Chapter 42: The Game Of Lies
Vivienne took a deep breath and finally opened the door with her hands shaking lol she had a seizure.
There was nothing dramatic or strange waiting for her, nothing like the horrible things her brain had been inventing while she was getting dressed. No whips hanging from the ceiling, no chains rattling, no buckets of pig blood ready to fall on her head. At least not yet.
André was simply standing there, like he had been waiting for her impatiently. His back was straight, his hands clasped politely behind him, like some prince from a fairy tale.
He said in that soft, sticky-sweet voice of his, "You came. I was worried. I thought you wouldn’t.."
Vivienne pasted on a sweet smile and answered in the same fake tone, "Why wouldn’t I? I only took time to look beautiful for you."
The words left her mouth before her brain could stop them, and she froze inside.
What the fuck. Why would I say that shit? Am I drunk? Of course I was always beautiful. I don’t need to dress up for your dumb face. Why would I think of you? God I hate you. I hate this fucking bastard so much.
But on the outside, her lips curved and her eyes sparkled like a lovesick maiden.
André’s eyes softened in that dangerous way of his. "You do look very beautiful. I love it."
Inside his head, his real thought hissed through like smoke: So beautiful I want to rip your face off.
Vivienne tilted her head, smiling sweetly as if she had just been handed a compliment she didn’t deserve. But her voice was quiet, testing, when she said, "You said we are going to have a lot of fun. What did you plan?"
Please, she thought, please don’t make me do shitty things. Don’t ask me to write dumb poems. Don’t make me sing like a bird or dance like a clown. I would rather die. I would rather eat dog shit.
André gave a little shrug, his voice still calm. "Nothing much. It’s just... it’s boring here, isn’t it? It’s large and empty. So I thought we can entertain ourselves."
Aw, how sweet. Romeo wants us to entertain ourselves. By what? Boring each other to death? At least he doesn’t plan to fuck me until I foam at the mouth like last night. At least this is just ’entertainment.’ It can’t be that bad.
Vivienne’s lashes fluttered prettily. "And how do you plan to do that?"
André’s lips curved in a smile that wasn’t really a smile. "Nothing much. Let’s play a game. Something fun. To entertain ourselves."
Vivienne arched a brow, pretending to look intrigued. "Alright. What game?"
André’s voice dropped, all sweetness. "Anything. Ah, but first... I wrote you a poem."
Of course he did. Of course this vomit-spewing bastard wrote poetry.
On the inside, Vivienne wanted to bash her head against the wall. On the outside, she looked like she was blushing, touching her cheek softly, as if she was flustered with delight. But that wasn’t blush. That was annoyance choking her to death.
André, smug and calm, brought out a white rose he had hidden behind his back. He held it carefully, like it was sacred, and then recited in that low, clear voice:
"You are rarer than a white rose,
More precious than its purest bloom.
A fragile star against the night,
A flame that makes the darkness swoon.
Your soul is soft, your heart is pure,
And in your light, my world is sure."
The poem was beautiful. Soft. Romantic. Like something a girl would faint over.
It made Vivienne want to vomit and laugh at the same time.
Pure? Did this idiot just call me pure? After he literally fucked me last night during dinner—when there was food on the table? Meat and wine and my legs in the air? Pure?
She took the rose, smiling at him with sugary eyes. She brought it to her nose and smelled it, thinking, He’s right though. A rose is beautiful. But it’s full of thorns. And too bad for you, sweetheart, you’re about to be pierced until you bleed.
André watched her, and inside his head, he thought: Now the fun begins.
He leaned forward slightly and said, "How about we play a game? But to make it fun... the loser grants the winner a wish. Anything they want."
Vivienne blinked at him, smiling politely.
Inside her skull, her brain screamed: What the fuck. What’s this bullshit. Anything they want? Oh no. No, no, no.
André’s voice softened again. "How about you pick a game for us to play? Anything of your choice."
Vivienne’s mind lit up like fireworks. Oh really? This shit just got fun. A game of my choice. How stupid are you? Maybe I can win and wish you to fucking jump off your useless chateau. No, no, no—calm down, Vivienne. You need this idiot. You need to play smart. Maybe something soft, something small. Anyways, I won’t be losing.
Her voice was calm, her lips a rose-petal smile. "Let’s play cards."
That was her territory. That was her battlefield. She literally worked at a bar, lived half her life with a deck of cards in her hands. She was not just good. She was a goddamn queen at it.
This will be a breeze, she thought.
They sat at the table, the deck between them, the air thick with that fake sweetness that could shatter into violence any second.
The game began.
Vivienne felt the rush of adrenaline the moment her fingers touched the cards. Oh yes. This was her home, her comfort, her religion. She shuffled with ease, letting the soft snap and slap of the cards echo like a drumbeat of war. She dealt them out smoothly, her nails tapping the table, her movements quick and fluid, like she had done this ten thousand times before.
Her eyes glittered. She already felt like she had won before the first round even started.
André’s hands were graceful but too neat, too careful, like a man who probably practiced piano instead of gambling. What did he know of smoky taverns and sticky tables, of men throwing their paychecks into the pot, of drunks crying over losing their last coin? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Vivienne smirked. This was child’s play.
The first round went smooth. Her cards lined up perfectly, like obedient little soldiers bowing before their queen. She almost laughed. She laid them down with a little flourish, like she was tossing roses at his feet.
André glanced at them, raised a brow, and smiled faintly. "Impressive."
Inside her skull, Vivienne screamed, Damn right it’s impressive! Do you see this? Do you see this fucking masterpiece? That’s called talent, you silk-wrapped idiot.
She sipped her wine like she was calm, but her brain was dancing barefoot on the table screaming, I am a god, bow down!
Round after round, she kept winning. Her hands were confident, her smirk growing wider, her eyes practically glowing. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs elegantly, pretending to be relaxed, while on the inside she was cackling like a villain.
Every card she drew seemed to sing for her. Every play felt perfect. Luck, skill, the universe itself—it was all in her favor.
She started teasing him. "Don’t hold back now, my lord. I’d hate to think you’re going easy on me."
André only smiled politely, his eyes calm, his face unreadable.
Which only made her more smug. Ha! He’s nervous. He’s sweating inside that stupid silk shirt. He’s probably regretting this already.
She kept going, unstoppable, like a storm tearing through the night. She laid her cards down with a grin that could split the world. "Straight jokers."
Her voice dripped with triumph. The words tasted sweet as honey on her tongue. She was glowing inside, smug enough to float off the chair.
André looked at the cards, then raised his eyes to her. His lips curved in that calm smile. "You are so good, Vivienne. Really. I didn’t expect it."
Inside her skull, she spat, You didn’t expect what? That I was good? That I would beat your pampered stupid ass, you useless silk-wearing twat.
André set his own cards down slowly, as if it didn’t matter. His voice was calm, almost bored. "Too bad."
Vivienne’s eyes widened. Her mouth fell open.
No. No, no, no. This has to be a fucking lie. He must have cheated. This isn’t real.
Her eyes dropped to the table.
His cards. Straight kings.
The air left her lungs.
Her beautiful castle of smugness collapsed into rubble.
André’s smile grew as he leaned back in his chair. "Looks like you’ll grant me a wish." His voice was soft, playful, but his eyes were sharp. "I have the perfect wish."
Inside his head, he laughed, thinking, This is going to be so fucking entertaining. God I can’t wait for tonight. You’ll lose your fucking mind after it. My precious little thief.