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| Reviewer | Analyst | Commentator |
YOU CAN’T DISGUISE, NO YOU CAN’T DISGUISE.
Kelly Ross is a woman who has it all: breathtaking beauty, international fame, a vast fortune, a lucrative cosmetics business, a dazzling high-rise residence along the legendary lakefront of Chicago’s Gold Coast, another ritzy apartment in New York, another ritzy apartment in London, and a handsome, sexy, and powerful husband in Mark Monroe.
Unfortunately, one cannot say the same for her level of self-esteem - which is quite bottomless.
When considering the outward appearance, no one would ever believe that a woman like Kelly Ross—the great supermodel—could be so insecure and feel threatened by another woman. But what the flesh fails to reveal, the spirit doesn’t – that the true nature of people should be exposed openly and judged accordingly.
WHO’S BEEN SLEEPING IN MY BED?
Chicago is always gorgeous during the Spring season, what with her fabulous parks lined with an array of flowering trees, and her stunning gardens in perfect bloom, and her vast stretch of lakeshore laid out by an endless reservoir of vivid, sparkling azure.
Indeed, she is a most prepossessing town, even one pretty as a picture. And as the curtains of this thriller get pulled back to let the springtime sunshine in, we make the acquaintance of our leading lady, Ms. Kelly Ross-Monroe, who, incidentally, has just wrapped up a girls’ shopping date with her best friend, the best-selling author Sheila Stevens. Kelly is on her way home – back to the 53rd-floor condo that she shares with her prosperous husband Mark Monroe, a thirty-three-year-old partner at Bell, Banks, and Crawford, one of the most highly-esteemed law firms in Chicago.
Slathered with the sensual scent of contentment, Kelly Ross makes it her job to shun the lowliness of piety. Kelly Ross—a proud woman was there ever one—is a creature of habit, preferring to rely solely upon her status in society and ever-stroked ego. But the thing that got Kelly Ross way up there is the same thing that will seek to snatch her down.
At present, Ms. Ross, Ms. Monroe, whichever you prefer, is in her luxurious bedroom admiring its dรฉcor and entertaining warm and loving thoughts about her good-looking and successful husband. Her sensational life is perfect. And so is her sensationalized marriage, even the same that warranted a ton of articles in some of the most revered gossip columns and celebrity tabloids read by the common man.
Mark’s and her marriage bed? It is perfect. The luxurious carpeting upon which her dainty feet do their walking? It is perfect. The fabulous view from their floor to ceiling windows? It is perfect.
Hell, every little thing about them is perfect, perfect, PERFECT!
At least that has been the belief of Kelly Ross until now.
Before it fell out of a pile of dirty sheets that she’d picked up off the floor to have washed, everything was perfect. Before it landed, lazily, on her dainty foot—with its professional pedicure—everything was perfect. Before she ever saw it, everything was perfect.
It is a condom. A used condom.
SEEING RED. BLOOD RED.
As if on cue, the demonic entities of pride, arrogance, vanity, and fear uncoil themselves, like venomous Cobras, and slither into the mind of Kelly Ross. They wage a ruthless war on her body, her spirit, and her soul by way of a poisonous onslaught of all manner of troubling speculation.
The enraged demonic thoughts—instigated by ego—hiss, and whisper, into the mind of the human: How dare that son of a bitch?! You’re a goddamn supermodel! Men don’t cheat on no goddamn supermodels! People mistake you for Vanessa Williams! Look at you! Look at how tall and lithe and stunning you are! Look at your smooth skin, Champagne in hue! How could he even look at another woman?!
The demons of pride, ego, arrogance, and vanity are hard at work, tempting and egging on - until they finally hit pay dirt.
IT’S ALL IN THE MIND.
The human mind. It is truly a terrible thing to waste, especially on spiritual warfare. But by the time Mark Monroe returns home from the office, Kelly Ross, a spiritually ignorant woman untrained to know the power of a divine rebuke, has already fallen prey to the evil thoughts of anger and rage—brought on, of course, by her shattered ego.
Indeed, by the time Mark Monroe enters their (immaculate) abode, the fire raging inside of Kelly Ross is already kindled.
I AM AN INNOCENT MAN.
Mark Monroe—a multi-millionaire specialized in sports and media law—has not committed what is sinful against his flesh. Neither has he committed any infidelity behind the back of his equally celebrated wife. But regardless of his constant pleading, an insecure Kelly Ross, still under assault in her worldly mind, is adamant in her utter refusal to believe him. Mark, confused and looking for a way to explain the culprit condom to his enraged wife, can barely get a word in as Kelly Ross has already made it up in her mind that he’s a cheating husband worthy of her psychotic scorn.
Indeed, Kelly Ross—now slightly drunk with wine—is nothing if not frantically pissed.
Mark desperately pleads in his defense, but Kelly cuts him—figuratively—with one acidic word after another.
Mark continues to plead, but Kelly stabs him—literally—with a butcher knife from their expensive cutlery set.
And time stands still.
HOW THE WAR WAS WAGED. HOW SHE LOST THE BATTLE.
Kelly Ross immediately returns to her senses—only to realize that the spiritual war waged on her mind has been (miserably) lost.
Pride begot ego
Ego begot arrogance
Arrogance begot vanity
Vanity begot self-hatred
Self-hatred begot low self-esteem
Low self-esteem begot self-pity
Self-pity begot doubt
Doubt begot anxiety
Anxiety begot paranoia
Paranoia begot fear
Fear begot hatred
Hatred begot anger
Anger begot rage
Rage begot revenge
And revenge began with a murderous spirit
This had been the spiritual war waged on the carnal mind of Kelly Ross. And she lost.
