CHAPTER 81: THE MORNING OF CHAOS AND REGRET

It was a very beautiful morning. Too beautiful, honestly.

The kind of morning that shouldn’t exist after a night like that.

The air smelled like spring flowers and warm pastries. The sky glowed soft blue with a lazy rainbow stretching over the Rosseau chateau like some divine joke. Servants were already up, dusting the marble floors, wiping gold vases, polishing candle stands until they shone like glass. Everything was calm, proper, elegant.

Except for one particular room—the Duke’s lounge.

That place was pure disaster.

The curtains were half-drawn, sunlight spilling over the velvet floor like spilled milk. André’s jacket lay in a crumpled heap. Her corset hung off the chair like a strangled snake. A shoe had somehow ended up on the table beside a broken glass, and there were clothes in places clothes should never be. It looked like a war zone, but with more moaning.

And there, in the middle of that battlefield, tangled up in a mess of blankets and limbs, lay Vivienne and André—half naked, warm, and horrifically human.

Her head rested on his bare chest, the slow thump of his heart far too steady for her liking. His arm was lazily slung around her waist. Their legs were tangled together like they had tried to murder each other in their sleep and then given up halfway through. It was quiet—only their soft breathing filled the room.

For a second, it almost looked peaceful.

Then both of them woke up at the exact same time.

Like their souls were yanked out of a nightmare.

Vivienne’s eyes snapped open. So did André’s. They froze, staring at each other like two people who had just realized they’d accidentally committed a crime together.

And then—

"What the fuck," they both thought.

Vivienne blinked twice, horrified. No. No, no, no. Not again.

Her body was still warm from him. His scent was all over her skin—smoke, wine, and sin mixed into something that made her stomach twist and her thighs ache in betrayal.

She tried to think, but her thoughts refused to cooperate. They were just loud, stupid flashes of panic.

You did it again. You actually did it again. You fucked the bastard duke. You animal.

She swallowed, her throat as dry as parchment. You didn’t just sleep with him—you rode him like a lunatic. You cried. You moaned. You said things. Sweet heavens, you said things no woman should say to a man she plans to rob.

She buried her face in the pillow, groaning into it like someone dying of embarrassment.

You’ve officially lost your last brain cell. That’s it. It’s gone. Dead. Buried. Rest in peace, common sense.

André was silent beside her, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

His thoughts were colder, sharper. It was just a distraction. That’s all. She’s nothing. A liar. A thief with a pretty mouth.

He inhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. Last night never happened. It will never happen again.

Vivienne peeked up from under the blanket like a raccoon caught in daylight and immediately regretted it.

His chest was right there. Naked. Annoyingly perfect. Every muscle looked sculpted just to humiliate her. His skin still had faint marks—her bite marks.

Her face twisted.

She wanted to punch him. No, actually, she wanted to disappear first. Turn into air, float out the window, and then punch him from the afterlife.

This better not happen again, she thought furiously. You’re here to rob him, Vivienne. To rob. Not to fuck. You are not his personal pastime, you absolute idiot.

André finally moved. Just a little—his fingers brushed against her hair, sweeping a few strands off her neck in that lazy, possessive way that made her body remember every sin from last night.

Her whole body stiffened. Every nerve in her skin screamed.

"Good morning, my love," he said in that calm, deep voice that sounded like sin dressed in silk.

She blinked up at him, her face blank, her heart exploding.

My love? My fucking love? Oh, this man wants to die.

But she smiled—sweet, poisonous, polite. "Good morning."

He smiled back. That gentle, practiced, polite smile that nobles wear right before they stab you. "Did you sleep well?"

Vivienne almost choked on her own breath. Did I sleep well? After being wrecked by your demonic body for hours? After nearly dislocating my hip in the name of lust? Yes, André, I slept like a bloody princess.

She nodded. "Yes, my lord. And you?"

He gave a small nod, calm as ever. "Yes. I did."

Then his lips curved slightly, almost teasing. "Today is going to be a good day."

Vivienne’s smile tightened. A good day? Is he mad? He must be mad. This man has no soul.

But she still smiled, because she was a professional liar. "Yes. A very good day."

They stared at each other for a few long seconds, smiling like civilized devils.

If anyone had walked in, they’d have thought: what a beautiful couple. The perfect duke and his darling mistress. Gold and silk and lust wrapped neatly in morning light.

But under those smiles—chaos. Pure chaos.

Vivienne’s hand twitched under the blanket, fighting the urge to slap that serene look off his face. His hand, still resting on her hip, didn’t move either, but his thumb traced slow, lazy circles like he was mocking her. It wasn’t tender—it was torture.

The tension in the air could’ve burned the wallpaper off the walls.

"Your lounge looks... charming," Vivienne muttered dryly, glancing at the wrecked room. A piece of lace dangled off a chandelier. "You’ve outdone yourself, my lord."

André hummed softly. "It was a productive night."

Her eyes snapped to his face. That tone. That smirk.

If sin had a human form, it was lying beside her right now, looking smug and half-dressed.

"Productive?" she repeated with a glare sharp enough to cut glass. "You mean disastrous."

He tilted his head, lazy smile widening just slightly. "You didn’t seem to think so last night."

She froze. Her breath caught. Oh no he didn’t.

Her brain screamed. She wanted to throw something at him. Preferably his own ego.

"You’re disgusting," she said sweetly.

He chuckled, low and amused, the sound running down her spine like warm honey. "You weren’t complaining."

Her whole face turned red. "You—!" she started, then stopped herself, because yelling would give him too much satisfaction. She took a deep breath, forced a sugary smile. "You’re right, my lord. I wasn’t complaining."

André raised a brow, clearly surprised by her calmness.

Then she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Because I was too busy screaming."

His smirk faltered for half a second.

Vivienne smiled sweetly again, resting her chin on her hand like a cat ready to claw. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find what’s left of my dignity."

He looked at her for a long second, that slow, lazy look that always made her skin heat in ways she despised. "You won’t find it here," he murmured.

Her lips twitched. "Then I’ll steal yours instead."

"Already gone," he said smoothly.

They just stared at each other again—smiling, teasing, loathing, wanting. The sunlight hit them through the curtains, golden and cruel, as if heaven itself was laughing.

Somewhere outside, bells chimed softly. The servants went on with their perfect morning, unaware that inside this golden cage, the Duke and his wicked maid were smiling through their hate and drowning in each other’s sins.