Chapter 67: The Deranged Woman
Vivienne froze where she stood, her hand still holding the seal opener, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears.
André’s voice came again, colder this time, cutting through the silence like a blade.
"What are you doing here?"
Her throat went dry. Every thought in her head scattered like frightened birds. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was so parched it hurt. Her mind screamed: Oh God. I am fucked. Completely fucked. He caught me. He knows. What the hell do I say now?
She told herself to breathe, but she couldn’t. Her body was stiff. Her hands were shaking. She stared at him, standing in the doorway, tall, calm, unreadable. His eyes were locked on her like he could see every lie she had ever thought of before it even left her mouth.
Vivienne cursed under her breath. Think. Think, you stupid bitch. Come up with something. Anything. An excuse. Something that will sound half-believable. Something that might trick him for even one second.
But nothing came. Not one thing.
Her chest rose and fell too quickly, panic clawing up her throat. It was obvious. He had seen her snooping. He had seen her bent over his desk with his drawer half-open, her hand holding his seal opener. There was no way she could twist that. No way to paint it in her favor. She was caught red-handed.
Her mind screamed louder: He is going to kill me. He is going to rip me apart. What the fuck am I supposed to do?
The room felt suddenly very small. The curtains were a dull, heavy thing. The candle flame leaned like a lazy finger. The paper on the desk smelled faintly of tobacco and old ink — his scent mixed with the dust. Everything became too sharp. The wood floor creaked under her boots like a witness about to clap. She could hear the tick of the clock and it sounded like marching. Like an army. In her ear her own pulse was a drum. In the air there was the metallic whisper of the seal opener between her fingers. It seemed to shout that she had been found.
And then—like lightning—came a thought. A horrible, insane, absolutely disgusting thought. The kind of thought she would rather die than act on. Her stomach turned. Her skin crawled.
Her lips twitched as she whispered to herself in her head: No. No fucking way. I am not doing that. I’d rather eat shit. Dog shit. Rotten shit. I swear to God.
But it was the only idea that came. And she knew she had no choice. It was either that... or get exposed.
Vivienne glanced at him again. He was still standing in the doorway, his face so calm it made her want to scream. His expression was strange—like he wasn’t even angry. Not exactly. He looked disappointed. Almost hurt. Confused, even.
But behind all of that, she thought she saw something flicker in his eyes. And she realized what it was. He was amused.
Yes. He was enjoying this.
He was silently laughing at her. She could feel it. He was standing there, looking at her like she was a little animal trapped in a cage, waiting to see how she would flail around. Waiting to see what tricks she would pull to survive.
André’s thoughts were calm but sharp, almost lazy. She looks like a doe about to get shot. Wide-eyed. Terrified. Adorable. So fucking adorable. I wonder what excuse she’ll try. I wonder what lie she’ll spit out this time. Or will she start crying? Maybe she’ll beg. Oh, this will be entertaining.
Vivienne wanted to spit on him. She wanted to scream at him. But her instincts told her she couldn’t. Not now.
Her mind screamed again: You have to do it. There is no other way. No lie will save you. No excuse will save you. Do it, Vivienne. Do it.
So she did.
Her face burned with humiliation, her chest tight with rage. She forced her legs to move. Slowly, deliberately, she walked toward him. Her eyes locked on his, burning with pure madness.
André raised an eyebrow. He tilted his head, confused by the sudden change in her.
What the fuck is she doing?
Vivienne’s voice came low and heavy, almost shaking. "I... I wanted to show you something."
He narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "Show me something?"
"Yes." She forced the word out through gritted teeth.
And before he could ask more, before he could corner her with his calm voice and clever eyes, she grabbed his face and kissed him.
Her lips crushed against his. It was reckless. Desperate. Violent almost. She kissed him like she wanted to kill him through his own mouth.
For a beat the world snapped sideways. The candle sputtered. The seal opener cut a little crease in her palm, and she felt the sting like a punctuation mark. Her knees were wobbly. Her brain was a scrambled soup. She tasted metal, which could have been the seal opener or could have been fear. Her hair stuck to her forehead from sweat. She could smell him — the clean dryness of him, like a book left in the sun. This was absurd. This was brilliant. This was lunacy. This was the only plan that had legs.
André blinked, stunned. His whole body froze for one second. His brain short-circuited.
And then she pulled back, her eyes blazing. She muttered against his lips, her voice harsh but pretending to be soft.
"I wanted to show you just how much I love you."
And before André could say a word, before he could move, she reached down and undid his belt.
His mind went blank. Completely blank. His body tensed. His pulse spiked.
André thought, She’s not serious. No. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
But her hands kept moving. Her fingers trembling, but determined.
Vivienne’s thoughts screamed inside her skull. God. Oh God. I can’t believe I am doing this. I can’t fucking believe it. What the fuck am I even doing. Please, God, strike me dead. Please kill me right now.
She wanted to scream, but instead she forced a wicked smile. She told herself to keep acting. To sell it. To make him believe.
André stared down at her, still stunned. His lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling slowly. His mind whispered: She’s fucking crazy. Absolutely insane. She wouldn’t. She really wouldn’t...
But she was already bending lower.
André swallowed hard. His eyes darkened. His breath caught. His body reacted before his brain could.
She wouldn’t.
Would she?