Chapter Three-Hundred Two: Viviane the Cleaner

Chapter 302

Viviane the Cleaner

The Shelby Cobra cruised smoothly through the quiet, tree-lined avenues of Greammoom Hills, its low exhaust rumble echoing softly against the stately homes. Fabien turned onto Orchard Street, the streetlights casting long, warm shadows through the dense canopy above. Ahead, the grand silhouette of the Gothic Victorian mansion loomed under the night sky, its dark gables, intricate gingerbread trim, and towering stained-glass windows illuminated by the soft moonlight.

Fabien guided the car along the curb and brought it to a gentle stop right in front of the grand rosebush entrance. He cut the ignition. Rounding the front bumper, he opened the passenger door with easy, practiced charm and offered Lena his hand.

Lena smiled shyly, taking his hand as she stepped out into the cool evening air, clutching her small brown paper pharmacy bag. As they strolled side by side down the stone path toward the porch, the quiet night air came alive around them. Tiny, luminous fairies hovered and fluttered over the sprawling flowerbeds, their gossamer wings leaving delicate trails of shimmering gold light that danced across the rose petals and lush greenery.

They strolled past the three-tier fountain and up the steps.

Lena: “Thanks, Fabien. I had a great time.”

She giggled and fiddled with her locket using her free hand.

Fabien smirked.

Fabien: “Don’t mention it.”

When the door opened, Madelyn was there with Ashley and looked relieved to see her back home and safe. Lena stepped inside.

Lena: “Night, Fabien…”

She said softly.

Fabien: “Night.”

He gave her a two-finger salute.

Fabien: “Were you… waiting for her?”

He laughed.

Ashley: “Of course we were! She’s our friend, and it’s late at night!”

They declared. Fabien leaned on the door, crossing his ankles.

Fabien: “Yeah? Did you hear your boyfriend out spying on you?”

He smirked and nodded to Blair on the patio, clutching a Panasonic video camera. Fabien snorted.

Ashley went pale when they saw Blair, and Madelyn turned red hot with fury.

Ashley: “B-Blair?! What are you doing here?! GO AWAY!”

They cried and glared at him.

Madelyn: “Don’t make me get the broom again!”

She hissed at Blair, reaching for the broomstick in the closet by the door.

Blair: “I WAS FILMING FOR MY MUSIC VIDEO!! Oh, and remember those pin-ups you did for Jordi!? Well, he left those behind! I got them all before his old house burned down!”

He grinned. Fabien slapped his legs and laughed. Ashley’s heart sank, and they felt sick to their stomach.

Ashley: “Wh-What?!”

They were too stunned to speak and felt nausea wash over them. Madelyn glared at Blair.

Madelyn: “GIVE THOSE BACK, YOU DIRTY PERVERT!”

She whacked him squarely over the head with the broomstick. Blair let out a loud, high-pitched wail, clutching his head as tears burst from his eyes.

Blair: “I DON’T HAVE THEM NOW!!!”

Fabien: “Blair, uh, are you gonna tell her who gave you the idea for you to make an album?”

Blair turned to Fabien.

Blair: “I DID!!”

Fabien feigned sadness.

Fabien: “Non, mon ami, I gave it to you to win her heart over!”

Ashley: “...Wh-What?! Why would you do that?!”

They knitted their eyebrows.

Fabien: “Why? Hahahaha, are you that stupid?”

He shook his head.

Fabien: “Oh wait, you thought Jordi loved you… The only people who believed that are you, Blair, and Jiro.”

He rolled his eyes and laughed.

Ashley: “Why are you doing this to me?”

Fabien: “You hurt Celeste. That’s why.”

He said as his smirk faded. Ashley’s eyes widened with genuine shock.

Ashley: “What? What are you talking about? What did I do to Celeste?”

They knitted their eyebrows. Fabien looked at them in complete bewilderment, genuinely baffled by their reaction.

Fabien: “Mon Dieu, you are dumb; no wonder you and Blair belong together.”

He snapped. Ashley recoiled at his harsh words.

Fabien: “You ghosted her when you got with Butter Fairy—Jordi’s replacement.”

He spat.

Ashley: “Ghosted?! What does that mean? What do you mean by Butter Fairy?”

They stammered in genuine confusion. Fabien gaped at them, then laughed.

Fabien: “Oh my God. Blair asks similar questions. I fucking love it.”

He scoffed, brushing his leather jacket back to place his hands on his hips as he laughed bitterly.

