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THE SPIDER

Penulis: DebbyWrites
last update Terakhir Diperbarui: 2025-04-16 21:04:21

VINCENT MOREAU

I would earn the name ‘The Spider’ three years after that, when I turned twenty.

It was mostly because I learned the one thing my father did not. To kill. The test of the story was because of something I did, something that brought my name to the Parisian slums.

One lesson I learned just as early was that people liked smart people. When you did things that would ordinarily not come to their minds, they liked you and lived in admiration of you. For the gangs, they thought I was smart because I knew everything about everybody. I knew who was plotting to kill his boss. I knew who had done something to attract the Police. I knew who was sleeping with who’s woman. I knew who was going to die next.

It made me highly covered, indeed, and in danger of death all the time. They would want to sneak up on me and beat what they wanted to know out of me, which was why I had to learn two skills I found extremely important.

How to escape, and how to kill.

I made money from both.

I r
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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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