Revenge amnesia upgraded to his brother novel Chapter 108

**The Goodbye That Never Reached You and My Life Chasing 108**
**Chapter 108**

**Norah’s POV**

As I stood in the hotel room, the mirror reflected a version of myself that felt foreign. My lips were a vivid red, swollen from the recent emotional turmoil, a tangible reminder of the conflict raging within me. My eyes, still glazed with the remnants of pleasure and a simmering anger, told a story of their own—one of confusion and emotional whiplash that left me reeling.

I felt like a puppet, my body awakening under the influence of someone else’s whims. It was both exhilarating and terrifying, a dance of control that left me breathless. And then, like a flash of inspiration, a brilliant idea struck me—sharp and electric.

In a frenzy, I dove for my sketchpad and pencil, my fingers moving with a life of their own. The shame that had been thrust upon me, the helplessness of being manipulated, the tantalizing thrill of being pushed to the brink—it all poured out onto the page. Each stroke of my pencil captured the shiver of desire, the bone-deep pleasure that followed the torment.

On the paper, my emotions transformed into silhouettes and lines—dangerous and seductive lingerie that exuded power, desire, and an unyielding sense of control. If they wanted a hunting game, I would turn it into a spectacle on a grand runway. I would ensure that everyone bore witness to this: the hunted could very well become the deadliest of hunters.

—

“Norah, are you completely out of your mind?” Katarina’s voice sliced through my thoughts as she stared at the sketches I had thrust into her hands. Her eyes were wide, a mix of disbelief and intrigue. Matco’s people had brought her here, and I could tell she was still trying to process the whirlwind of my ideas.

“I need a favor,” I replied, my tone steady and resolute. “I’m planning a launch show unlike anything anyone has ever seen at the Paris Opera House. I need your connections to secure the venue and to extend invitations to the top fashion media and elite influencers from across Europe.”

Katarina’s gaze flickered back to the designs, bold and provocative pieces that danced dangerously close to the edge of eroticism. After a moment, her attention shifted, sliding past me to where Mateo stood, a silent guardian behind my chaotic energy.

“Well,” she laughed, her demeanor shifting as she sauntered over to him, tracing lazy circles on his chest with a single finger. “Since Norah is yours now, handsome… do you have time for a drink tonight?”

Mateo didn’t even spare her a glance. His eyes remained locked onto mine, filled with a mixture of approval and possessiveness that sent a shiver down my spine.

The night of the show arrived, and Paris itself seemed to tremble in anticipation. The Paris Opera House—a bastion of classical art and high culture—was about to open its grand doors for the very first time to a lingerie show. It felt surreal.

Eleanor was there too, seated dead center in the front row, her attire all black, her expression a mask of smug confidence, as if she had already claimed victory.

As the lights dimmed and the music began to pulse through the air, the atmosphere shifted. When the first model stepped onto the catwalk, an electrifying silence enveloped the audience.

She wore tight black leather, cold metal chains accentuating the contrast between restraint and exposed skin. The visual impact was immediate, hitting the audience like a punch to the gut.

Then came the feathers, lace, and crystals, each look narrating a tale of hunting, submission, and a fierce rebellion. The air in the theater grew warmer with every passing moment, charged with energy and anticipation.

Finally, it was time for the grand finale. As the beat dropped, Irina emerged on the runway, adorned in the centerpiece of the show: a stunning ensemble dubbed “Queen’s Hunt.” She was draped in a lingerie set crafted from black diamonds and ultra-fine metal chains that traced every curve of her body with precision.

Trailing behind her were two tall, muscular male models, their upper bodies bare, glinting diamond collars around their necks that matched Irina’s harness. Chains hung from each collar, firmly grasped in Irina’s hand, making them appear like two tamed beasts devotedly following their queen.

“I didn’t take the money. I hid it in the little campus chapel where we first met. Frank, if you ever read this one day, please believe me: I never betrayed you. I love you. Always.”

“This,” I declared, my voice unwavering, “is the diary of Kathy Constantine. It reveals the truth about a wife and mother who loved her family and how she was driven to the edge by a vicious mistress, forced to disappear and carry the burden of a life she never chose.”

“And that ‘other woman’ is you, Eleanor.” I pointed directly at her, my finger steady and unwavering.

“You used lies and manipulation to steal a man who wasn’t yours, a position that wasn’t yours, and wealth that wasn’t yours.”

“You drugged your own husband, twisted his mind, and turned him into a confused, broken shell—just so you could torture him and feed your sick need for control.”

“You burned down my studio. You forged evidence to frame Lucien. You paid killers to hunt people down. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do.”

“Now, the truth is out, Eleanor Constantine.”

“Your reign is over.”

As the weight of my words settled in, I watched as Eleanor’s legs gave way beneath her. She collapsed into her chair, her face drained of color, a look of utter defeat washing over her.