Revenge amnesia upgraded to his brother novel Chapter 109

**The Goodbye That Never Reached You and My Life Chasing 109**

**Chapter 109**

Eleanor’s POV

The spotlight blazed down on me, searing my skin like a branding iron, an unrelenting reminder of my present reality.

Finished.

There stood Norah, that insufferable little harlot, commanding the stage with a smugness that felt like a slap in the face. She gazed down at me, her expression dripping with disdain, as if I were nothing more than a punchline in her twisted joke.

Behind her, the massive screen loomed ominously, displaying those diary pages—the sordid, sentimental musings penned by Kathy.

Those words, so filthy and yet so painfully intimate, were shredding apart the carefully constructed facade I had maintained for years.

Kathy.

That foolish, fragile woman.

Dead and buried for what felt like an eternity,

And yet, here she was, reaching out from the grave to drag me down into the depths of despair.

No.

I refuse to succumb here.

I am Eleanor Constantine.

Mistress of the mighty Constantine empire.

Do they truly believe this is enough to annihilate me?

Let them continue dreaming.

…

Once upon a time, I too was young.

Radiant. Driven.

I was Frank Constantine’s secretary—sharp, polished, adept at leveraging every advantage life afforded me.

But the man who captured my heart…

was Frank’s fiercest rival.

Jean Molière.

He was older, exuding a refined elegance, his charm a dangerous French allure—the kind that made you feel as though you were dancing on the razor’s edge of desire.

In his presence, Frank appeared rigid, predictable, and utterly dull.

I seduced Molière, allowing myself to become his lover.

With him, I felt vibrantly alive.

Desired.

Consumed by an intoxicating passion.

Until the moment I discovered I was pregnant.

The way his eyes flickered with panic, the feeble excuses that tumbled from his lips…

That was when the harsh truth hit me:

In the ruthless world of power and wealth, romance is but a fleeting illusion.

I was not about to be defeated.

So I made a decision.

I allied with Molière—our ambitions perfectly aligned.

He assisted me in orchestrating Frank’s downfall.

One fateful night, in a lavish hotel suite, we slipped a little something into Frank’s drink, and in an instant, his control shattered.

It hurt, yes.

But more than the pain, I felt a surge of triumph.

He awoke in a fury, hurling accusations at me—claiming I had ensnared him, ruined him.

And yet, despite his rage, he kept returning.

I ensnared him time and again, until he became addicted—not to me as a person, but to the side of himself that I alone allowed him to unleash.

He confessed that I provided him with something Kathy never could.

With me, he felt powerful. Dominant. Truly alive.

Kathy was too gentle. Too tame.

I was the fire that ignited his passions.

I became his mistress.

When I rested my hand on my small but burgeoning belly and told him it was his child—

He believed me.

Men are often foolishly gullible when it comes to the things they wish to believe.

But that still wasn’t sufficient for me.

I opened it.

Kathy stood there, frozen in the hallway, as if she had been turned to stone.

“Did you see enough?” I caressed my belly and smiled sweetly. “You witnessed it, didn’t you? I’m the woman Frank desires. You heard him—how you just lie there like a lifeless fish.”

Her lips quivered, but no sound escaped.

“Oh, and one more thing,” I leaned closer and whispered, “the child I’m carrying? It’s not Frank’s.”

Her head jerked up, her eyes widening in disbelief.

“But tell me,” I added softly, casting a glance back at the man sprawled on the couch, “does he care? He doesn’t. He told me he doesn’t care whose child it is. He’ll still make it the heir. Because he can’t live without me.”

I watched as the light of hope extinguished in her eyes.

“You and your precious son Lucien,” I said, my voice turning icy, “you’re the extras in his life now. You’re the ones who no longer belong.”

“If I were you, I’d vanish quietly. Otherwise… who knows what might happen to your beloved boy? He could have an ‘accident’ one day.”

I don’t recall the exact details of how she left.

Only the way her shoulders trembled as she turned away, defeated.

Later, she did exactly what I anticipated.

She ran.

Took the blame.

Accepted the accusations.

Assumed the role of the “unfaithful wife” and disappeared from our lives.

She left behind a trail of rumors, a furious husband—

And a Frank who was entirely in my grasp.

I had triumphed.

I became Mrs. Constantine.

I gave birth to Damian—my son, the rightful heir to the Constantine Group.

As for Molière?

The man who once ignited my heart faded into the shadows of my past.

I had attained what I desired—

Status, wealth, and a position no one could easily dismantle.

Or so I believed.