Eleanor's POV
I didn’t go down without a fight. I kicked and screamed, struggling against the chains restraining my wrists as Vincent’s dogs dragged me down the shadowy hallway. The iron cuffs bruised my skin, the chains twisting with each step.
But that didn’t matter. They had taken everything from me. They would not break my spirit. Whatever lay ahead, they would pay for their actions, they would surely pay.
******
The dark and shabby underground chamber was filled with the scent of cigars and pricey cologne. Heavily furnished, with expensive curtains and caged chandeliers casting sinister shadows over the faces of influential men gathered to bid.
I had heard rumors of such place before, a place where humans are being sold. Where women were treated as mere objects, like pieces of trash.
Where predators in tailored suits drink expensive whiskey while bargaining on human lives. At the heart of it all stood Vincent Moreau, that bastard, the man who destroyed me.
He remained beside me, calm and collected, as though he was not auctioning off a human being like he hadn’t allowed his men to disgrace me before putting me onto this platform.
"This one," Vincent declared, his tone smooth and steady. "A rare gem. Once the cherished wife of Damian Blackwood." A murmur spread through the crowd.
Some men leaned in, curiosity shown on their faces. Others smirked, casually sipping their drinks, waiting for a more enticing offer from him.
Vincent grinned. "She’s been… well-conditioned. But," he turned to me, holding my chin with his fingers, "she’s got fire in her. Unbroken. That makes her invaluable." I jerked my face away, glaring at him. "Burn in hell."
Laughter rippled through the audience. Vincent merely smiled. "Now, let the bidding commence."
And then I saw him. In the dim corner of the room, partially filled in darkness. He radiated power. I sensed it from the way others shifted uneasily when his piercing blue gaze swept over them. His face was unreadable, yet there was a strong aura about him.
Then our eyes locked into each other. Recognition flickered across his features. His gaze swept over the scars on my arms, the nearly healed wounds.
And at that moment, I understood. He had witnessed suffering like mine before. Because he had survived the same torment.
*****
"Five million," a voice called out. "Seven," another quickly replied.
Vincent leaned back, reveling in the spectacle. "Gentlemen, let's not dilly-dally. Who among you is eager to possess something truly priceless as this?"
"Ten million." The room fell silent and void of noise.
That voice belonged to the man in the shadows. All eyes turned toward him, and for the first time, Vincent’s confident smile showed.
I watched, my heart racing unsteadily.
"Mr. Kieran Lancaster," Vincent responded cautiously, "you’ve caught me off guard." That name rang a bell.
Kieran Lancaster the dangerous billionaire who had built a big empire from scratch. Ruthless, feared, untouchable.
A phantom in the world of business. And now, the man who had just bought me. Vincent’s smirk faded, tension creeping into his demeanor. "Going once, going twice"
"No one will challenge me?" Kieran's tone was steady, yet an undercurrent of authority flowed through, he was indeed powerful and really feared.
Silence.
The air was filled with anticipation. "Sold," Vincent finally announced, but his amusement had vanished. Something had changed. And Vincent was clearly not pleased.
The instant they unshackled me, I lashed out. I moved and kicked one of Vincent’s guards, sending him staggering backward. Another seized me, but I elbowed him hard in the ribs and in the mouth, forcing him to gasp for breath.
I bolted and twisted. Or at least I tried to fight those bastards, those people who don't have human feelings.
Before I could reach the exit, a powerful arm wrapped around my waist, dragging me back.
I screamed, kicking and thrashing, my nails digging into flesh.
"Let me go!"
"You belong to me now." The voice was deep and scary.
Not Vincent. The buyer. Kieran Lancaster. I fought fiercely. "I am not yours! I am not an object!"
"Then behave like it," he said, tightening his grip. "And I may allow you to live." Before I could reply, he carried me on his shoulder as if I weighed nothing.
I shouted curses, kicking wildly as he carried me past Vincent and the grinning vultures who had observed the auction.
I refused to stop fighting. Not now. Not ever.
****
The car ride was filled with tension. I sat in the backseat, my wrists tied again, my body paining from the struggle. Kieran Lancaster faced me across the seat, just observing me like it was an experiment to be tested. I wanted to break the silence and demand explanations, but I wouldn’t show weakness.
So I glared instead. He smirked. "You have quite a temper." I chose silence. "You’ll need to calm down if you want to survive."