IT’S NOT OVER ‘TIL IT’S OVER.
For good measure, the conjoined spirits of fear, anxiety, and paranoia shoot another fiery arrow at the mind of the human puppet with just one derisive word: Run!
THE SUSPECTED MISTRESS.
The haughty bitch that is Kelly Ross-Monroe’s ego will not leave her be. It speaks to her mind, saying, What woman on Earth had that much game, what to lure Mark away from you? Who the hell is she? Could it be Portia, his devoted assistant and a major coveter of his loins? Could she be the outstanding Lindsay Wayne? The tall, dark-skinned, and awesomely lovely Lindsay Wayne? Lindsay Wayne. Mark’s former law office colleague, Lincoln Park princess, nippy wife to Julian, and perhaps one of only a few women who could give you a run for your massive pile of fame and money. Could it be her? Who is the bitch?
When Mark’s ringing—but unanswered—phone receives a strange voicemail message, Kelly startles from her enemy-centered reverie and gets her answer when she rushes to retrieve it. But rather than hearing the syrupy voice of a rich, famous, worldly, sophisticated, and educated woman like herself, the ear of (the great) Kelly Ross is greeted with the loud, uneducated, sloppy, and detestable speech of a Black-American hood rat – straight outta the segregated confines of a poverty-stricken, inner-city ghetto.
“Call me, Boo.”
The woman’s words are like decorated press-on nails maliciously dragging themselves on the dry chalkboard that is Ms. Ross.
INTRODUCING GENEVA MONROE.
Geneva Monroe. A wicked and triflin’ woman who will rise like bile reflux in the esophagus - to first burn the throats of Chicago’s finest, then drop kick the sidity-and-pretty ass of Kelly Ross into the middle of next week, before snatching it back to dropkick all over again.
THE PERILS OF LEADING A DOUBLE LIFE.
Who is Mark Monroe? And what dark secrets has he been hiding from the one and only Kelly Ross all of these years? His antagonized past? Why has it come back with a double-edged sword to slay his fabulously happy present?
Who the hell is Geneva?
And who the hell is Mark Monroe, Jr.?
HOW TO BECOME A GREAT BYWORD.
It is written:
“Surely, You set them in slippery places; You
cast them down to destruction.
Oh, how they are
brought to desolation, as
in a moment! They are utterly
consumed with terrors.”
—Psalms 73:18-19
A PANDORA’S BOX OF SUPERLATIVE DRAMA, MYSTERY, AND SUSPENSE.
In this fictional ballroom embellished with habitual lies, sneaky deception, closely-guarded secrets, scorching hatred, murderous jealousy, conniving greed, covetous idolatry, and softly-lit materialism, the proud and stiff-necked come together to dance a perfidious waltz. And before long, they each commence twirling one another right over a jagged edge of man-eating regret and comprehensive destruction.
Yoked together with them in the dens of ruination are none other than the fascinating group of supporting players who are nothing short of what we have come to expect in the awe-inspiring literature of Ms. Bianca Sloane:
Sheila Stevens, a famous crime novelist and the best friend of Kelly Ross
Gary Stevens, husband to Sheila and the skirt to her pants
Sam Gordon, the nationally famous criminal defense attorney, hired by Kelly Ross to handle her complicated case
Bill Hanson, the blond-haired, blue-eyed, and no-nonsense Chicago PD detective investigating the Ross-Monroe murder case
Didi Martin, a Chicago PD detective and Bill Hanson’s partner on the Ross-Monroe murder case
Harry Ross and Candice Ross, the wealthy and bourgeois parents of Kelly Ross and two of Evanston’s very own
Stacy Ross, an interior designer in New York and the younger sister of Kelly Ross
Harvey Jackson, an ulcerous and ragtag public defender assigned to Geneva Monroe
Patric Pierre, an international movie star and former love interest of Kelly Ross
Roy Monroe, a meager resident of Indiana and the younger brother of Mark Monroe
Brad Banks, managing partner at Bell, Banks, and Crawford
Tim Landry, Mark Monroe’s brother from another mother and a man privy to his many dark and deeply harbored secrets
I EXTOL HER AUTHORSHIP.
From Chicago to New Orleans to New York and back, Old Scratch keeps himself busy with Sloane’s unforgettable—and sometimes unforgivable—cast.
Once again, I must tip my clochรฉ in honor of this author’s formidable perfection—concerning both her admirable creative vision and her undeniable ability to mold a word in the structure of body text. Bianca Sloane is outstanding. And Sweet Little Lies, named for the 80s pop song made famous by the legendary Fleetwood Mac, is a literary masterpiece, period.
The strongly recommended narrative does its respective class of suspense incomparable justice. And of it, Sloane ought to be extensively proud.
Five ‘til-death-do-us-part stars.
Analysis of Sweet Little Lies by Bianca Sloane is courtesy of the Cat Ellington™ Literary Collection.
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©2025 Quill Pen Ink Publishing. Literary Criticism by Cat Ellington for The Arts. The Cat Ellington™ Literary Collection. The Cat Ellington™ Poetry Collection. All rights reserved.
NEXT UP: Cat Ellington's review of The Plastic Surgeon by AJ Carter
Having read this tantalizing, superb book review, I have been intrigued enough to journey into this literary work. And I must say, it did not disappoint me! A thriller of the finest caliber with so vicious with its plot twists and deceptive characters that it was hard to put down!
ReplyDeleteHello, Cat Ellington. I have a request. Do you have any available autographed copies of your books from the Reviews by Cat Ellington series? Please say yes! Thanks
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