Chapter 66: Oh Shit
Vivienne stepped into André’s study with a dramatic sigh, dragging her feet as though the very act of being there was torture. She pushed the door shut behind her with her hip and glanced around. The room was silent. Too silent.
Her lips twisted. "What is this?" she muttered, her voice sharp and annoyed. "He’s not even here. What a fucking waste of my time."
She stomped across the carpet, her shoes sinking into the thick weave, and spun in a small circle, her hands on her hips like a furious governess scolding invisible children. "I climbed a hundred stairs," she snapped at the empty room, "for this? For nothing?"
Her anger fizzled into a groan. She threw her hands in the air. "Oh, stop it, Vivienne," she scolded herself. "No need to be pissed. Think positive." She clapped her hands once like she was trying to wake herself up. "At least he’s not here drooling over me like a fucking dog. At least I’m free. Free from his insanity, free from whatever the fuck that demonic idiot had planned."
She blew a strand of hair out of her face. "Yes, good. This is good. Just get the fuck out of here before he comes back." She turned toward the door, muttering, "Leave now, before he—"
But of course, her instincts froze her in place. Something in her gut told her to look around. Something whispered that this was a rare chance, and if she left empty-handed, she’d regret it.
Her head turned slowly back toward the desk, her eyes narrowing.
"Oh, now I’m here again," she sighed, dragging her feet across the rug until she reached the large desk. She touched its polished surface with the tips of her fingers, her expression both sour and envious.
The study looked like it belonged to a pampered prince. Rich mahogany shelves lined the walls, filled with heavy books that looked like no one had read them in decades. The desk gleamed in the sunlight, its edges carved with delicate designs. Even the quill holder on the table looked absurdly expensive, as if André had personally commissioned the birds that died for the feathers.
Vivienne sneered. "What a lucky bastard."
Her hands roamed across the desk, fingers flicking over stacks of parchment, nudging a book out of the way. She tugged a few papers toward her and squinted at them, her lips curling as she read.
"Oh for fuck’s sake," she muttered, flipping through page after page. "Charity to orphanages? Donations for widows? Food for old people?" She gave a sharp, mocking laugh. "What is this, Romeo? Some heroic knight act?"
She dropped one parchment dramatically back onto the table and grabbed another. "Children’s schools. Hospitals. New roofs for poor villagers. All it’s left," she mocked in a sing-song voice, "is donations to cater for poor little kittens and puppies. Maybe a bird with a broken wing. Or flowers that didn’t bloom." She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead in fake swoon. "Oh, what a saint. What a fool."
She tossed the paper back on the pile and crossed her arms, rolling her eyes. "Imagine being this rich and wasting it on peasants. If I had this much money, I’d have palaces. Jewels. Gold horses. Not this—" She waved her hand at the desk. "Not this boring pile of ’save the poor.’ Fucking pathetic."
She sighed again, but her eyes gleamed with mischief.
Her hands slid to the drawers. "Maybe the real treasure is in here."
The first drawer opened easily. Nothing but more papers. Contracts. Receipts. Land agreements. Vivienne rifled through them with growing impatience, muttering curses under her breath. "Fucking idiot. Not even a coin hidden. Not even a pearl button."
She tried another drawer. Same thing. Neat papers stacked carefully. Some sealed, some signed, all utterly useless.
She slammed it shut with more force than necessary and tried the next. Empty. Completely empty. She froze for a second, staring at it, her eyebrow twitching.
"Who the fuck keeps an empty drawer?" she hissed.
She pulled out the last one, but it didn’t budge. Locked.
Her heart gave a sharp little kick. She froze, her lips curling slowly into a dangerous grin.
"Well, well, well," she whispered. "Got you."
Her grin widened, teeth flashing like a wolf. She crouched in front of the drawer, stroking the lock almost lovingly. "Looks like you’re hiding something after all, Romeo."
She glanced around the desk, searching for something useful, and spotted the seal opener. Grabbing it quickly, she bent down, sticking the tip into the lock. "Don’t fail me now," she muttered, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration.
Her pulse was racing. Her breath came faster, shallow and eager. The thought of what might be inside the drawer made her palms sweaty. Maybe it was a map to the vault. Maybe records of treasures. Maybe, just maybe, the key to everything she wanted.
"Come on, come on," she whispered, jiggling the opener inside. She bit her lip, twisting it, listening for that little click.
Then she heard it.
Not the lock.
Footsteps.
Her blood turned to ice.
She froze completely, every muscle tense. The footsteps were slow, deliberate, echoing closer and closer down the hall.
Her hand trembled. Her mind screamed.
"Oh no. Oh shit. Oh fuck."
The doorknob rattled.
Vivienne’s heart nearly leapt out of her chest. She pulled the opener from the lock, nearly dropping it in her panic. She scrambled upright, trying to look casual, but her face was flushed, her hands shaking.
The door opened with a quiet creak.
André stepped inside, tall and calm, his expression unreadable. His dark eyes swept the room once before landing on her.
He closed the door behind him, slow and silent. His lips curved into something faint, almost lazy.
"What," he said softly, "are you doing here?"
Vivienne’s stomach dropped to her knees. Her blood went cold. Her mouth opened but no words came out.
"Oh shit," she thought. "I’m fucking fucked."