Truth Untold (Eligible Bachelors #1)

Chapter One

The time at the bottom right-hand corner of the screen struck 6:30 PM. Her eyebrows rose as she paused in her typing, leaned back, and stretched out the knots in her shoulders. She rolled her neck, and cracked her knuckles, letting out a satisfied deep breath. She tapped a key on the keyboard and started scrolling up on the document, counting the pages from where last she had stopped yesterday.

Today, she did well. She had written almost three full chapters since she sat down at 1:00 PM. The chapters were long, and words had kept flowing, never once stopping. In fact, within the six and a half hours, she had taken only two breaks, and that was to use the bathroom.

"We're moving according to schedule, Ness," she commended herself, hitting the save icon to ensure her work was not lost, and minimized the tab.

It was a force of habit, growing up with little privacy and her imagination bordering on terrifying at times. It was best to keep her stories hidden unless she was comfortable with others reading them, lest she ended up getting 'the talk.'

Vanessa took her bottle of water and proceeded to the shelves that lined one wall of the room. It held books of all kinds. Books on drama and poetry, books on science and world history, politics and psychology, literature written by some of the most famous names in Indian, African, American, and British fiction that set the foundation for authors everywhere. Novels written by some of the more notable authors of contemporary society and in different genres, for varied reasons. Vanessa, like any other reader, or author, had her preferred novelists.

She quickly found the novel she was looking for, perhaps, one of her favourites just yet. Murder House written by James Patterson. She admired his work, and how his chapters were short, yet gave so much and kept you turning the page. She had read the book once before, remembering how she had figured out who the killer was before the book reached its climax.

Crime, mystery, and horror were among her favoured genres. And in her own writing, she decided to try something new as she had always wished to write a romance themed story. But her mind would not let go of the darker themes, so her story's planning had started with light-hearted fluff and romance, steadily spiralling into heartbreak that turned into a nightmare. She was approaching the resolution of her story, and then, it was off to her editor.

Vanessa sat down and opened the novel, beginning to read. She had made herself comfortable, and it wasn't long after that the front door opened. From her room, she heard the chuckles and giggles, the obnoxious squeals of delight and the shamelessly lustful flirting that hurt her ears. The bedroom door opposite hers opened, and the squealing and giggling of an unknown female mixing together with the chuckles of a familiar male, started grating on her nerves. The moans and grunts followed, and Vanessa placed her book down, staring off into nothing as her mind warped and her heart thundered with the familiarity of mild trauma.

The voices stopped then, and the door to her own bedroom swung open. There had been no knock, therefore no indication to her that someone wished to enter. Vanessa turned to look at the man leaning against the doorframe. His appearance was rather typical. Tall, dark, and handsome, with a boyish grin, mischievous hazel eyes twinkling darkly at night. Vanessa found it disheartening that his personality was a horrifying contrast to such good looks.

This man was Alexander Roche. Her husband. Vanessa cringed internally each time she thought of it and how their marriage came to be. She cringed even harder when she thought about how much of the opposite he was to her ideal husband. If things had been different, Vanessa would not have looked his way twice. Instead, she was saddled with a husband who she did not care much for, like he did for her.

Vanessa was after all, the temporary, and secret wife. The woman he was meant to marry and had dreamed of marrying was Vanessa's half-sister. Eight months her senior, Daphne was a vision of beauty. But she was a woman without vision and true passion. One daughter favoured over the other, their individual upbringing despite sharing the same home, had been rather different.