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Mada Lefevre said what. Vivienne said what. The air between them felt sharp, like two blades had crossed. The room went so quiet that even the ticking of the clock sounded louder.
Vivienne’s lips curled in a dangerous smile. Her eyes narrowed, and the look she gave Mada Lefevre was not just defiance. It was pure threat.
She began, her voice calm but heavy with venom.
"You think you’re better than because you shout louder? You’re still a servant. Head filth is still filth. You just get to wear uglier shoes while barking at the rest of us."
Mada Lefevre froze. No one ever dared to speak to her like that. She had ruled the household staff for years, lording her position over everyone. She opened her mouth to interrupt, but Vivienne didn’t even let her breathe.
"Don’t pretend you were born noble," Vivienne snapped. "You scrubbed your fair share of shit buckets before crawling your way here. Don’t forget it."
André stood still, just a few steps away. His hands were folded behind his back as if he were inspecting so play at a theatre. But in truth, he was drinking in every word. To him, this wasn’t a quarrel. This was entertainnt. Better than wine, better than opera. Vivienne, fiery and unhinged, was a one-woman show.
Mada Lefevre’s face flushed red. She wanted to speak, to spit venom back, but Vivienne’s cold voice cut her off again.
"Like hell I want to be a duchess. What for? To end up dried out and bitter like you? I’d rather choke on a broom."
Her tone was sharp, sarcastic, almost playful. But beneath it was rage.
"If that’s what nobility looks like, then keep it," Vivienne added. "I’ll stay a maid and at least be alive inside."
"How dare you!" Mada Lefevre finally found her voice. Her hand trembled, her lips shook. She wasn’t used to being talked to this way. Not by anyone. And certainly not by this new maid who barely knew her place.
Vivienne didn’t even flinch. She tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with wild fire.
"Don’t breathe the sa air as him? Too late, I already moaned it into his mouth."
André’s brows arched. Oh, this was far better than he could have imagined.
"I should be invincible to him?" Vivienne continued, her voice dripping with scorn. "Please. He stripped naked himself. While looking at like I was a painting."
Mada Lefevre gasped, her hand flying to her chest.
"I shouldn’t speak to him? I was too busy fucking him till he shuddered this morning to talk."
André covered his mouth with his hand, pretending to cough. In reality, he was hiding the smirk threatening to burst.
"You don’t want near him?" Vivienne pressed. "Too bad, I was on top of him. Should I draw you a picture?"
She dragged her fingers along her neck, tilting it slightly, as though flaunting a hidden mark.
"Oh, and this?" she said, tapping at the skin. "This isn’t a bug bite. It’s his grace. He kissed , bit , licked , and sucked . All over my body. Do you want to show you? He’d rather have for breakfast than your stale bread."
Mada Lefevre’s eyes widened. Her face turned pale, almost ghostly. She looked as though she had just seen the devil himself crawl out of the shadows.
Vivienne’s lips curled higher. She was rciless.
"Yes, I’m filth," she said. "Filth he begged for. Filth he kissed and licked and sucked dry."
Her voice rose, the words rolling out like thunder.
"So tell , Mada, who’s the real filth? The one a Duke strips bare and begs for, or a bitter old bitch no man has touched in decades?"
André almost laughed aloud. He pressed his lips tightly shut, shoulders shaking with the effort to hold it in.
Vivienne stepped closer, her voice quieter now, but sharper, like the tip of a knife.
"You rot alone in your misery. I rot in his bed. Big difference."
Silence. For a heartbeat, the room was a grave.
Then Mada Lefevre snapped. Her voice cracked, higher than usual, trembling with both fury and humiliation.
"You crazy bitch! How dare you! How dare you! It can’t be you are talking to like that!"
Vivienne tilted her head, smirking.
"Then who else?" she asked flatly. "It’s just and you. Of course I’m speaking to you."
She folded her arms, mocking pity. "I guess you’re too stupid to comprehend that."
Mada Lefevre’s hand twitched. She wanted to slap her. Her palm itched for it. But sothing stopped her. Maybe André standing nearby. Maybe Vivienne’s sheer madness. Instead, she hissed, "Get your things and leave. Now. You mannerless lowlife."
Vivienne’s heart pounded, but she didn’t show fear. Instead, she thought bitterly to herself: I didn’t want to do this. But you left no choice. It was only right to crush that fucking ego of yours.
Her lips moved before her thoughts caught up.
"I know you’d fire ," she spat. "But I don’t fucking care. Fuck you and that horse. I’d rather choke than stand here and be insulted by you."
André couldn’t keep still any longer. His chest shook with laughter he could no longer hold back. Still, he masked it with a calm expression and muttered under his breath, "I think it’s best to intervene now."
He stepped forward. His polished shoes clicked against the floor.
Vivienne turned, ready to toss one last insult or maybe scream "thank God I’m fired" or "fuck you, bitch." But the mont her eyes caught André approaching, everything inside her shifted.
You see, Vivienne was not just a thief. She was also an actress. A professional. Survival depended on it. And right now, if survival ant throwing away rage and putting on the sweetest mask she could find, then so be it.
So she collapsed to her knees.
Both Mada Lefevre and André froze in shock.
Then ca the waterworks.
Vivienne’s eyes welled up instantly, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her chest heaved. Her hands shook.
She sobbed hopelessly, voice trembling, loud enough to echo in the hall.
"I really did nothing wrong! His grace called for and I went. Why are you being so an? I know I ca from a poor family. I know I am a commoner. But calling filth? And now firing ?!"
Her tears fell faster, dripping down her chin. "What will beco of ? Where will I go?"
Anyone walking in would have believed her. They would have seen only a sweet, innocent maid being bullied by a cruel head servant.
André thought to himself: God. She doesn’t just know how to sing. She should be a fucking actress.
He smirked faintly, then schooled his face. If she wanted a stage, he would give her one. He too could play this ga.
He rushed forward, his deanor shifting into that of a man deeply wounded by the sight of his beloved in tears. He knelt beside her, his voice soft and full of mock sympathy.
"Why are you crying, Vivienne? Please, stand up."
He helped her to her feet gently, as though she were made of glass. Then he turned, his face hardening as he looked at Mada Lefevre.
"What did you do to her?" he demanded. His voice thundered with fake anger. "How can you hurt soone as gentle as her?"
Mada Lefevre was struck dumb. She opened her mouth, closed it again. The words wouldn’t co.
"Your grace... your grace..." she stamred.
André pulled Vivienne into his arms, hugging her close. She sniffed dramatically, pressing her cheek to his chest.
"My lord, please," she whispered in a trembling voice. "She fired . I have no ho. Nowhere to go. What will beco of ?"
André tilted his head, his eyes glinting with mischief.
He turned sharply to Mada Lefevre. "Is this true? Mada Lefevre, is this true?"
She stuttered, caught off guard. "I... I... your grace..."
André’s lips curved, the cruelest twist of irony in his tone.
"You did good."
Vivienne’s head shot up.
"Huh?!" she cried out loud.
The silence that followed was louder than any scream.
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