BURNING ROSES

Eleanor's POV

SLAP!

The impact and sound of Damian's palm hit my cheek with such force that I tumbled backwards. For a moment, my vision became blurry, and a strong pain ran through my face. The world around me turned around, the big chandeliers above turning into streaks of gold. Gasps filled the ballroom, followed by a suffocating and usual silence that felt like a heavy weight pressing down on me.

I pressed my fingers to my burning cheek, the sting only adding to my pain. While my ears rang from the blow tingle, the pounding of my heart was even louder. This couldn't be real. This couldn't possibly be happening to me.

Damian Blackwood, my husband, my love, my everything, stood before me, his gaze filled with cold, unyielding fury, just like that of the dagger.

"You ungrateful whore! You bastard" he roared, his voice moving through my entire being.

I recoiled at the venom in his words. My lips twisted, trying to defend myself, but my throat felt dry and my mind was a blank and sorry slate.

The grand ballroom of the Blackwood Estate was packed with the city's elite wealthy businessmen, influential politicians, and high-society figures all of them were staring at me, their expressions filled with judgment and hate. The celebration was supposed to honour our anniversary, a night to honour our love. But love had vanished at that moment.

Because tonight, love had turned into betrayal, and that hurt.

Damian held my wrist, drawing me closer with a firm grip that felt like it could crush my bone into pieces. "How dare you make me look foolish?" His fingers dug painfully into my skin like a lion's claw.

Desperately, I shook my head. "Damian, please, I don't get it! What are you talking about?" My voice shook, barely above a whisper.

He let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "You don't get it? Perhaps this will jog your memory, you stupid idiot."

Turning to his right, my stomach dropped as Vincent Moreau, Damian's closest associate and friend, stepped forward. His sharp, predatory look shined with satisfaction as he handed Damian a thick envelope. Damian tore it open and revealed a series of glossy naughty photographs.

He throws them to the floor at my feet.

I looked down, and the ground beneath me seemed to crumble.

There I was, Eleanor Sinclair Blackwood captured in various naughty images. But the woman in those pictures wasn't me. She was in a hotel room, too close to another man's body, to furking close, smiling, resting on his shoulder. In one photo, my hand rested against his chest, caressing it; in another, our lips were almost touching each other.

A wave of icy and cold terror washed over me. "No... this can't be true!" I gasped for breath. "This is fabricated, Damian! I promise you!"

But he wasn't listening to me. He had already made up his mind.

"You make me sick," Damian spat, his once passionate eyes now void of emotion. "You were carrying another man's child while pretending to be my wife in my own home."

His words cut through me like a knife. I stumbled back, shaking my head unsteadily. "No, I would never do that"

Vincent sighed with exaggerated disappointment. "Tsk, tsk, Eleanor. Lying at this point is simply sad." He shook his head, smirking. "We have witnesses. The hotel manager saw you check-in. The staff verified it was you."

Desperation moved inside me as I faced him. "You're lying! You set this up! You framed me!"

Vincent just smirked. "Prove it."

As my hands trembled, I reached for Damian. "You know me. You love me. You know I would never betray you!"

But Damian recoiled as if my touch burned him.

"You're no wife of mine," he said, his voice cold and firm. "You mean nothing to me."

The pain that followed was far worse than the slap. Far worse than all of his accusations. Because Damian wasn't just ending our marriage he was erasing me from his life entirely.

"Throw her out," he commanded.

Before I could understand what was happening, the guards moved forward. Strong hands seized me, dragging me toward the exit.