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THE OLD MAN

Author: DebbyWrites
last update Last Updated: 2025-03-30 03:44:06

ELEANOR SINCLAIR

The one thing I would find out quickly was that if this old man's home was the beginning of a path for me, then I could have as well said it was beginning with dogs. He had had enough of them rushing towards us, and two of them bounced around me. I was not the best person with dogs I didn't know, but none seemed intent on harming me, so I tolerated them.

“Come in, Eleanor,” he called to me, and I followed him as he entered the house and sat down in it, plopping in the chair. I sat in the one opposite him, my mind aware that I was in a different house from everything I knew. The air smelled faintly of wood polish and dog fur—I even thought I could see the fur moving about in the air, and the furniture looked like it had been collected over decades, with a kind of worn dignity. A look showed me a grandfather clock ticking in the corner, the pendulum swaying with a side-to-side rhythm that my eyes were compelled to follow.

When I could draw my mind from the clock, my n
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  • Scarred Roses, Burning Vengeance   THE DETECTIVE

    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

  • Scarred Roses, Burning Vengeance   MAYBE

    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

  • Scarred Roses, Burning Vengeance   DAMIAN'S GHOST

    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

  • Scarred Roses, Burning Vengeance   SEE YOU AGAIN

    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.

  • Scarred Roses, Burning Vengeance   THE COMEBACK

    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

  • Scarred Roses, Burning Vengeance   THE KIDNAP

    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

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