Chapter 64: Just One Month
Vivienne sat on the chaise in the small parlour of the cottage, staring up at the ceiling like a woman who had officially lost her mind. Her arms dangled at her sides, her eyes unfocused, and for a moment she looked like some tragic painting of despair. Then, without warning, she sat upright with the speed of someone possessed, reached for the cup of coffee on the table, and grabbed it like it was her birthright. She tucked her legs under her, cross-legged like a child, and took a deep sip.
Delphine scoffed. "That’s mine."
Vivienne didn’t even blink. She didn’t look at her. She didn’t acknowledge her existence. She sat there drinking like a queen sipping holy nectar, as though Delphine was nothing more than a fly buzzing around her head.
Her eyes slid lazily to Mireille instead, who was watching her with that particular expression only Mireille had — equal parts judgment, pity, and quiet disgust. Vivienne narrowed her eyes.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she demanded, slamming the cup down on the table. Coffee sloshed dangerously close to the edge. "Don’t worry, Madame. I am not giving up. Not even close." She jabbed a finger against her chest for emphasis. "I only came here to get a break. That’s all. A little vacation, you know?"
She leaned back, lifting the cup again, her lips twisting into a smug grin. "He follows me like a goddamn leech. He’s everywhere. Like a shadow stuck to my ass. The man is fucking crazy about me. So in love with me it’s disgusting." She rolled her eyes dramatically and then added with venom, "It’s so fucking annoying."
Her voice softened mockingly, her tone switching to sickly-sweet. "Oh Vivienne, my darling, my treasure, my reason to breathe." She gagged loudly, clutching her throat for effect, then took another sip of coffee like nothing happened.
Mireille and Delphine exchanged a glance. They didn’t say anything, but the way their eyes flickered toward each other was loud enough.
Vivienne ignored them. She was too busy convincing herself. "It won’t be long before I get that horse. A month maximum. Maybe less, if I play my cards right. From the looks of it, he might hand it over himself, along with every single treasure in that cursed chateau. He is that far gone." She snorted and leaned back with a satisfied smirk. "You don’t have to worry, ladies. Everything is going exactly as planned."
Her hand moved to her wrist almost without thinking. She lifted her arm to admire the bracelet, twisting it this way and that so it caught the light. Her eyes softened for a brief second. "It’s so beautiful," she whispered. The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Then she shook her head sharply, snapping back into herself. She downed the rest of Delphine’s coffee in one gulp and shoved the cup back onto the table with a loud clink.
The silence that followed was heavy. Mireille and Delphine weren’t saying anything, but Vivienne felt their eyes on her. Watching. Measuring. She frowned, her gaze narrowing on them.
"They’re acting weird," she thought. Her head tilted slightly as she studied their stiff shoulders, their careful stillness, the way they didn’t meet her eyes. "They look uncomfortable. They’re hiding something. I know they are."
Her lips curved slowly. "Well, who fucking cares," she muttered to herself. "Secrets don’t matter. I’ll find that goddamn horse soon enough. Maybe a few bonus treasures too. A necklace here, a ruby there. In less than a month I’ll have it, and then I’ll be fucking wealthy." She leaned back, her grin wolfish. "Wealthy enough to never see that lunatic again."
She laughed quietly under her breath, though it didn’t sound sane.
Meanwhile, back in the Rousseau chateau, André sat calmly in his study. The air smelled faintly of ink and wax. His desk was covered with parchments, each one neat and precise, waiting for his signature. The scratch of his quill filled the silence, steady and unhurried.
Beside him, Bernard stood like a stone pillar, passing him the next page, stacking the finished ones, moving with the efficiency of a man who had done this far too many times. His face was unreadable, his eyes half-lidded, as though even boredom had abandoned him years ago.
André signed another parchment, his hand smooth, and then suddenly — without warning — he chuckled. The sound broke the silence like a knife.
Bernard blinked once. That was all.
André shook his head, still smiling faintly. He murmured to himself, almost fondly, "She’s tough."
Bernard’s voice came flat, drained of all surprise. "Obviously."
André raised his head slowly, his eyes gleaming. "What do you mean by that?"
Bernard stacked another document. "She has lasted a week. Longer than expected." He paused, his face blank as he added, "That is if she hasn’t run away already. It has been five hours. I don’t think she’s returning."
André leaned back in his chair, his lips curving into that slow, unnerving smirk that always looked half like love, half like a threat. His voice was calm, certain, frightening in its quietness.
"I told you," he said, "she isn’t going anywhere."
Bernard finally looked at him, deadpan as ever. "And you’re so sure of that?"
André’s eyes sparkled with something unreadable. He dipped his quill again, drawing out the moment before answering.
"She will return," he said softly. "Because she belongs here. With me." He paused deliberately. "She’ll return. She always will."
Bernard said nothing. He simply stood there, silent as a wall.
André leaned forward, resting his elbow on the desk. His smirk widened just a little. "Bernard. How about we make a bet?"
Bernard blinked once more, the closest thing he ever did to showing interest. "About what?"
André’s voice lowered, velvet smooth, tinged with something dark. "My little thief. How long do you think she will last?"
Bernard’s mouth twitched, not quite into a smile, not quite into anything. "I don’t know."
André’s smirk sharpened, his eyes burning with a kind of wicked amusement. "I can think of a month. Just a month. That is all it will take. One month, and she won’t even remember why she came here in the first place."
He leaned back, his laughter quiet, low, curling through the air like smoke.
Bernard did not laugh. He only stacked another pile of parchment, his face blank. The look of a man who had already accepted that normalcy had long ago packed its bags and fled this household.