Chapter 30: The Pride Of A Lunatic
Vivienne walked stiffly beside Madame Lefevre, their skirts swishing in rhythm, though everything about it felt wrong. Madame Lefevre’s steps were sharp and quick, her heels clicking against the polished floor like hammers striking nails. Vivienne’s own pace was slower, reluctant, her mind already boiling with curses.
The moment they were far enough from André, Madame Lefevre’s mouth opened, and the lashings began.
Her voice cut like knives. "What is that mark on your neck?"
Vivienne blinked, instantly putting on her sweetest dumb-maid face. "A bug, Madame. Bit me this morning."
Inside her head, though, she was screaming. Yes, a bug. A very large human-shaped bug with fangs and lips. He practically tried to eat me alive like I was breakfast. But sure, a bug, you miserable hag. Go choke on your own perfume.
Madame Lefevre wasn’t convinced. Her sharp eyes narrowed as she pressed further. "Where were you this morning that His Grace had to personally come and fetch his breakfast? And for his bath—I had to send someone else because you were nowhere to be found. Do you care to explain yourself?"
Vivienne’s throat went dry. Her lips stuttered. "I... I..."
Her brain, however, was spitting fire. Go ask him that, you miserable crow. Ask him why I was missing. He was the one who basically held me captive, feasting on me like I was his personal dessert table. And then—oh God, then—I don’t even want to think about it. I don’t even want to think about the way he made me fuck him like an animal. I need to erase my brain with boiling water and soap.
Behind them, André stood still in the corridor, watching the pair disappear around the corner. His face was calm, but his thoughts weren’t.
"I know just what to do," he murmured under his breath. Then, with long, unhurried steps, he followed.
Vivienne, meanwhile, was already bracing herself. Madame Lefevre’s lips tightened into that thin, cruel line Vivienne knew too well. The woman stopped walking, and when she turned, her whole face became a storm of disapproval.
Vivienne’s stomach sank. Oh boy. Here it comes. The storm. The thunder. The lightning. She’s about to roast me alive like a pig on a stick.
She bowed her head low, pressing her lips together. She tried to look like the perfect tiny little maid—humble, invisible, obedient.
Madame Lefevre’s voice snapped through the air like a whip.
"When you were hired here, I thought I made myself clear. You are here as a maid. A servant. You are to clean and scrub. You do not exist to His Grace. You are not to breathe the same air as him. You are not to look at him. Let alone speak to him."
Her words dripped venom. "You are nothing. Nothing. You are simply a maid. A filthy maid. I hate to repeat myself again. Do you understand me?"
The word filthy hit Vivienne like a slap across the face. Filthy. As if she were dirt crawling under Madame’s ugly shoes. As if she were something to be swept away with the dust. Her pride burned, screaming inside her chest.
But the woman went on, twisting the knife. She leaned closer, her eyes glittering with cruel satisfaction. "You may look beautiful, but do not flatter yourself into thinking you will ever catch his eye. Do not imagine for a second that you might have a chance in life. He is a Duke. And you—" her lip curled in disgust "—you are nothing but filth. We wouldn’t want you to stain him with your filth, would we? You are nothing but a filthy peasant. A filthy commoner. A low life. And it will always be that way. No matter how hard you try."
Peasant. Nothing. Filth. Each word stabbed, over and over. Vivienne could almost feel them carved into her skin. She wanted to scream, to claw at the smug woman’s painted face, to spit in her eyes. She hated André, hated everything about him—but God, she hated this more. Being reminded she was small. That she was worthless. That she was nothing but mud to them.
Her heart clenched, her stomach knotted. She felt the words crawl under her skin, shame mixing with rage. Did she care about André? Absolutely not. Not one bit. She hated him with every cell in her body. But these insults? They hit her anyway, sharp and painful. They trampled on the one thing she could never hide: her pride.
From a distance, André watched silently. His eyes narrowed, his thoughts amused. That old hag is harsh. Too harsh. This is fun. Let’s see if she can take it. She’ll probably fucking explode.
And he was right.
Vivienne’s head lowered, her lips trembling. Madame Lefevre’s eyes burned into her, waiting for submission, waiting for the words.
"I take it that you understand," the Madame Lefevre said coldly.
She expected the usual. A meek little "Yes, Madame" after stomping all over someone’s entire existence. Like it were a bug.
But instead—Vivienne chuckled.
It started low, almost like a cough. Then it rolled out of her throat, soft and dangerous.
Madame Lefevre stiffened. "Excuse me?"
Vivienne’s head rose slowly, and when her eyes met the older woman’s, the meek maid aura was dead. Completely gone. Disappeared in an instant.
Her lips curved into a sharp, unhinged smile. She looked like the complete menace she was.
"Oh please," she said softly, "shut the fuck up, you old bat."
The words cut the air in half.
Madame Lefevre’s eyes widened, her jaw dropping. She was too stunned to speak. She couldn’t believe her eyes. She had to blink twice to no if she was seeing things and hearing maybe.
And from down the hall, André let out a low chuckle. He leaned one shoulder against the wall, watching the scene unfold like a play. His lips curled in amusement.
"She’s completely crazy," he whispered to himself. "This is going to be so much fun. This is going to be so much fucking fun..."