CHAPTER 97: THE DEVIL AND THE RAIN

The morning began with a soft rain, the kind that feels too gentle for how dirty the world really is. The sky looked pale, heavy, and tired, as if even heaven was trying to wash away the sins that had happened in that bed last night. The water slid down the windows quietly, hitting the glass like a slow reminder that daylight always comes, no matter how much shame tries to hide in the dark.

Even the birds had gone silent. Not one dared to sing. Somewhere outside, the horses probably hid under the stables. The whole chateau seemed to be holding its breath.

Vivienne woke up first.

The sound of rain filled the room, soft and steady. For a moment she forgot where she was. Her eyes blinked open slowly, and everything felt unreal—the gray light, the soft sheets tangled around her, and the warm arm resting heavy around her waist. Then she remembered.

She turned her head slightly. André was asleep beside her.

Her stomach twisted.

His face looked peaceful, too peaceful, as if he hadn’t done something completely insane the night before. His hair was messy, his lashes soft against his skin, his lips slightly parted. He looked like an angel. The kind that probably murdered people in their sleep.

Vivienne’s heart raced.

The memories of last night came crashing down like thunder—the heat, the madness, the sound of his voice whispering marry me while he was still inside her. And her stupid mouth had moaned yes.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to take the nearest candleholder and smash it against his skull.

She wanted to throw herself out the window and hope she landed on her head. Anything to erase the memory of saying yes to a lunatic while moaning like a fool.

Instead, she just lay there, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling like a ghost.

Her body still ached. Her heart felt like it was doing cartwheels inside her chest.

She sat up slowly, trying not to wake him. The sheets slipped down, and the cold morning air hit her bare skin. She grabbed her robe, wrapping it tightly around herself, as if it could cover the shame crawling under her skin.

And then she saw it.

The ring.

It sat on her finger, shining like a curse. A perfect, rare diamond—big, clear, and beautiful. The kind every woman in Ravelle would kill to wear. But to Vivienne, it looked like something forged straight in hell.

She stared at it in disgust.

It sparkled mockingly under the dim light, each glint saying, You said yes.

Vivienne’s thoughts were pure chaos.

Take it off. Throw it. Bite it. Swallow it. I don’t care. Just get it off your fucking hand, Vivienne.

She lifted her hand slightly, about to pull it off, but stopped. If she threw it, he’d notice. And if he noticed, he’d ask questions. And if he asked questions, she’d have to answer. And if she answered—she’d probably end up dead or married for real.

She sighed deeply and stared at the rain instead. The drops kept sliding down the glass, merging into little rivers, disappearing at the edge of the window. She wished she could do the same.

Her head pounded. Her body felt heavy. She wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out.

Behind her, she heard movement.

André stirred.

His hand reached for her waist again, slow and lazy, and she almost jumped out of her skin. He opened his eyes, half awake, and when he saw her sitting by the window, he smiled.

It was that calm, deceptive smile again—the one that could melt butter and murder hearts at the same time.

"Good morning," he said softly, voice deep and lazy from sleep. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss on her neck, his lips warm against her cold skin.

Vivienne froze.

She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. She wanted to push him off, but she just sat there stiffly, forcing a smile that could’ve scared a priest.

"Good morning," she said, voice tight, fake, painful.

Her smile was so false even a blind man would know something was wrong.

André noticed, of course. He always did. His eyes lingered on her face for a moment, studying her like he was trying to read her mind. Then he smiled again, that soft, sweet, dangerous smile that could fool anyone but her.

Inside, he was laughing.

Looks like my little thief is angry, he thought, amused. Maybe she’s thinking of killing me right now. God, she’s beautiful when she’s miserable.

He leaned back against the bedpost, stretching lazily, still watching her. Then came the act—the gaslighting, the gentle manipulation, the sweet poison he was so good at pouring into every word.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked quietly.

His tone was soft, almost too kind. His eyes were tender, his voice filled with fake concern that would’ve fooled the saints. Even the devil would take notes on how believable he sounded.

Vivienne blinked slowly, turning her head to look at him.

Her mind screamed, Yes, you psychotic bastard. You proposed while fucking me. That’s what’s wrong.

But she stayed quiet. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

André sat up a bit, his expression gentle, almost heartbroken. "You don’t look happy, Vivienne," he said softly. "Did I do something wrong? Is it because of me? Because of last night?"

His voice cracked slightly at the end, like he might cry.

Vivienne wanted to shove a pillow in his face.

He looked ridiculous, like a sad puppy pretending to have feelings.

He took her hand, his thumb brushing over the ring. "Do you not wish to marry me?" he whispered. "I just want to spend my life with you. I don’t think I can live without you."

Vivienne stared at him blankly.

Her mind was a storm. Oh, for fuck’s sake. God, I’m tired of this pathetic idiot. He looks like he’s about to cry. Please cry. Maybe drown yourself in your tears while you’re at it.

But then something flickered inside her mind. An idea.

If he truly believed they were engaged, that meant he trusted her. And if he trusted her... she could move freely. Maybe even find what she came for—the vault.

Her anger began to melt into a sly, dangerous calm.

She tilted her head, pretending to look touched, pretending to tremble. Then she let her eyes fill with tears.

"No," she whispered, voice trembling. "It’s not that."

André blinked, confused but curious.

Vivienne sniffled softly, touching her chest like some tragic widow in a painting. "I just thought of my late husband," she said quietly. "I’m only scared something might happen. I don’t want to lose you too."

Her voice cracked perfectly.

The tears came out on cue.

She was a natural-born actress. Even Satan himself was probably taking notes.

André watched her, stunned for a second. Then he smiled again, softer, more dangerous.

She’s getting better, he thought. Her acting could win awards if this kingdom had any.

He cupped her face gently, thumb wiping one of her fake tears. "Don’t worry," he said sweetly, his voice melting into her ear. "Everything will be okay. I love you."

He leaned in and kissed her lips softly, tenderly, the kind of kiss that could make anyone believe he was sincere.

Vivienne kissed him back, slow and delicate, pretending to melt into it, pretending to be the woman he wanted.

But inside her mind was pure chaos.

Oh, shut up. You love me? Sure. And I love arsenic. You’re not the first man to lie with a soft voice, darling. Keep talking. I’ll smile while I rob you blind.

André pulled back slightly, still smiling. He brushed his fingers through her hair and whispered, "We’ll be happy, Vivienne. You’ll see."

Vivienne smiled sweetly, eyes glistening, voice soft as honey. "I love you too."

But in her head, her words were far from loving. I love you too, my ass. I love your money. I love the idea of robbing you. I love the thought of watching you crumble. You insane bastard.

She leaned against his chest, resting her head there, pretending to sigh peacefully. His arms came around her, warm and protective, but her mind was already far away—thinking of the vault, of her plan, of how to end this madness before it truly began.

André smiled down at her, his chin resting on her hair, eyes full of something that wasn’t love. This is only the beginning, he thought. I can’t wait to watch you fall apart, my little thief.

Vivienne smiled against his skin, eyes open, watching the rain through the window. This is going to be the last time I ever do this, she told herself. You need to find that vault immediately. Before this madman decides to really make it official.

The rain kept falling softly. The world outside was calm, clean, quiet. But inside that room, two souls sat tangled together—one pretending to love, the other pretending to trust—both smiling, both lying, both plotting in silence.

And somewhere deep down, where neither wanted to admit it, something else was growing too.

Something dangerous.

Something neither of them could control.