Stolen romance. Kantor D.

At night I again dreamed of this burning house in Malibu. I, frozen, watched the flame eat my memories until I heard his voice. Without a doubt, he called me...

once I was considered a successful writer, but now I am forced to write a book on which there will never be my name.

At first it seemed to me that this was the work of a dream, because I was supposed to compose a novel that reveals the shocking secret of Daphne Du Morye. But the deeper I plunged into history, the more clearly I realized that I was trapped.

At first I trusted my pain with a diary, but then I started writing a book. After all, telling the story, I ceased to be a captive. My story is true, but it is fictitious.

But that, the other, also wrote a novel. My novel.

But I'm not a thief. I'm not even a liar.

I'm just a writer.

Can I get out of the web of obsession, marital secrets and stolen manuscripts?

For fans of "Rebecca" Daphne du Morieur.