Тьма в его сердце

Bleĭk Dzhefferson olit͡setvori͡al vse to, chto i͡a nenavidela. On byl vlii͡atelen, bogat, krasiv, kak sam dʹi͡avol - v obshchem, tipichnyĭ predstavitelʹ ėlity Nʹi͡u-Ĭorka. Emu khotelosʹ vti͡anutʹ meni͡a v svoi͡u izvrashchennui͡u igru i slomatʹ, slovno kuklu, za to, chto i͡a byla drugoĭ. No on oshibsi͡a, kogda reshil, chto mozhet dergatʹ za nitochki, vedʹ vse ėto vremi͡a za nitochki dergala i͡a. Zadacha kazalasʹ mne prostoĭ: vli͡ubitʹ v sebi͡a Bleĭka i razbitʹ emu serdt͡se, obernuv ego strategii͡u protiv nego. No chto esli igra zaĭdet slishkom daleko? I kto iz nas stanet pobeditelem, kogda vse maski spadut?

Blake Jefferson represented everything I hated. He was powerful, rich, handsome as the devil himself - in general, a typical representative of the elite of New York. He wanted to pull me into his twisted game and break me like a doll because I was different. But he was wrong when he thought he could pull the strings, because I was pulling the strings all the time. The task seemed simple to me: to make Blake fall in love with me and break his heart by turning his strategy against him. But what if the game goes too far? And which one of us will be the winner when all the masks fall off?