She offered him her heart, her trust, her everything and her soul only to face betrayal, heartbreak, and being discarded as if she meant nothing to him. Eleanor Sinclair was once a delicate, vibrant, quiet woman who loved intensely and wholeheartedly, but love caused her immense pain and regret. Married to the ruthless, wicked and influential Damian Blackwood, she suffered through his cold indifference, harsh words, and the stifling loneliness of an absent and void love. When he wrongfully accused her of infidelity and cast her away, she lost everything: her dignity, her aspirations,her goals, her life maybe and the child she was carrying. Left for dead, Eleanor faded from existence, but she didn’t die. Instead, she emerged from her suffering, forged in the fires of pain and revenge, becoming the very nightmare of the underworld. No longer the timid, weak woman pleading for affection, she returns years later, powerful and driven by a singular mission: to destroy the man who ruined her life, to kill him and burn him if possible. However, Damian Blackwood is unlike any other. Ruthless, strategic, and more dangerous than before, he never expected the woman he once threw away would come back stronger, more lethal and destructive, and beyond his reach. The moment he lays eyes on her again, he recognizes his error. She was never the weak one he was. Now, he’s determined to pursue her, plead, and break every rule to reclaim her for good. But Eleanor has no heart left to offer. Not while the fire of revenge still courses through her veins. He feels regret. She seeks vengeance. Let the pursuit begin…
view moreEleanor's POV
SLAP!
The impact and sound of Damian’s palm hit my cheek with such force that I tumbled backward. For a moment, my vision became blurry, and a strong pain ran through my face. The world around me turned around, the big chandeliers above turning into streaks of gold. Gasps filled the ballroom, followed by a suffocating and usual silence that felt like a heavy weight pressing down on me.
I pressed my fingers to my burning cheek, the sting only adding to my pain. While my ears rang from the blow, tingle tingle, the pounding of my heart was even louder. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t possibly be happening to me.
Damian Blackwood, my husband, my love, my everything,g stood before me, his gaze filled with cold, unyielding fury, just like that of a dagger.
"You ungrateful whore! You bastard" he roared, his voice moving through my entire being.
I recoiled at the venom in his words. My lips twisted, trying to defend myself, but my throat felt dry and my mind was a blank and sorry slate.
The grand ballroom of the Blackwood Estate was packed with the city's elite wealthy businessmen, influential politicians, and high-society figures all of them were staring at me, their expressions filled with judgment and hate. The celebration was supposed to honor our anniversary, a night to honor our love. But love had vanished at that moment.
Because tonight, love had turned into betrayal, and that really hurt.
Damian held my wrist, drawing me closer with a strong and firm grip that felt like it could crush my bone into piece. "How dare you make me look foolish?" His fingers dug painfully into my skin like a lion claw.
Desperately, I shook my head. "Damian, please, I don’t get it! What are you talking about?" My voice shook, barely above a whisper.
He let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "You don’t get it? Perhaps this will jog your memory, you stupid idiot."
Turning to his right, my stomach dropped as Vincent Moreau, Damian’s closest associate and friend, stepped forward. His sharp, predatory look shined with satisfaction as he handed Damian a thick envelope. Damian tore it open and revealed a series of glossy naughty photographs.
He throws them to the floor at my feet.
I looked down, and the ground beneath me seemed to crumble.
There I was, Eleanor Sinclair Blackwood captured in various naughty images. But the woman in those pictures wasn’t really me. She was in a hotel room, too close to another man's body, to f*cking close, smiling, resting on his shoulder. In one photo, my hand rested against his chest, caressing it; in another, our lips were almost touching each other.
A wave of icy and cold terror washed over me. "No… this can’t be true!" I gasped for breath. "This is fabricated, Damian! I promise you!"
But he wasn’t listening to me. He had already made up his mind.
"You make me sick," Damian spat, his once passionate eyes now void of emotion. "You were carrying another man’s child while pretending to be my wife in my own home."
