Vivienne stood frozen, clutching her dress tightly to her chest. Her skin still tingled from the morning chaos, every inch of her marked and bruised. Her brain scread a million protests. She wanted to say no. Of course, she wanted to say no. Who in their right mind would willingly share a bath with André, of all people, after what had just happened?
But André didn’t give her a chance to decide. He stood, stretching and towering over her, and gently cupped her face in his hands. His thumbs traced her cheekbones softly.
"Will you?" he asked, the smallest hint of amusent in his tone.
And like an idiot, her mouth betrayed her before her brain could intervene. "Yes," she whispered.
Inside, her thoughts scread. Yes? You idiot! Why did you just say yes? What the actual fuck is wrong with you? He literally just had you for breakfast. You are going to die in a vat of boiling water if you step in that bath. Soone shoot in the head now.
He smiled. A calm, lazy smile that made her knees wobble. He held her gently and led her to the door. She followed, her mind a chaotic storm of embarrassnt, anger, and the tiniest spark of curiosity.
As they entered the bath chamber, Vivienne’s thoughts ran wild. Of course. Even his bath screams spoiled brat. The water is probably imported from so mountain spring. Rose petals. Lavender oil. Luxury so obscene it makes want to puke.
The pool glimred, filled with steaming water, rose petals floating lazily, and the faintest hint of lavender perfu. She caught herself staring. The water slled divine. It made her stomach twist with envy and sothing darker, sothing she refused to na.
He stepped into the pool first and sank with a groan of satisfaction, stretching like a cat. "Co in," he said softly.
Vivienne froze, hovering at the edge of the bath. Her mind shouted. God, you’ve lost it, Vivienne. Don’t put your feet in. This is insanity. You haven’t had a bath like this in over a week, but still, this is criminal. You will not enjoy this. You will not.
But her feet betrayed her, slipping slowly into the warm water. The heat stung her bruised skin, especially the marks he had left all over her body, but the sting was delicious in a perverse, shaful way.
He moved closer, eyes half-lidded, watching her. "Feels good, doesn’t it?"
Vivienne nodded silently. God, yes. But why does life have to be so unfair? Why does he get to enjoy every luxury while I’m here pretending I’m not lting like a stupid idiot?
He leaned in, lips brushing hers. Instantly, she felt a sharp sting on his lips. "You were biting earlier," he chuckled.
Vivienne blinked. "I’m... sorry," she whispered, though inside she thought, Sorry? I should have ripped your mouth off when I had the chance, you bastard.
He leaned back, stretching languidly. "How about we talk about ourselves, Vivienne? I just realized we know nothing about each other."
Vivienne’s eyes narrowed. Really? You want an introduction now? After you’ve fingered , fucked senseless, licked till I wept, left your marks all over ? How sweet of you, you charming motherfucker.
André smirked to himself. Let’s see what pretty lies you can spin, my little thief.
She exhaled softly. "What do you want to know about ?"
He leaned closer, brushing a wet strand of hair from her face. "How about how old you are?"
She tilted her head, smoothing her hair back. "I’m twenty-eight."
He smiled, eyes lighting up with mock surprise. "You’re four years older than . I thought otherwise."
Vivienne’s mouth twitched into a giggle, though her thoughts were ruthless. Oh please, you corny motherfucker. You think that’s charming?
"Why?" she asked innocently.
"You look very young and beautiful," he said softly.
Beautiful my ass, she thought. Corny motherfucker. I’m about to drown him in this bath.
"What’s your favorite color?" he asked.
"Red," she said sweetly, her mind whispering, Because I want to bleed you dry. Like Right now.
"White," he replied. "Because it is pure."
Pure my ass, she thought, rolling her eyes. You are the furthest thing from pure, and your every word makes want to punch you in the throat.
She lazily played with a rose petal, letting it float across the water. Leave alone, you bastard. Stop asking ridiculous questions.
But then he tilted his head, eyes piercing. "How about your dreams? What did you want to beco?"
Vivienne’s lips quirked in a forced smile. What a corny ass question. Dreams? What the hell are those?
"I wanted to be a singer," she said softly.
Why the hell did you say that? her mind yelled. Now he’s going to make you sing and embarrass you to death.
André’s lips curved into a smirk. What a dumb lie. Let’s see how you handle this, my little liar.
He leaned in closer. "Can you sing for ?"
Vivienne acted shy, cheeks coloring furiously. Great. Now he wants to watch make a fool of myself. Just great.
"I... I cannot, my lord," she said.
"Why not?"
Her mind scrambled. Think, think. Quick. Lie! You have to lie, or your dignity dies here.
"I... need instrunts. I cannot sing without instrunts," she said, voice quivering but mind racing. Yes, that works. That’s believable. Don’t embarrass yourself, idiot.
André kept quiet, letting the silence drag, letting her squirm.
Vivienne exhaled sharply. Oh thank God. Maybe he’ll leave it at that.
Then he spoke again, low and smooth. "There is a piano in my lounge. Do you think you could sing if I played for you?"
God no. Please let it die here. Let sink into the floor and never exist again. I cannot. I will embarrass myself so badly. Just kill now.
"Let’s go," he said, rising from the water. He handed her a towel and leaned close, whispering against her ear, "I want to hear your voice."
Vivienne’s stomach flipped violently. Lightning. Earthquake. A thousand plagues. This is my punishnt. I am about to die of humiliation.
He helped her out of the bath, her body still marked, still aching, still buzzing with the aftershocks of their morning. She clutched the towel around herself, trying to preserve so shred of dignity.
Once they were dressed, they walked to the lounge. Vivienne’s heart thudded, her stomach twisting like a snake coiled around her ribs. He opened the piano and produced a sheet of music, handing it to her.
"Can you sing this?" he asked, fingers brushing the keys. He began to play softly.
Vivienne’s mind scread. Don’t you dare open that mouth. Don’t make a sound. Don’t hum a note. You will embarrass yourself beyond repair. You are not that stupid Delphine who sings for n. You are not a professional. Shut it, Vivienne. Shut the fuck up.
But her lips betrayed her, curling into a small, tentative shape. The first note escaped.
Her heart pounded. Her cheeks burned. She wanted to scream, cry, laugh, and throw herself onto the floor all at once.
André’s eyes sparkled in the soft lamplight, his own thoughts a mixture of amusent and genuine admiration. Yes. Watch her struggle. Watch her panic. I love it when her overconfidence gets stepped on.
Vivienne’s mind was on fire. Why did I say I could sing? Why did I open my mouth? Why is he playing piano like he actually wants to hear ? Why does this feel so humiliating and... pleasurable at the sa ti?
She swallowed hard, bracing herself for the worst, as her voice carried the first trembling note into the lounge.
André’s hands stayed on the keys, waiting, watching, every twitch of her lips, every rise and fall of her chest, a predator and a fan all at once.
And Vivienne... Vivienne was about to learn that her lies were about to collide with the truth in the most mortifying, chaotic, and utterly unhinged way imaginable.
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