Madelyn: “Hey, there’s no need to be a dick here. What’s your problem? What do you mean Ashley ghosted Celeste? She never came around here either, so.”

She countered. Fabien turned to her, smirking. He blew air through his parted lips and shook his head.

Fabien: “Bon, fée du beurre, it’s funny how the onus is now on Celeste to come here. It’s never Fatley’s fault. Not her fault she got with Jordi despite Jordi clearly being uninterested, and not her fault Lazaros dumped her fatass. It’s someone else’s.”

He stuck his tongue out mockingly. Ashley flinched from the sting of his words.

Ashley: “If Celeste was hurt with me, why didn’t she tell me? I just thought she didn’t want to be friends anymore and was busy…I know she lives a really busy life. There’s no need to be mean to me and bring up that stuff from the past!”

They cried.

Fabien: “Because… Celeste struggles with that? Shouldn’t you know that?!”

He demanded, his frustration spiking.

Ashley: “I-I don’t know? I didn’t realize that!”

They sobbed.

Ashley: “I’m sorry! I didn’t know I was hurting her! If there’s anything I can do to fix this, let me know!”

They pleaded. Fabien threw his hands up in disbelief and laughed harshly.

Fabien: “Why on Reona do you suddenly care now when you didn’t give a damn before?”

Ashley: “What do you mean? How would I know she was hurt by me if I wasn’t made aware of it?! I didn’t mean to hurt her! I just thought she was busy with her life and I was busy with mine, and we were living different lives!”

They cried.

Fabien gave a slow nod, a dry smile touching his lips.

Fabien: “I see. So that’s how it is. I’d like to point out you made a cake for Lena getting her new home but not one for Celeste.”

He swirled his index finger around.

Ashley: “Huh? Celeste got a new home, too? If I had known that, I would have baked a cake for her, too!”

They tilted their head. Fabien covered his eyes with both hands, rubbing his temples in utter exhaustion.

Fabien: “Mon Dieu… I don’t have the patience of Tristan to deal with this bullshit.”

He muttered.

Fabien: “You would have known that if you kept in touch with her. But no—you went with Butter Fairy and left her in the dust.”

He said flatly.

Ashley: “It wasn’t like that! After Oakhaven and… what happened to Sylvia… I… needed space, and I couldn’t be around Jordi anymore, so I guess I kinda drifted from your group… we live totally different lives…”

Their voice trailed off as they stared down at their feet.

Fabien: “You saw me with Blair the other day. You could have come out to ask me about her. You didn’t. Don’t give me those saccharine words. You don’t want to be around her.”

He said firmly, glaring at them.

Ashley: “You were being mean to me, and Blair was there!”

They cried. Fabien glowered at them.

Fabien: “I see.”

He said coldly.

Fabien: “So be it. That cemented my giving Blair the idea to make a music album for you.”

He smirked.

Ashley: “If Celeste and me had just talked, this could have been resolved; there’s no need to be mean! Besides, it seems like our friendship fizzled out anyway, and it seems she doesn’t wanna be friends anymore, so leave me alone!”

They cried. Fabien snickered and shook his head.

Fabien: “Oh, I want nothing to do with you, but your boyfriend… is another story.”

He chuckled darkly.

Ashley: “He’s not my boyfriend, and good! Have your fun with Blair!”

They cried and went back inside; Madelyn followed, her arm around them. Fabien grinned devilishly.

Blair jogged up to Fabien, tears running down his face and snot dripping from his nose.

Blair: “Fabien, you didn’t give me the idea for the music videos! THAT WAS ME!”

He cried and stomped his feet.

Fabien: “Oh, I know that.”

He laughed.

Blair: “And you’re gonna have to wait to see it, but I think you’ll like it!”

He nodded, drying his eyes.

Fabien: “That was a quick recovery.”

He muttered and smiled.

Fabien: “Oui, mon ami. I believe it will be a treasure.”

~

The deep rumble of the 1970 Shelby Mustang Cobra’s engine smoothed into a soft idle purr as Fabien turned onto Juniper Street. He guided the muscle car into his driveway and stopped. Cutting the ignition, the quiet of the night settled over the neighborhood. He stepped out onto the pavement, shut the heavy driver’s door behind him, and made his way up the front walkway.

Reaching the front door, Fabien pulled out his key ring, slid the key into the lock, and turned it with a familiar click. He pushed the door open and stepped into the warm entryway, letting the door latch shut behind him. He shrugged out of his leather jacket and hung it by the entrance. Standing in the doorway, he pulled off his cowboy boots and tossed them aside, then pulled off his clean black socks and tossed them into the hamper, letting his toes fan out as he relaxed for the night.

