CHAPTER 98: A MONTH OF MADNESS

It had been a month. A whole fucking month of living in this ridiculous, unholy arrangement. A month since that lunatic proposal. A month of pretending to be head-over-heels in love with a man she wanted to murder with her bare hands. André and Vivienne, the perfect engaged couple in the eyes of everyone, while inside? Both of them were on the verge of snapping, and both knew it.

Vivienne woke up feeling like she had been dragged through hell, rolled in fire, and then shoved into a coffin just to wake up in it again. Her eyes opened slowly, and the first thing she noticed was the room. Her own room. And it looked like a mortuary. Gray light filtered in through the curtains, and she stared at everything with pure, seething hatred.

Then she looked at herself. Naked. Completely bare. Every mark, every bruise, every hickey, a testament to the debauchery of last night. She traced the faded lines on her skin with a finger and almost screamed.

And there he was. André. Sleeping calmly like some Greek god who had zero idea that he was also the devil. His hair was messy, tousled in a way that made her want to claw it out of jealousy. His lips, slightly swollen and red, the memory of them on her skin was enough to make her vomit. Or moan. She wasn’t sure which.

She hated him. She hated herself. She hated everything.

And yet, she couldn’t stop looking at him.

Her body was still betraying her, still aching for him, still wanting him like a starving animal wants meat. She clenched her fists under the sheets. She wanted to throw him out the window. She wanted to stab him. She wanted to scream. She wanted to rip her own hair out. Her body had betrayed her too many times, craving this man like he was some kind of poison she couldn’t resist.

She remembered last night.

The moans. The bites. The kisses that left her lips raw. Her stupid body answering his touch even when her brain was screaming, stop stop stop. She hated herself for that, hated him for knowing exactly how to make her unravel, hated the entire fucking world for making a man like this exist.

And then there was the vault.

Nearly two months she had been here, learning nothing about it. She had followed every lead, checked every room, examined every lock, and still, she had nothing. Only the way to his cock. That’s all she knew. That’s all she had to show for her genius, her planning, her careful scheming.

Her eyes moved to the fruit knife on the table beside her bed. The same knife he had used last night to peel apples, and then, metaphorically, to peel her soul. Her hand trembled as she picked it up. She could end it all here. One swift stab and he’d be gone. No more moaning, no more pretending, no more fucking madness. At least she would die with dignity instead of being left trembling and wet under this maniac.

Her fingers curled around the handle, ready to strike.

And then he stirred.

The movement was slow, lazy, as if he was stretching inside a dream. Her heart jumped, and instinct screamed at her to shove the knife into her back just to hide her intent. But before she could do anything, she leaned forward, kissed him softly, a quick peck, a feigned act of tenderness. She slid the knife back to the table with one hand while her lips grazed his.

André, of course, saw it.

He opened his eyes slowly, looking at her with amusement, and a hint of something darker flickered in his gaze. He kissed her back. Soft. Gentle. Calculated.

"Good morning," he said, voice like honey dipped in fire.

Vivienne forced a smile, so fake it could’ve killed a priest.

"Good morning," she muttered, eyes still on him, trying not to tremble from the memory of last night.

André’s eyes sparkled with that calm, deranged charm that made her blood boil and her heart beat faster all at once. He leaned closer and whispered against her ear. "You look excited and happy."

Her brain went blank for a second. Excited? Happy? If she were a saint, she would have cursed him right there. Instead, she managed a slow nod and another fake smile.

"It’s because our wedding is coming up soon," she said, her voice sickly sweet. Every word made her want to puke.

André smiled, cupping her face with both hands. His touch was gentle, but it carried the weight of a man who knew he owned her body and, in some way, her mind too. "I can’t wait to make you mine," he said.

He pulled her down into a hug, strong, possessive, the kind that made her feel trapped and alive at the same time. She hugged him back tightly, pretending to be all in.

I’ve got to get out of here, she thought, pressing her face against his chest. If I don’t, I’ll actually marry him. And then I’ll be fucked in more ways than one.

André, still holding her, breathed in her hair, whispered softly, "Don’t worry, Vivienne. Everything will be perfect."

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with eyes wide, heart pounding. "Of course," she whispered. Inside, chaos raged. Perfect? Yeah, perfect. Perfect for him to ruin my life while I pretend to love him.

She looked at the ring again, that cursed diamond sparkling innocently. She wanted to throw it across the room. She wanted to scream. She wanted to shake him until his teeth rattled. But she smiled instead. Sweetly. Angelically. Like a fool.

André smiled back.

She’s mine, he thought, smirking. No matter what she says, no matter what she thinks. She can pretend all she wants, but she will never escape me.

Vivienne leaned against his chest again, pretending to sigh in contentment. Inside, she was plotting. Planning. Calculating. Every movement, every word, every fake tear had a purpose. She would find that vault. She would get what she came for. She would survive this. Somehow.

André, meanwhile, watched her with a smile that made her skin crawl. This is only the beginning, he thought. She will unravel. And I will enjoy every moment of watching it happen.

Outside, the rain continued to fall softly, washing over the roofs and gardens, pretending to cleanse the world of sin. But inside that room, no sin would ever be washed away. The sins of last night lingered in the air, heavy, electric, alive.

Vivienne hugged him tightly again, forcing herself to feel the warmth, the closeness, the lies. "I love you too," she whispered, soft as silk.

And inside her mind, chaos. I love you? Bullshit. I love the plan. I love the money. I love the idea of burning you alive if I have to. This is war, André. And I will win.

The rain drummed softly on the windows. The chateau seemed quiet, calm, innocent. But inside, in that small bedroom, two hearts beat with fire. Two minds plotted with madness. Two bodies lay tangled in a lie that was so deliciously, dangerously close to truth.

And somewhere in the quiet, unspoken, unacknowledged, a war began. One of lust, hate, desire, and survival. A war neither of them could admit to, but both were fighting fiercely, every single day.

And Vivienne, still pressed against him, still hating him with every fiber of her being, realized something. She didn’t know if she would survive André. But damn it, she was going to try.

And André, holding her like a treasure and a weapon all at once, smiled. Let the games begin, my little thief, he thought. Let the games begin.