Chapter 32: The Unexpected Upgrade
Vivienne stood frozen, her chest tight, her eyes darting between André and Madame Lefevre. She thought to herself, what the hell is with him? I thought he was in love with me. Why isn’t he taking my side? What the fuck is this? What the fuck is happening?
Her stomach twisted. For once, she was speechless.
Madame Lefevre, meanwhile, was starting to breathe again. Relief slowly melted into her face. Finally, she thought, finally His Grace is seeing sense. Finally, he is not blinded by this cursed girl. She straightened her back and tried to calm her shaking hands. Her voice wobbled a little, but she managed, "Thank you, Your Grace—"
But André cut her off. "You are right to fire her."
The room went silent. Madame Lefevre blinked, her heart stopping, not quite believing what she just heard. Vivienne’s mouth dropped open. Her jaw nearly hit the floor.
André let the silence hang for a second, then continued, his tone calm but dripping with drama, "But Vivienne should not be a maid you can insult. She should stay here... as my guest."
Vivienne almost choked. What the actual fuck. Did he just promote me? From maid to kept woman? Oh, wonderful. What an upgrade. Great news, Vivienne. Truly living the dream.
André carried on, completely serious, "Why would I let the woman I love be a maid? Why would I allow her to scrub and clean until her hands are ruined? Look at them." He took Vivienne’s hands in his own and lifted them up. He acted like he was inspecting rare porcelain that had been mistreated. "You made her clean so much, you almost destroyed her beautiful hands. Unforgivable."
Madame Lefevre nearly fainted.
Vivienne’s brain short-circuited. Love? He said love? Oh, you pitiful idiot. You really mean it, don’t you? You’re really in love with me. Of all the fools in the world, I’ve managed to snare the richest one. Look at you, defending me like some tragic knight. What a pathetic, delicious sight. She wanted to laugh in his face and spit on him, but she held it in. No—better to play sweet. Better to let him believe.
André wasn’t done. "From today, you will treat her well. As well as you treat me."
Vivienne stared at him. Seriously? What the fuck is happening. Are we in a play? Are we performing for ghosts? Who is this man? Who is writing this script? And more importantly—why is he so damn easy to control?
He leaned closer to her, his voice dropping low, warm, soft, fake but so convincing, "You don’t have to worry, Vivienne. Not about your job. Not about money. You’ll stay here. With me. I will provide for you. I will take care of you."
Vivienne forced a smile, her thoughts sharp and bitter. Great. Congratulations, Vivienne. You are no longer a maid. You’re now the duke’s personal whore. What an achievement. Should we celebrate? Should I get a crown? At least you’re not kicked out—just smile and hug him, Vivienne. Play the part. And remind yourself, you’ve got him wrapped around your finger. The man is blind with love.
So she hugged him, wide-eyed, her voice trembling with false innocence. "Really?"
André stroked her hair, caressing her like she was the most delicate treasure in the world. His lips curled slightly as he whispered, "Yes, my dear."
Vivienne thought smugly, there it is. Hook, line, and sinker. He loves me. Absolutely loves me. The fool doesn’t stand a chance. And as much as I hate his disgusting hands on me, at least I can use this. If he’s so obsessed, then I’ll use it until I find that golden horse and finally run.
Behind them, Madame Lefevre swayed on her feet. She felt dizzy, as if her entire world had collapsed in front of her. Her vision blurred. Her chest hurt. "This can’t be real," she whispered.
André finally broke the hug, smiling down at Vivienne with fake tenderness. "Come, let’s have breakfast. You seem hungry." His voice dripped sweetness, his eyes glimmering with mischief. God, this keeps getting more entertaining. I wonder if you’ll cry when I unravel you, my little actress.
Vivienne followed him, her arm still in his, her face painted with shy gratitude. Inside, she was grinning wickedly. Hungry? Yes. Hungry to watch you throw yourself at me like a fool. Hungry to watch you trip deeper into your own obsession. And hungry to get out of this madhouse before you suffocate me.
As they left, Madame Lefevre clutched her chest. Her knees buckled and she dropped to the floor. "That woman... that woman is a witch. A demon. His Grace must have lost his mind!"
---
The breakfast room was quiet, filled with the smell of warm bread, roasted meat, and fresh fruit. The silverware gleamed. The table was long, but André sat close to Vivienne, too close, as if he enjoyed watching her squirm.
Vivienne played her role perfectly. She sat with lowered eyes, her shoulders hunched, her face painted with fake sadness. She acted shaken, hurt, almost broken. Her lips trembled as she touched her glass of water like a fragile bird. She was practically a tragedy on legs.
André leaned back, crossing his arms, watching her carefully. God, at this point she deserves a medal. She should have been an actress. Why is she stealing from people when she could rule a stage?
After a pause, he reached out and held her hands. His voice was soft, tender, dripping with fake comfort. "Don’t let her words get to you, Vivienne. You aren’t filthy. You are beautiful. You are lovely. You did nothing wrong. Noble or not, you are precious. Very precious to me."
His words fell like honey, smooth, sweet, dangerous.
Vivienne froze. Something inside her chest twisted. Her heart gave a painful jolt. For a brief second, she wasn’t acting. For a brief second, she thought, is this fool serious? Does he really mean that? Oh, how pathetic. Look at him, groveling with love. It almost makes me pity him. Almost.
Her eyes softened, something raw flickered in them—hope, longing, confusion. But to her, it wasn’t real. It was strategy. Let him think you’re moved, Vivienne. Let him think he’s breaking through. That’s how you tighten the leash.
André caught it instantly. He felt it like a spark between them. His eyes narrowed slightly. What was that? That look. That softness. That... crack in your armor.
Vivienne realized too late what her face had betrayed. She quickly pulled her hands away, gently, carefully, as if nothing happened. She coughed, grabbed her cup, and drank water. Her mask slid back on. Her face turned smug, calm, untouchable.
But André had seen it.
The silence was heavy. They stared at each other for a moment, the air charged.
Then the door burst open. Bernard, the butler, appeared, bowing deeply. "Your Grace, your presence is needed immediately."
André stood. He gave Vivienne one last lingering look. His voice low, soft, almost teasing. "Wait for me. Tonight, let’s have dinner together."
Vivienne smiled sweetly, her voice calm, obedient. "Yes, my lord."
But the moment his back was turned, her smile dropped. Finally. Freedom. I thought he would hold me hostage here forever. Now, I need to move. I need to find that fucking horse. Before this castle swallows me alive.
André left the room.
Vivienne sat alone, her hands trembling slightly, her heart beating too fast. She touched her chest, but then grinned coldly. Don’t you dare soften, Vivienne. Don’t you dare. He is blind, weak, and stupidly in love. That is all. Use it. Remember why you’re here. The golden horse. The golden horse. That’s all that matters.
Still... somewhere deep inside, a traitorous whisper rose. Then why did those words hurt so much?