Chapter 71: The Smell Of Deception
The study smelled of everything at once. Ink, old paper, a hint of polish from the desk, and of course, the unmistakable musk of two people who had just turned the room into a hurricane of sweat and chaos. The scent clung to the air like a bad secret. If guilt had a smell, Vivienne thought, it would smell like this room. She perched on André’s lap, her hair sticking to her face in sweaty strands that felt like cobwebs. Her arms were crossed tightly as if she could squeeze her dignity back into her body like wringing water from a rag. André’s hands rested on her hips, calm, almost tender, as if she were some rare treasure he had fished out of the mud. Vivienne looked at him like he was the most infuriating idiot to ever exist in Ravelle. She wanted to slap him. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to steal his entire castle and set it on fire.
"Why are you in my study, really?" André’s voice was low, calm, the kind of calm that made a person want to scream. He spoke like a priest and a murderer at the same time.
Vivienne froze. Panic flared like fireworks inside her brain. Shit. Shit. Don’t look guilty. Lie fast. Think fast. Act like a saint. No, act like an angel. No, act like a demon in a silk dress.
She forced a saccharine smile, voice soft as honey on broken glass. "I came looking for you. I missed you." Her tongue wanted to crawl out of her mouth and die for saying it.
He raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. "Then why did you panic?" His words were gentle but sharp, like a knife hidden in velvet.
Vivienne’s mind went into overdrive. Oh, sweet mother of saints, I have to make this believable. Make it flawless. Devil-level deception. Don’t vomit on him, Vivienne. Don’t do it. She could feel sweat sliding down her spine like a nervous snake. Her heart was slamming against her ribs like it was trying to break out and flee.
She leaned forward slightly, voice trembling with fake remorse. "I... I didn’t mean to, but I thought you would be angry if I was here. Here. In your study. Without... your permission. I panicked." She stumbled over the words so much that it sounded real. Even she had to admire her own skill. She deserved an award, a medal, maybe a crown of thorns.
André blinked slowly, and then a smirk crawled over his face. That was impressive. That’s a devilish good lie. She’s talented at this. Damn it. He almost wanted to applaud.
He leaned closer, tone sharpening just a fraction. "Were you going through my things?" His words landed like stones dropping into still water.
Vivienne’s stomach dropped. Oh God. Oh God. He knows. He knows I was searching for the vault. He knows everything. Think, Vivienne. Think. Her palms were slick. Her pulse throbbed in her throat like a drumbeat of doom.
Her mouth opened, a stammer forming, but before she could spit out some half-baked excuse, André burst into laughter. The sound was rich, cruel, delighted—like a fox catching a bird in its teeth.
"Why are you panicking?" he said between chuckles. "You did nothing wrong. You just peeked at some documents. I am not angry. I am merely... amused. It is not a bad thing. A man in love might want to know what the person he adores is curious about. Not that you were stealing. No, no, nothing so dramatic."
Vivienne’s brain melted like wax under a candle. Curious about me? Ha! Darling, I’m curious about your treasures. Your entire castle vault. Your collection of cursed gold coins. That’s what I’m curious about. Not your damn ledgers on kittens or your stupid tax receipts. She wanted to laugh in his face. She wanted to throw up in his lap.
André leaned closer, almost whispering, lips brushing her ear. "I know you were looking for me. I only wanted to tease you. Were you scared?" His breath smelled like dark wine and danger.
Vivienne tilted her head, giving him the sweetest, most saccharine nod she could manage. "A bit," she said. Then she leaned closer dramatically, adding, voice quivering: "I thought you would see me as a horrible person. I feared you would leave me." She sounded like an actress playing a tragic heroine in a play she hated.
André’s hands traced her sides gently. He kissed her neck softly, murmuring, "I will never leave you. Do not worry. I am sorry if I frightened you." His voice wrapped around her like a silk rope.
Vivienne’s fake sweetness could have killed someone. "Me too," she breathed. God, I am going to vomit. He smells like sin and cheap wine. Why is this my life? Why am I not on a beach somewhere with a stolen horse and a bag of gold?
André’s eyes flicked to her face, noting the tiniest twitch of hesitation, the way her lips quivered. Her lies are endless. And yet... she is mine. No one else will ever get her. She will never leave. My little thief, my impossible creature. His thumb brushed her jaw as if he could erase the lie from her mouth.
Vivienne’s brain screamed internally: So I sucked his cock for no reason. Brilliant. Top tier fucking genius. I should be dead. Or locked in the dungeons. Or fed to the royal hounds. And yet here I sit, alive, covered in my own chaos, thinking maybe I can get that damn horse before I lose my mind completely. She wanted to scream, laugh, cry, and bite him all at once.
She shifted slightly on his lap, every movement a silent curse. The study’s walls felt closer now, like they were leaning in to hear her thoughts. Her heart still pounded. Her mind still raced. But her smile—her wicked, sharp, dangerous smile—never wavered. If chaos was a crown, she would wear it like a queen.
André, still watching her with that maddening calm, thought, She’s completely unhinged. I adore it. I could eat her alive.
Vivienne, still smiling, thought, I’m going to steal his entire soul if I can’t steal his vault.
The room smelled thicker now, like secrets and heat, and both of them sat there, locked in a quiet war under the polite surface of touches and murmurs. Two predators in one study, one pretending to be prey.