A sharp laugh escaped me. "Why would I care about survival, huh?" His expression stayed unreadable, unmoved. "You should."
"Why?" I shot back. "You paid ten million for me. What are you after? A slave? A plaything? Go ahead and try. I dare you, bastard."
His eyes darkened. "You think I need to purchase women?"
I clenched my jaw. Then, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, his calm voice concealed a dangerous edge.
"I don't desire your body, Eleanor Sinclair." My stomach twisted. He knew my real name.
Not the broken woman Vincent had attempted to market. I masked my surprise with indifference. "Then what do you want?"
He shook his head slightly. "I want a wife." Silence fell. I stared at him, expecting a punch line.
When none materialized, I laughed deliberately. "You’re delusional, dreaming." His lips curled into a faint smile. "Maybe." I narrowed my eyes. "Why me?"
His gaze pierced mine, unfazed. "Because I understand your desires." He replied slightly. "Revenge."
Chills ran down my body and soul. Kieran’s voice was smooth yet firm and strong. "You want to destroy Damian Blackwood. You yearn to destroy Vincent Moreau." His fingers drummed on the armrest. "And I can provide you with the means to do it."
I fought to maintain my blank expression, but my heart raced. He knew. Somehow, he knew.
Kieran assessed me before delivering the final blow.
"Play the role of my wife for one year, and I’ll help you take them both down." Air caught in my throat. My fists clenched so hard.
Many days of clawing my way back from hell. Days driven solely by revenge. And now, a man I hardly knew was offering me the one thing I had yearned for.
An opportunity to end them. But at what price? I met Kieran Lancaster’s cold, calculating gaze.
And for the first time since being thrust into this nightmare, I wasn't sure if I had escaped one monster…Only to walk directly into the arms of another….
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
ELEANOR SINCLAIR The drive into the city is long, the road swallowed up by what seems like endless darkness. I keep the radio silent, letting the engine's hum and my own mind fill the silence. For some reason, Damian's face appears in front of me, the man who was ripped from me by Vincent's manipulations, and I find myself startled by how little I think about him.I don't know where he is-I don't care much. I do not know if he still clings to Vincent's lies, if he ever thinks of me and wonders what happened on that night. The pain he makes me feel is a dull ache, a bruise I refuse to indulge. There is no room for hurtful memories tonight, only resolve. If Damian is still in Vincent's power, then he must be quite a fool.He was never one. Or was he?I can't even exactly remember what he looked like. He was abusive. But he was the best husband, sometimes, so that it was easy to believe that I was married to two different people at once. Whatever... it's better to not think about him.
ELEANOR SINCLAIR Five years have passed since that time.The days have counted into years that etched themselves into my bones, reshaping me from who I was into something colder, sharper, and far more dangerous than the woman who had stood trembling on that desolate sidewalk, watching helplessly as my world and everything I had known in it came crashing down under Vincent Moreau's cruel smirk. The memory of that night and everything that happened-the bite of the cold, and the suffocating haze of chloroform, were a stamp upon the lies that had torn me from Damian and the life we had managed to build. That memory still clings to me like damp rot. I will not deny the satisfaction I get from knowing that I'm not that Eleanor Sinclair anymore, however. I have forged myself anew, working all of the rage I felt into something more dangerous, a precise, unyielding weapon. Vincent had stolen everything-my husband, my trust, my sense of self... even my child-and I spent a lot of time plotti
ELEANOR SINCLAIR I stood isolated on the desolate sidewalk, the rhythm of the city slamming into me, a muted thrum of existence eons removed. Night was bitter and bit at my skin, my shoulders as unforgiving as stone. The streetlights cast long, jagged shadows, their frail light attempting to pierce the gloom that enveloped everything else. I had cried until there were no more tears, and my breath caught, clogged in my throat, pressed down by it all—Damian, our wedding, the child he didn't know that I carried. I was coming undone, disintegrating like a length of twine, and I knew it. But I was going to make it stop. Even if not here. Not now.The engine growled through the silence, the rumble creeping in, slow and weighty, like a stalking animal on its prey. My stomach tightened, a sick plunge that left me rigid where I was. The tires crept along the road slowly, stopping, and I tensed as the window came down. A puff of chill air surrounded me, and with it, his voice—smooth and sli