He unbuttoned his cuffs and smoothly rolled up the sleeves of his Western shirt to his elbows. He walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, reached inside, and pulled out an ice-cold bottle of beer.

He twisted the cap off and took a long, refreshing swallow. He set the bottle down on the counter for a moment. He then took his beer, sauntered into the living room, grabbed the TV remote from the coffee table, and sank into the soft cushions of the couch. He kicked his bare feet up onto the coffee table, took another sip of beer, and turned on the TV, letting the screen’s low glow wash over the quiet room.

Celeste’s head suddenly poked out from behind the arm of the sofa, a mischief-filled grin on her face. Fabien smirked, pretending not to hear her. She wore her black bra and panties. Before he could react, she darted over to his bare feet resting on the coffee table and ran her nails down his soles.

Fabien: “AUGH! WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! CEHEHEHEHELESTE!!”

Fabien jerked his legs back and burst out laughing, his composure immediately shattering. He gasped for air, trying to pull his feet out of her reach.

Celeste: “Gotcha!”

She giggled, swiftly locking her strong arm firm and secure over both of his ankles, pinning his feet in place. She leaned in closer and began vigorously scribbling her fingernails all over his soft, bare soles, relentlessly attacking the sensitive arches and heels.

Fabien: “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! CEHEHEHEHEHEHEHELESTE! NOHOHOHOHO!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

He squealed and writhed, hopelessly thrashing his legs against her unbreakable grip as the unbearable tickling sent him into helpless fits of laughter.

Celeste grinned mischievously and wiggled her fingers, shifting her attack right to the base of his bare toes. She slid her fingernails right in between his toes, teasing the ultra-sensitive skin in the narrow gaps.

Fabien: “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! NON! NON! NOT THEHEHEHEHEHEHERE! AHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

He shrieked at the top of his lungs, laughing uncontrollably as his whole body jolted. His head tossed back against the couch cushions, his voice echoing loudly through the living room as Celeste mercilessly tickled between every single toe.

Celeste: “What’s the matter, Fab?”

She teased, wiggling her digits even faster back and forth between his toes.

Fabien: “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! STOHOHOHOP! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

Tears welled up in the corners of Fabien’s eyes and spilled down his cheeks as the relentless tickling intensified. His body buckled and twitched in helpless laughter, his breath coming in ragged, wheezing gasps as Celeste’s fingers continued their merciless assault on his bare soles and between his toes.

Fabien: “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! CELESTE, PLEASE! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! I CAN’T BREA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! TH-THAHAHAHAHAHAT TICKLES TOO HAHAHAHAHAHA MUCH! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

Celeste only giggled louder, refusing to loosen her grip as she dug her nails right into his ultra-sensitive arches, sending him into absolute hysterics.

Fabien: “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! PLEASE, CELESTE! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! NO MORE, NO MORE! I’M BEGGING YOU! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

Celeste finally let out a soft laugh and pulled her hands back, releasing his legs. Fabien collapsed completely against the sofa cushions, his chest heaving up and down in heavy, ragged gasps. He wiped tears of laughter from his eyes, letting out breathless, residual giggles as he tried to regain control of his breathing.

Leaning over him softly, Celeste gently caressed his chest, her fingers moving in calm, soothing circles. Fabien gazed up at her with a tender, fond expression, his breath slowly evening out under her affectionate touch. Softly, she lowered her head and pressed her lips to his, pulling him into a deep, tender kiss that lingered as he relaxed into the cushions.

Without breaking the kiss, Fabien wrapped his arms around her waist and slowly rose from the couch, lifting Celeste with effortless ease. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her fingers lingering in his hair as their lips remained locked in a deep, passionate rhythm. Holding her close against his chest, Fabien navigated blindly through the softly lit living room and down the quiet hallway toward their bedroom, neither of them willing to break the embrace for even a single second.

As they reached the bedroom, Fabien set Celeste down gently beside the bed, their lips remaining locked in a deep, passionate rhythm. Her hands worked deftly at the buttons of his Western shirt, undoing them one by one until the fabric parted. She slid her fingers inside, feeling the warmth of his chest, then brushed the shirt past his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

Slowly, they broke the kiss and rested their foreheads together as heavy, ragged breathing filled the quiet room. They gazed deeply into each other’s eyes, flushed and panting in the dim light. Celeste saw his hardness poking through his jeans. With steady hands, Celeste unbuckled his belt, unsnapped his jeans, and pulled them down, letting them fall to the floor where they pooled at his legs. Celeste tugged at the waistband of his briefs and pulled those down.