His words cut through me like a knife. I stumbled back, shaking my head unsteadily. "No, I would never do that"
Vincent sighed with exaggerated disappointment. "Tsk, tsk, Eleanor. Lying at this point is simply sad." He shook his head, smirking. "We have witnesses. The hotel manager saw you check in. The staff verified it was you."
Desperation moved inside me as I faced him. "You’re lying! You set this up! You framed me!"
Vincent just smirked. "Prove it."
As my hands trembled, I reached for Damian. "You know me. You love me. You know I would never betray you!"
But Damian recoiled as if my touch burned him.
"You’re no wife of mine," he said, his voice cold and firm. "You mean nothing to me."
The pain that followed was far worse than the slap. Far worse than all of his accusations. Because Damian wasn’t just ending our marriage he was erasing me from his life entirely.
"Throw her out," he commanded.
Before I could understand what was happening, the guards moved forward. Strong hands seized me, dragging me toward the exit.
"Damian, please!" I cried out, struggling against them. "Just listen to me! I swear, I never betrayed you!"
But he turned his back on me.
He didn’t even glance back as they led me away.
*****
The door was closed behind me, and the chill and freeze of the night air brushed my unprotected skin like needles. My body was shaking from the cold, the shock, and the crushing realization that my world had just been dismantled, that my life had just been totally destroyed.
I stood outside the grand estate, my vision fading by unshed tears.
My life had been torn away.
I had no money, no family, no home.
The dress I wore- a custom piece that Damian had once admired on me- now felt like a cruel mockery. My hair was rough, and my face was swollen from tears and humiliation.
The rain began to fall lightly at first, then heavier, soaking me all through.
I couldn’t move.
I had nowhere to go.
A sickening twist in my stomach served as a bitter reminder that I wasn’t alone in this.
I placed a hand on my lower belly.
Our baby.
I had planned to tell Damian tonight. I had rehearsed the words over and over. But instead of sharing what should have been the happiest news of our lives, I had been discarded like trash, the pain...
I inhaled sharply, forcing myself to stand tall and still.
I needed to think. I needed to
A sharp clicking sound broke the silence.
Footsteps.
I turned just as a black SUV pulled up. The tinted windows rolled down, revealing Vincent’s smirking face.
"Need a ride, sweetheart?" His voice filled with mockery.
I stepped back instantly. "Stay away from me, you bastard."
He laughed lightly. "Now, now, is that any way to speak to the man who just helped ruin your life?" My nails dug into my palms out of frustration. "Why are you doing this?"
Vincent leaned against the window, his smirk widening. "Because, Eleanor… I wanted to witness the moment you will finally fall."
Rage moved within me, but before I could respond, the back door of the SUV swung open. Two masked men came outside. Panic flooded through me. I turned to run.
But it was too late. One of them seized my wrist, pulling me back.
I screamed, kicking and thrashing, but they overpowered me. One of them pressed a cloth over my mouth, the sharp, sickly scent invading my senses. No. Not like this.
Darkness covered my vision. Damian, I thought faintly, before my world slipped into darkness….
