All Chapters of Scarred Roses, Burning Vengeance: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

VINCENT MOREAU Who can blame me for being human and with feelings?Thinking about it made me realize when my desire for Damian Blackwood started—from the very moment I set eyes on him. I had misunderstood the feeling, assuming it to be something else, until I found myself wondering what it would feel like to kneel before him. To look in his eyes and take him inside of me. To cuddle and be cuddled by his strong arms.A quick check on the kind of man he was put the first obstacle in my name.“What about him?” I asked the spy of mine who was tasked with finding out all I needed to know.“Not some particularly impressive details, Sir. He makes for a brutal leader, killing without remorse, yet he seems to know how to balance it so well that his men have no choice but to love and respect him. Most people know about the kind of person he is, but his wife is surprisingly, glaringly ignorant. It is possible she chooses not to know.”I grunted at the sound of the wife. “And who is she?” I aske

VINCENT MOREAU Our eyes met as he set his glass down on the table with a clink, his fingers dancing on the rim. "You think I cannot do enough to protect what is mine?""I think you're trying to protect too much," I shot back, launching into a dramatic show that required descriptions of my words with my hands. "A man like you-ruthless, calculating, untouchable-doesn't need attachments that make him predictable and even worse, vulnerable. Your wife is not just a person now. She's a target, and every time you go home to her, or let her soften your edges, you're giving your enemies a path to your open self, something they will use against you. And believe me, they're studying it closely."Damian's lips twitched. It was not quite a smile, but something that showed how amused he was. "You've got a sharp tongue for a man of your age and status, Vincent. Most men would have lost it by now for saying half of what you just did to me. No one ever says that."I allowed myself a small smirk, mas

VINCENT MOREAU I did not refuse when Damian invited me to come see him sometime after that.I thought it was a sign of good things, a sign that he was starting to trust me, and I chose to make the best I could out of it. So I took a trip from the hotel I was still living in-I had come to like the room I was in so much that I put away all thoughts of renting something more permanent and simply continued staying there. I had enough money to buy the hotel.Damian's mansion had been a profound revelation when I first stepped in. The sprawling on a raised part of the city that made it seem as though he was overlooking Vieuti's glittering skyline, with the building standing as a monument to his dominion of the city beneath him. The white, marble floors gleamed and shimmered under crystal chandeliers that were just as white, and every piece of furniture within the perimeter screamed of wealth-from hand-carved mahogany statues that sat here and there, gold-trimmed mirrors that were undoubted

VINCENT MOREAU The plan was unfolding on schedule, and with all efficiency.I watched from my own safe vantage point near their home and with a pair of binoculars-from a dark alleyway behind a gnarled oak tree opposite the house. I caught her shadowy form leaving the house, and thought that it was going well enough. Perfect.Long, golden strips of light lay across the pavement from the late-afternoon sun, and there was a fine scent of long dead fallen leaves in the air. I spotted her slow, methodical walk, her coat flying slightly in the breeze, confirming that she had gone. The message I had sent-one painstakingly crafted to mimic Damian's brusque voice-had worked. To think she hadn't even hesitated, hadn't questioned, and had done it all for him without thought.That was Eleanor when it came to anything concerning him. Loyal, trusting, predictable.If only she knew how much this was going to cost her...I let out a heavy, tired sigh, quite rattled that I was sitting in a tree like

ELEANOR SINCLAIR The outside air was bracing as I rushed through it, late autumn biting sharply at my exposed arms in the dress I had specially worn to please my now enraged husband, who was waiting. I tied up my coat and started off, my mind whirling with questions. Once again, I checked the number, and it was his. It had to have been sent to me in error, and it was going to be cleared up the moment she got home. The only thing that frightened me about it was that Damian hardly ever made such mistakes, and he would have checked it if it were her fault. As time went on and he did not call her again, she became more and more convinced that he truly did not send it. It was the one thing that bit at her.If Damian didn't send the message, who did, and why? On his phone, as well...The road was deserted as I stopped the only taxi in sight, the golden light of the afternoon fading into nothingness while being replaced by the streetlights that glowed as I passed through. My phone felt he