Bavaria, Germany – Natasha's Private ResidenceMansion. 11:01 P.M.
Snow piled up against the windows, but in Natasha's warm room the outside world did not exist. Just a few minutes earlier she had managed to fall asleep. Now she slept deeply, her breathing steady, until a dream pulled her into a memory...
A hall lit by crystal chandeliers, walls adorned with ancient tapestries, the murmur of conversations in various languages, and the clinking of glasses.
Brian was there. A black tuxedo perfectly fitted to his figure, his face impeccably serene despite the slight tremor that made the wine glass in his hand quiver. That detail, however, was eclipsed by the way the suit seemed made only for him.
Then Natasha entered. A black satin dress, with an elegant neckline that highlighted her silhouette with a magnetism impossible to ignore. Each step of hers drew eyes.
When Brian saw her, he set his glass down on a passing waiter's tray, and that was when she approached with a knowing smile.
—The French associates are watching you.
He glanced sideways at her, his voice low but steady:
—Not me... you.
She tilted her head slightly, savoring the game.
—The tux fits you very well.
Brian curved a faint smile:
—The dress fits you perfectly.
Natasha stepped closer, letting her words fall in a whisper charged with intent.
—Maybe later... I'll want you to take it off me.
He held her gaze, unflinching, his calm contrasting with the faint tremor in his fingers.
—Your offer is tempting... but I'd rather—
Brian lifted his hand with subtlety. In that instant, the band changed melodies. The hall filled with the smooth, enveloping rhythm of Michael Bublé's Sway. Several couples began to take the floor, moving to the beat.
He extended his hand to her, and when she took it, he guided her to the center. His arm circled her waist. Despite the trembling in his hands, his steps were firm, confident, fluid.
Natasha smiled, biting her lower lip, letting herself be carried by the cadence of his lead.
—So that's why everyone else was being so kind.
He inclined his head, almost brushing hers, with a half-smile.
—You fell for it.
She raised a brow, amused.
—Who told you?
—It's only natural I'd remember the birthday of the woman I love.
Natasha let out a small laugh, tinged with both tenderness and desire.
—Maybe I'll be the one to give you a gift later.
Brian spun her gently, his voice firm but serene:
—I'm more interested in dancing right now. Let's focus on that... later.
And they danced.Among the other couples there was technique, better executed steps, flashier spins. But between them there was something different: a visceral connection, a tension in every look, a heartbeat shared that made each movement theirs and theirs alone.
The hall vanished for Natasha, reduced to the warmth of the arm holding her, the intensity in his eyes, the way the world synchronized with her breathing.
And there, in the middle of music and lights, that memory froze like a photograph in her mind.
Natasha woke with a start in her Bavarian bedroom, her breath racing. Her hand rested on her chest, feeling the uncontrollable drum of her heart. The dimness of the room returned her to solitude... but the memory burned in her as if it had happened just moments ago.
***
New York City, United States – 5:01 P.M.Liliana's Apartment
The television cast a faint glow over the living room, where Liliana lay curled on the couch under a blanket, devouring a tub of chocolate ice cream. Beside her, Ricardo—her best friend, always with a cutting remark at the ready—kept her company in silence.
Until he couldn't anymore.
—Lily... how can you be so stupid? —he blurted with a sigh, half exasperated, half pained.
She lowered her spoon, frowning.—You're not helping, Ricky. I already feel bad about what happened.
—No, sweetheart. —He leaned forward, brimming with pent-up anger—. About what you did. How can you get tangled up with that man again?
Liliana hunched her shoulders, defeated.—I don't know... it just happened.
Ricardo huffed, burying his face in his hands. Then, as if looking for a weapon, he snatched a magazine from the coffee table. He thrust it at her dramatically. On the cover: Brian Dreifus, shirtless, barely covered by a brown coat, smiling with a blend of arrogance and sensuality, eyes piercing, posture effortlessly careless.
Ricardo nearly shouted, shaking the magazine in front of her face:—But look! Do you really think that man compares to this hunk?
Liliana froze for a moment, swallowing hard. Finally, she murmured:—Ricky... you're not helping. You know my history with Marcus, everything back when I was part of Sensación.
Ricardo's eyebrows shot up, full of indignation.—That's no excuse, honey! Do you realize how rare it is for a man who looks like this —he jabbed a finger against the cover— to treat you the way he did?
—You're just making me feel more guilty, Ricardo! —she burst, nearly in tears.
—That's the point, love. I was a fan of that man... and I don't care what they say about him. That he blew fortunes on games, that he stopped being a Dreifus... pfft, nonsense! A man like this, and on top of that romantic... I'm already dead.
—If you're going to keep this up... just leave. —Liliana smacked the magazine away, shoving another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth.
Ricardo stared at her for a beat, then grinned mischievously.—Fine, I'll stop. But quit hogging—share some chocolate.
She glared daggers at him.—No. Check the fridge, there's another one.
—Okay... —he rose in defeat, shuffling toward the kitchen while muttering under his breath—. Damn it, how can anyone ruin themselves over a man who isn't like this?
***
Kyoto, Japan – Private Hospital – 7:01 A.M. – January 23rd
The white hospital lights reflected down endless corridors. The smell of disinfectant filled every corner, a mix of cleanliness and dread only hospitals could evoke.
Alice arrived running from the café, her breath ragged, chestnut hair clinging to her face with sweat and nerves. Her blue eyes searched desperately for a sign. It was at the entrance that she saw her:
Aoki was there. The woman's back was straight in her informal kimono, carrying the serenity of the Muzashi, but in her eyes something betrayed her: restrained panic.
—Aoki-san... —Alice murmured, barely finding the strength to speak.
Brian's aunt turned toward her, but before she could respond, they were both interrupted.
In the hallway, arms crossed as if to hold herself together, stood Britanny Dreifus. Her natural blonde hair was disheveled, and her blue eyes—so like Brian's—were red and swollen from crying.
She approached them, her voice tired but steady.
—It's okay... —she said in a threadbare attempt at comfort—. Brian... stabilized a few minutes ago.
Alice pressed a hand to her chest, letting out a broken sigh. Aoki lowered her gaze briefly, her inner tension escaping only as a faint tremor in her fingers.
Britanny went on, her voice ragged with fatigue:
—Dr. Sirizawa still has him under observation. He's still in a coma... but if he manages to stay stable for even a day or two, they'll start the tests. They want to understand how the hell he survived that electric shock... —she pressed her lips together, swallowing hard.
The hallway fell silent, broken only by the distant footsteps of medical staff.
—For now... —Britanny looked down, gripping the sleeves of her jacket tight—, what happened half an hour ago was just a scare.
Alice closed her eyes and exhaled, a fragile relief mixed with fear.
"Damn idiot, don't do this to me... don't scare me like this. If you do it again... I'll kill you. I swear I'll kill you."
Aoki sighed softly as well, though her eyes still gleamed with uncertainty.
"Brian... you're like a son to me. My mother needs you, Manako needs you, I need you... I just want you to wake up."