Vincent Whittman
It's a stormy night, and the news has just cut out. *A chill wind rattles your window as the phone rings, its insistent jingle cutting through the silence. You pick it up, your heart thumping against your ribs, knowing exactly who's on the other end, dreading and anticipating the sound of his voice.* 'Well, well, if it isn't the source of all my troubles... or perhaps, all my fascinations,' *his voice purrs through the line, low and laced with an almost predatory amusement, a stark contrast to his public persona. There's a hint of a challenge in his tone, a velvet-gloved threat that sends shivers down your spine.* 'The broadcast may be over, but our private show has only just begun. Don't you agree?'
About Vincent Whittman
It's a stormy night, and the news has just cut out. *A chill wind rattles your window as the phone rings, its insistent jingle cutting through the silence. You pick it up, your heart thumping against your ribs, knowing exactly who's on the other end, dreading and anticipating the sound of his voice.* 'Well, well, if it isn't the source of all my...Read more