Chapter 50: Again?
It was the previous day.
Vivienne lay on André’s bed, her body drenched in sweat, hair sticking to her face like she had drowned in sin itself. For a few seconds she was out cold, her body twitching from the aftershocks, but then she woke up like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on her. She sat up instantly, wild-eyed, gasping like a madwoman just dragged out of hell.
Her first thought hit like a slap:
"You are fucking crazy, Vivienne. Completely crazy."
She clutched her head, still panting. "How could you pass out from coming? Who the fuck does that? You— you sick, useless slut."
Her own voice in her head mocked her. "You just laid there enjoying every single minute. Moaning, crying, writhing like a whore in church. God, you’ve lost your mind. He tied you up like a goat for sacrifice, and you stayed there begging for more. Look at you. Look how sore your hands are. That fucking cravat ruined your skin."
She held up her wrists. The red marks stared back at her like shame tattoos.
Then she paused.
"Wait a fucking minute."
Her eyes widened.
"I’m not tied up."
She looked around quickly, heart racing. The ropes were gone. Her hands were free. Her ankles free.
Her eyes darted across the room.
"He isn’t here."
Her voice was trembling with disbelief.
"That lunatic isn’t here."
For one single glorious second, her soul filled with hope. She jumped out of bed, adrenaline firing through her veins like a woman about to escape prison.
"Like that matters," she hissed, correcting herself as she snatched her clothes. "Since he’s not here, I better get the fuck out before he comes back. Run, Vivienne, run. Don’t even breathe, just run."
She threw her chemise over her head, almost tearing it in her hurry. She yanked her underwear on, muttering curses at herself with every movement. "Stupid. Idiot. Fool."
She grabbed her corset and fumbled, fingers shaking as she tried to lace it up. The strings slipped. She cursed out loud this time.
"God, not now. Please, not now. Tie, you stupid bitch."
Sweat dripped down her temple as she tugged, pulling too hard, almost snapping the fabric. Finally, she managed to tie it, breathing fast. "Yes. Yes. Fuck you, universe. You won’t ruin this for me."
Next, her petticoats. She stepped into them, hopping on one leg, nearly falling flat on her face.
She muttered angrily. "Vivienne the idiot thief, killed by her own damn skirt."
Finally, she grabbed her cream dress. Victory was so close she could taste it. She was just about to shove it over her head—
The door opened.
She froze.
Her blood turned to ice.
It was André.
He stood in the doorway, looking like a painting from some mad, forbidden chapel. His dark hair fell loose around his face, his white shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, showing strong forearms. He carried a silver tray carefully balanced, and on it... something elegant, steaming, fancy as only a French duke would dare eat in his own bedroom. A porcelain plate with roasted quail glazed in honey, fresh figs cut open, warm baguette slices, and a glass of red wine dark as blood.
He looked at her half-dressed body with those soft, deceptive eyes.
"You are finally awake," he said gently, his voice heavy with relief. "You had me worried. I was scared."
Vivienne blinked at him like he had just recited a love poem.
Inside her head she screamed:
"You were worried? Worried? After trying to kill me with your cock? You demon!"
She gawked at him, her corset half-laced, petticoats crooked, hair a mess.
André’s eyes lingered on her, then slid down to the dress she held. His tone shifted, darker. "Were you planning to leave?"
In his head, he smirked:
"You must have wanted to run. Too bad, my little thief. You aren’t going anywhere."
Vivienne’s throat tightened. Of course she wanted to leave. She wanted to sprint barefoot through the forest, throw herself into a river, maybe even get eaten by wolves— anything to avoid staying here. But out loud, she forced her lips into a trembling smile.
"No," she lied sweetly. "I woke up and didn’t see you. I was worried. I only wanted to... look for you."
Her voice almost cracked on the lie.
André’s smile softened as if her excuse melted his heart. He placed the tray gently on the bed, then walked toward her. His movements were unhurried, calm, like a predator pretending to be harmless. He cupped her cheeks softly, his palms warm against her skin.
Vivienne’s whole body shivered, but mostly with disgust. Her soul screamed, "Don’t touch me!" But she stayed still, eyes wide, playing the obedient lover.
"I thought you’d be hungry," he said tenderly. "So I left to get you food. You didn’t have to worry."
He leaned down and hugged her.
She stiffened. Every nerve in her body rebelled, but she let him hold her.
His lips brushed her ear as he whispered, soft but deadly:
"I would never leave. Never. You are mine."
The words sliced into her like knives. She bit her tongue so she wouldn’t retort.
Then he pulled back, his expression sweet again, as if he hadn’t just whispered like a demon staking his claim.
"Let’s have lunch, okay?" His voice was soft, coaxing.
Her heart began pounding. Something about the way he said it made her stomach flip in terror.
Then he added with a mischievous smile:
"There’s still a lot of time till sundown."
Vivienne’s brain froze.
She stared at him like he had just declared war.
"What did he just say?"
In her head she screamed:
"He said what now? Sundown? Oh God no."
André sat gracefully at the edge of the bed, patting the space beside him like a doting husband. He picked up a slice of baguette, tore it delicately, and dipped it into the honey glaze from the quail. His voice was casual, warm, terrifying.
"Come," he said. "Let’s eat. Then we’ll continue from where we stopped."
Vivienne’s whole soul left her body.
"Continue? Continue?!" she screamed silently. "So he really wants us to fuck till sunset again? God, kill me now."
She forced her lips into a trembling smile, heart hammering against her ribs, as she sat slowly beside him. Her head was already plotting twenty different ways to escape— but her body trembled, knowing he wasn’t going to let her.
And so the twisted game between them began again.