Eloise, she's killing like crazy.

The day I learned I was terminally ill with stomach cancer, Kieran was in Paris attending a ballet with his old flame, Nadia.

Three years ago, he promised me with a ring, “We’ll face everything together.” Now, he’s oblivious to the fact that I’ll be gone in three months.

Or maybe he’s not so unaware.

Just last night, he broke into my lab, stole the core data for the anti-cancer drug, and called Nadia with glee: “We’ll own all the patents soon.”

“And then, I’ll ensure she’s out of the picture.”

At the Charity Gala, I confronted Nadia and demanded the data back. Kieran tightened his grip on my chin and warned, “Don’t push me.”

After I fainted, I called my lawyer: “I want to amend my will—all my assets, donate to the Cancer Center.”

And I sent the FBI the surveillance footage: him stealing sensitive data and poisoning me.

If I can’t survive, I’ll make sure these two scoundrels pay for it behind bars.