VINCENT MOREAU
My heart raced with a goal that had made up every waking moment for months.
Possessing Eleanor. I had grown obsessed with her in a way I had with no one else. I itched to own her, to rescue her from the golden cage that was her marriage and the man who failed to do her justice, to treat her as she should. At all costs, I wanted to make her mine.
My plan had been cleverly arranged, and it was the result of weeks of watching, waiting, and manipulation. I had paid hard for the planting of those photographs, and carefully altered images which would shatter Damian's trust in his wife. The woman in the photos had been Eleanor, but it still was not her. I had concocted a web of lies, a despicable one I had well designed to build a rift between them. I knew well the temper and p
