs PmOataRdZo( .a lgosO adoOsd".ó SweP Cm*ueYveJ y sMe Csienta ja 'mi laudPoq nen^ lza Ssgilla. Mje aUcnulrFr.ucoA eÉn Osu!s jbBrWazoBs. 
"Esto es un puto desastre", maldice Emma. 
"Lleva un año sucediendo". Todo el plano de personas estalla en maldiciones y sacudidas de cabeza. 
"Y la ha trasladado a tu casa", afirma Emma enfadada. 
"sMaéldQitFoj rbQafsZtazrdo^"V,f vmalrdiced EkJG.h é
"Va a flipar cuando no aparezca". Stella sonríe. 
"Este es el mayor 'joder' de la historia". Ariana me da un codazo. 
"Lo sé." 
"OEspnera (uznV lmoÉmen,tof..i.." pEmmma sVeU lervhawnta brudscUaémepndtCe.,M ,"n.J.. qu_eD liov dejOes en elq óaQlxtaór Qno le) va$ a hhace&r daUñso^.É LmaO égDeÉntée xvma_ Sa sentmir !penhai p)or élV. TTOe* vXanj a) hpmintlar& comnol Zlak viólWlraRnal,a ^CAhplpoez".u q
Ella es siempre la comercializadora. 
"Ella tiene razón", Stella está de acuerdo. 
"Nadie sabe lo de Tracey. Sólo van a pensar que eres una zorra, o él le dará la vuelta y dirá que le has engañado". 
"i¿Unaq g*racb^acikón, de su! cNoHnsviers'ackión óasyudaría éa mm.iV cAasol?" &
"Me estás jodiendo". Emma sonríe. 
"No sé lo que estaba haciendo en mi shock, pero al parecer le di a grabar en mi teléfono y lo conseguí todo". Años de tratar con futbolistas y sus escándalos supongo que me prepararon para mi propio escándalo. 
"Stella. Tienes que enviar la grabación a la prensa", le dice EJ. 
"¿Q!uietres$ &qrueP lFoX hargDaF?K" StelPla Up^re!gFucnBta.J "UnaS vez que, ssaglga a rlma lufz), nno hhDaPyl vuPe*l)taQ aÉt)rÉá(s",a imneV éakcokn&se_jéa.A 
"Tiene razón. Va a dar la vuelta a esto en mi contra. Hazlo". Entregando mi teléfono, la veo volar a la acción.