CHAPTER 101: SILK AND SILENCE

The room was so still that even the sound of the fire seemed afraid to move.

Vivienne stood in the middle of it, lost in that deep purple gown that wrapped around her like midnight silk. The color didn’t belong to innocence or sweetness. It belonged to sin, to secrets, to women who smiled while planning murder. It was her kind of color — bold, shameless, dangerous.

André looked at her like she had just walked out of one of his forbidden dreams. His teacup was half-raised, forgotten. A book slid quietly from his lap, falling to the carpet without a sound. Neither of them noticed.

For a moment, it felt like the whole world stopped breathing.

Vivienne’s palms were damp. Her throat tightened, but she refused to move. She didn’t understand that look in his eyes. It wasn’t just desire. It wasn’t admiration. It was darker. It was the kind of stare that stripped her bare without touching her — the kind that made her want to run and slap him at the same time.

He looked at her like she was something he wanted to destroy and protect in the same breath.

André, on his end, didn’t know what to make of it either. He’d seen women before. He’d touched women before. But none had ever made him forget what air felt like. The purple on her body made his chest ache, made his hands want to reach out and ruin that perfect stillness.

They didn’t blink. They didn’t breathe. They just stared.

And it went on too long. Far too long.

Until Genevieve’s voice sliced through it like a knife through a fragile dream.

"Oh heavens! Vivienne, you look stunning! Purple suits you more than any colour."

The sound snapped them both back to reality. Vivienne blinked fast, breaking whatever madness had crept into her veins. André finally exhaled, quiet and slow, his eyes shifting away like he’d been caught doing something indecent.

The air was still heavy.

The dressmaker gasped, pressing her hands together. "Oh, how marvellous! Truly, Lady Vivienne, bold colours make you shine like no other."

Vivienne forced a smile, her lips curving just enough to look polite, even though inside she was rolling her eyes. Of course I shine. I could wear a sack and still outshine all of you miserable souls.

Out loud, she only said, "I suppose it’s... fine."

André didn’t speak. His silence crawled over her skin, hotter than any compliment.

The dressmaker turned to him eagerly. "Perhaps she could try more, Your Grace? A royal blue, a deep green, maybe even black silk?"

André’s gaze lingered on Vivienne a little too long before he nodded slowly. His voice came out calm and deep, steady like honey but dangerous underneath. "Yes. Let her try them all."

Vivienne’s jaw nearly locked from smiling. Fantastic. More torture. Just what I needed.

She wanted to smack him with the tea tray.

---

Behind the folding screen, Vivienne muttered every curse she knew. The maids worked around her, lacing her into another gown while pretending not to hear the words coming out of her mouth.

The next gown was deep green velvet, heavy and soft at once. It hugged her waist too perfectly, the neckline scandalous enough to make any priest faint. She wanted to tear it apart the moment she saw herself in the mirror.

If this bastard so much as smiles, I’ll kill him, she thought, before stepping out.

The room went silent again.

André’s breath visibly changed. He didn’t even hide it. He watched her like she was the only thing worth looking at.

The green made her skin glow, but it was her eyes that caught him. The light caught them just right — not only blue, but with faint green hidden inside.

He didn’t even mean to speak, but his voice came out low. "That colour brings out your eyes. I didn’t know they had green in them."

Vivienne froze. Her throat went dry. She forced a small, nervous laugh. "Well, now you do."

Her heart beat too fast. She turned her head slightly so he wouldn’t see the confusion flicker in her eyes. Why did that sound... sincere? He was supposed to be a lunatic, not a poet.

André leaned back on the chaise, still staring. He was supposed to be playing his part — the adoring, devoted duke. But he wasn’t sure which part of it was pretend anymore.

Vivienne wanted to throw a chair at him.

---

She went behind the screen again, cursing every saint in Ravelle. The maids laced her next gown, this time in royal blue velvet — richer, heavier, too beautiful for her liking. It clung to her figure like the color had been painted on.

When she stepped out, even Genevieve gasped.

André didn’t move.

The blue reflected in his eyes, and for a strange second, it felt like he was looking through her, not at her. Like he knew every secret she carried — every lie, every plan, every filthy thought she hid behind that perfect smile.

The silence stretched.

Genevieve tried to giggle. "You both look like a portrait," she said softly, voice trembling a little.

Vivienne’s mouth twitched. She muttered under her breath, "A portrait of hell, maybe."

André’s lips curved faintly, almost smiling. He heard her. Of course he did.

She glared at him, cheeks hot, but his eyes didn’t waver. He looked... proud.

"Do you like it?" he asked quietly.

Vivienne tilted her chin, voice dripping with mock sweetness. "It’s tolerable."

Inside, she was screaming. Why is he looking at me like that? Why does it feel like he’s undressing my thoughts instead of my body?

He reached for his teacup just to do something with his hands. His fingers shook slightly. He hid it with a slow sip.

Vivienne turned back to the mirror, pretending to admire the gown, pretending not to care that every inch of her skin was aware of his stare.

---

Then came the final dress.

Black silk. Simple but sinful.

When the maids laced it up, she looked at herself in the mirror and whispered, "If this doesn’t kill him, I’ll do it myself."

The fabric clung to her like smoke, wrapping every curve without mercy. She hated how beautiful it was. She hated that she cared.

When she stepped out, André forgot how to breathe.

The cup in his hand trembled. His jaw tightened. His eyes burned into her like she was something holy and wicked.

The dressmaker said something, but neither of them heard. The room was full of air, yet neither of them could breathe.

Vivienne lifted her chin slightly, pretending she didn’t notice his stare, but her heart was pounding so hard it hurt.

He wanted to speak — she could see it in the way his mouth twitched. He wanted to say something he shouldn’t. Maybe touch her. Maybe ruin her.

But he swallowed hard and said nothing.

The silence became unbearable again.

Genevieve coughed, a small, awkward sound. "Perhaps that’s... enough for today?" she said, trying to sound casual but clearly praying someone would move.

Vivienne jumped on the chance. "Yes. Enough." Her voice came out too fast.

André stood smoothly, expression calm again. "Vivienne must be tired. Let her rest. You have her measurements; that will be enough for more gowns."

The dressmaker curtsied, delighted. "Of course, Your Grace. She’s a marvel to design for. I’ll bring more dresses soon."

Vivienne muttered in her head, God save me from satin and idiots. Out loud, she smiled, elegant and cold.

---

When everyone began packing up, the room finally loosened its grip.

André walked to the door, pausing. He looked back at her — just one last look.

"I’ll be in my study," he said softly. "There are matters to attend to."

His voice was calm again, but it lingered, warm, low, deep enough to stay in her chest.

Vivienne didn’t respond. She only nodded, eyes still on him as he turned and left.

The sound of the door closing echoed like a final word she didn’t understand.

She didn’t mean to stare after him. But she did. Her eyes followed the place he had stood, the air he had disturbed. Her chest felt too tight, too warm, too stupid.

For one dangerous second, she wondered what it would feel like if he actually meant all those soft looks.

Then she blinked hard, scoffing at herself.

What the hell are you doing, Vivienne? Snap out of it. Don’t forget why you’re here. Gold. Gold, not men. Not his eyes. Not his voice.

She turned to the mirror, staring at her reflection in the black gown. Her face was calm, cold, almost beautiful. But her eyes looked like they were burning.

She exhaled slowly and whispered,

"Gold is worth more than anything. Don’t forget what happened. Never forget."

Then she turned away from the door he had walked through, her face blank, her heart loud, her mind already building walls again.