ELEANOR SINCLAIR There are times that Damian's face appears in my mind unbidden.Those are the times when I'm standing there at Vincent's gala once again, picturing him sitting alone at the table while downing drink after drink, a shadow of the love of my past. I-if I may forgive myself for even caring, but there was a time I used to-sometimes wonder if he knows what Vincent is doing, if he's a participant or if he's another pawn. Martin had said he now runs a legal business, after all. Maybe he listened in my absence. I shake my head, attempting to focus, but the guilt in his eyes at the gala haunts me. It sometimes annoys me that I think about him so much, that I even wonder why I'm bothered, why I still find myself drawn to him when Vincent is the one I'm after.I then return to the files, determined to remain on track. The records show payments from Vincent's primary company to Thornesby Enterprises, described as 'consulting fees'. It makes me snicke-consulting, my foor. It is m
ELEANOR SINCLAIR I sit at my desk, Marcus's folder open before me.The white pages bleed secrets in black ink like blood from an open gash, and I wonder if I could have been this successful if I had done it on my own. Definitely not.It's not my job. I couldn't do it with so much perfection.Outside my window, the city hums, a never-sleeping thing brewing with life, and I find myself staring again at Thornesby's blurry photograph, his eyes hard and unforgiving. It holds me in so much of a trance that I reach out and trace the outlines of his face with my finger, wishing I could somehow will Vincent's schemes into existence from doing it. The wineglass beside me is half-empty, its contents sour on my tongue, and I find that the taste mirrors the churn in my gut. I'm thinking about power, about revenge, about the intricate web that Vincent has woven around Vieuti to wrap it around his finger-and how I'm going to cut every thread until it is all mine. Poetic justice. Yes, that's the wo
ELEANOR SINCLAIR Over the next several days, I try to put Damian out of my mind, but he haunts me.The manner in which he appeared at the gala-so unlike the man I had married, and yet so achingly familiar-gnaws continuously through my mind. I plunge into work, managing my cotton business and the dream of climbing to the very top of independence. Yet, each quiet moment brings back his face: the desperation in his eyes, the deliberate solitude, the half-full glass. I feel pity for him, but all the same, I do not think I can go back to him.It takes up to the fifth day of waiting for Marcus's first update to come. When it does, I then agree to meet him at a dimly lit café on the outskirts of Vieuti, where prying eyes would not see us. He comes on time and slides into the booth across from me, his expression grim as he takes in the surroundings."Vincent's been busy," he says, pushing a thin folder toward me. "He's got his fingers stuck in a lot of pies-real estate, tech startups, even s
ELEANOR SINCLAIR He leaves, but the show went on in his absence. Around me, the gala pulses with energy, altogether a noisy jumble of clinking glasses and strained laughter from every angle, yet my focus stays laser-sharp on Vincent Moreau. He stands at the top of the grand staircase as an elevated figure would, his charisma a shining beacon of light summoning eyes and murmurs to himself like moths drawn to a flame. I, more than anyone else, it seems, knows how much he can burn.His suit gleams under the chandelier's light despite the matte quality to the material, and his smile-calculated, seemingly predatory-never falters. I know that smile all too well. It is the same one he wears every time he tells his lies, the one I imagine he had on while his plans for my marriage to Damian unfolded, infectious like poison through a vein. So... I need answers. I need to know if Vincent is still pulling strings with so much control, if his influence still lingers in Damian's life, or if he
ELEANOR SINCLAIR Or maybe I was lying to myself.And I thought that because I couldn't help but observe as he reached for another drink, his movements growing more fluid, his gaze seeming to blur ever so marginally, because he has knocked a few things over. He is drinking a bit too quickly, and for a moment I take a step in his direction to stop him, to shatter the glass and tell him to come home with me. What stops me is the woman that appears at his table, the light of the chandelier dancing on the revealing dress she wears, the smile practiced. She talks animatedly to him, her hand waving in a light gesture, but Damian's response is sharp, a cut-throat rejection that has her moving back with a stiff smile that carries pain in it. He doesn't need someone with him. That much, at least, hasn't changed-he always did like to be alone when he was sulking. The only thing is that this clearly is not sulking, not truly. It is something more substantial, a silent acquiescence that unset
ELEANOR SINCLAIR Seeing Damian Blackwood so close sends a jolt of surprise and shock through me.The feeling is a gut-wrenching tug on the strings of a past I've worked so carefully to get past, and my hands tighten around the champagne glass, the chill of the glass a comfort as I freeze, half-hidden from him behind the curtain of velvet. His voice and that apology he gave in passing, is stuck in my mind, and without my mind playing tricks on me, I think it softer than I remember, without the forceful bite that once made him the man he was.The man I knew and loved. The brutal, reckless man. I watch him stride through the crowd, his broad shoulders a little bent and less erect, his step less assured than the man who used to walk into a room-every room he got into-as though he owned it. The Damian I knew had been a fiery storm-capricious, fierce, even cruel. This man before me now is a ghost of that tempest, faded, lost and subdued.I move deeper into the cover of the curtain, my hea
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