Chapter 37: Sweet Fake Love
Vivienne looked at André’s blank expression. His face had suddenly lost all warmth. His eyes were cold, his lips pressed flat. It was like she had stepped into a room full of light and accidentally snuffed out the only candle.
Her mind screamed. Why is he like that? Did I say something wrong? Was it the father question? God, why does this man act like every word is a trap? One moment he’s kissing me like a lover, the next he looks like a statue about to murder me. Pick one, you bastard.
André let out a low chuckle, though his voice carried a weight behind it.
"My father never liked being painted," he said flatly. "I don’t think I have any painting of him."
Vivienne opened her mouth, then shut it again. She wanted to say something cruel, something sharp, but before she could, André’s eyes softened a little and he asked, "What about you? What about your parents?"
That single question slammed into Vivienne’s chest like a blade. She froze. Her throat tightened. It was as if someone had dragged out the one topic she never wanted to touch and threw it right in her face.
Her jaw clenched. Anger stirred inside her, boiling quick. Parents? What the fuck are parents? Do I look like someone who grew up in a happy little cottage with mommy making pies and daddy reading by the fire? No. I grew up with nothing. Less than nothing. And you’re standing here asking me like it’s some sweet bedtime story.
Her voice came out sharp. "I don’t have any."
The silence after that burned. She wanted to throw the words back in his face, but instead she let her lips curve in a tight smile. She hated the way it trembled. She hated the way her chest ached.
The air of the portrait room felt suddenly heavy, thick with dust and paint and memories that weren’t hers. She pressed a hand to her chest dramatically.
"I feel suffocated," she said quickly. "Maybe because of the dust. Or the paint. I would like to go rest, my lord."
André watched her closely. His eyes narrowed just a touch. He could sense something was off. His mind ticked. Why is she annoyed? Did I push too far? Or did I actually touch something real? She’s trying to hide it, but something broke through.
Vivienne didn’t care. She needed out. She turned on her heel and walked out, muttering under her breath, "What the fuck are parents anyway."
Her steps were quick, sharp, like she was stomping on her own emotions to bury them deeper.
André immediately followed her, his strides long and unhurried, but determined. He caught up easily and reached for her arm.
"Vivienne," he said softly, almost worried. "Did I do anything wrong?"
Vivienne’s head screamed. Yes. Yes, you did. You exist. Your entire existence is irritating me. From your stupid perfect hair to your calm tone to your smug little smile. Everything about you makes me want to scream until the walls collapse. Leave me alone. Leave me—
But no. She couldn’t scream that. That would ruin everything. She needed him wrapped around her finger, not shoving her out of the chateau.
She forced her voice to steady, her lips softening into a small smile.
"It’s nothing," she said quietly. "It’s just... I never knew my parents."
The words slipped out bitter and sharp, but wrapped in sweetness.
André tilted his head. He could feel it. A small truth wrapped in lies. His mind spun. I can’t tell if she’s lying or not. That pain... it sounded real. But Vivienne is a snake. She could be playing me again. Still... something in her voice felt raw.
Vivienne looked away quickly, pushing the dagger back into her own chest. "That doesn’t matter now," she added, forcing her tone to grow light again. "I have you now, my lord."
She moved forward, throwing her arms around him, hugging him tightly. She pressed her cheek against his chest like a devoted lover. "Good night," she whispered sweetly.
Then she pulled away fast and turned toward her room. Her steps quickened.
Her thoughts snarled. Finally. Finally, I’m free from this idiot. If he showed me one more portrait, I swear I’d stab the canvas. What was next? His entire family tree? His ancestors? A whole gallery of dead people staring at me while he recites poems about love? Does he think I want to marry him? No. Absolutely not. The only thing I’m marrying is his vault. Then I’ll take everything and leave him crying.
She had barely moved two steps. Just two. Not even three.
Then his voice came.
"Vivienne."
She froze. Slowly, she turned her head.
André’s face was calm, his tone low and gentle. "Can I stay with you in your room? Let’s sleep together."
Her stomach dropped. What? Sleep together? Sleep? Oh, don’t you dare mean sleep. You sound too soft, too suspicious. This has to be something else. A trap. Only God knows what you’ll do to me once I say yes. Probably another round. Please, no. Please, I’m tired. My back still hurts from you bending me like dough on the dining table. I can barely walk straight and now you want more? What kind of monster are you?
Her brain went into panic mode. Please no. Please. Please please please. Let me rest. I can’t take another hour of this bastard acting like Romeo while fucking me like a demon.
André stepped closer, his eyes locked on hers. His voice softened further. "Can I?"
His mind whispered, Watching you squirm is fun. You’re fighting yourself, aren’t you, Vivienne? Say no. I dare you. No, you can’t. You want to win me over. You want me to trust you. So say yes. Even if it kills you inside.
Vivienne’s lips trembled. Her whole body screamed to run, to slam the door, to pretend she was sick. Anything. But then her cursed mouth betrayed her.
"Yes," she said.
The word slipped out. Small. Almost broken. But it was there.
Her brain immediately screamed. You stupid, stupid, stupid woman. Why did you say that? You had a chance to rest. To breathe. And now you’ve invited the devil himself into your room. God help me. I’m doomed.
André smiled. Slowly. Like a predator satisfied with the trap snapping shut.