She gazed at his beautifully sculpted ivory cock with a nice pink tip and felt her feminine core moisten, needing him in her.

Fabien held her close and reached behind her to unclip her bra. He brushed the straps over her shoulders and gazed at her large breasts with their dark brown taut nipples. He laid her back, took one breast in his mouth and sucked on her nipple, swirling his tongue around it. Celeste raised her head and kissed his shoulder. She raked her fingers through his soft, white hair, loving the feeling of his warm tongue on her hard nipple. Fabien pulled away and licked his fingertips. He trailed his hand down her panties. He slid his two fingers in and pushed them against her swollen clitoris.

His fingers moved only a couple of inches, in and out. Celeste gasped and grabbed his shoulders, lightly digging her nails in. Her hips bounced on the bed as she coaxed herself toward her orgasm.

Celeste: “F-Fab!”

Fabien used his free hand to slide her panties off, leaving no barrier. Celeste was so wet that it dampened their bedsheets.

Celeste: “Fabien, put it in me! I fucking need it!”

She whined. Fabien chuckled.

Fabien: “Comme tu veux, ma chérie…”

He grabbed her by the waist and gave it to her. He slid his cock inside and pounded in her, her cock ramming deep and rough, as she wanted it. Her large breasts bounced with each powerful thrust.

Fabien: “Oh, Celeste…”

He panted as he thrust in harder.

Fabien: “Tu aimes ma bite en toi?”

He moaned as he gave it to her.

Celeste: “More, Fabien! I want it harder, faster!”

She moaned.

Celeste arched her back as she felt her orgasm rip through her body. Fabien could feel her pussy clenching around him. He rammed her again, slamming into her, cupping her large breasts, and squeezing them. Fabien grunted when he climaxed and came hard inside her. His cum shot out of him in waves of pure sensation.

He gently pulled out of Celeste. He dropped a kiss on Celeste’s lips.

The two rose from bed and stepped into the bathroom together, the warm steam quickly filling the space as the shower water cascaded down. Standing beneath the steady stream, they washed off, letting the soothing water rinse away the day’s exhaustion. They shared a peaceful, quiet moment under the warmth, enjoying each other's tender presence before turning off the faucet and drying off.

Returning to the bedroom, Fabien noticed the damp bedsheets. He stripped the used linens off the mattress and tossed them aside, replacing them with a crisp, fresh, clean set. Fabien pulled on comfortable green plaid pajama pants, while Celeste slipped into a black tank top and matching black panties. With the bed freshly made, he and Celeste climbed beneath the covers, holding each other close as they settled down comfortably.

Celeste snuggled in close against Fabien, resting her head gently on his chest. She closed her eyes and listened to the calm, steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Fabien smiled warmly, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and pulled her close.

Fabien: “I dropped Lena off at Fatley’s house.”

Celeste paused and looked up at him.

Celeste: “Why?”

Fabien: “I ran into her at AuraCare. She wanted to go to a nightclub. I took her to The Electric Velvet.”

Celeste: “Why did you?”

Fabien shrugged.

Fabien: “She wanted to go, and I don’t think Fatley or Butter Fairy is going to take her. Fatley’s fatass is on Planet Food, and Butter Fairy puts her on a pedestal.”

He explained.

Fabien: “Speaking of Fatley, I told her I planted the idea of Blair making that fuckass album for her. She asked why. I told her why. I told her she hurt you and I am going to make her pay.”

He stated.

Fabien: “She didn’t know what ghosting meant… or why you said nothing. She doesn’t understand you, Celeste. All she made were a fuckton of excuses: she can’t be around you because of Jordi, and didn’t know you moved in with me. Where is this chick’s head anyway?”

He rolled his eyes.

Fabien: “She didn’t know you struggle with telling people how you feel.”

He said softly. Celeste’s eyelashes dipped.

Celeste: “This is why I didn’t talk to them. What’s the point? If they cared, they would have known I moved in with you months ago.”

She sighed.

Fabien: “My thoughts exactly.”

He rubbed her shoulder and kissed her head.

Fabien: “I did what I wanted to do to get my message across, and I’m done with it.”

Celeste looked up at him.

Celeste: “It never bothered me, Fab.”

Fabien flicked his gaze on her and held her tighter.

Fabien: “Yes, it did, chérie. Unlike that fatass, I know you.”

He knitted his eyebrows. Celeste rested her cheek back against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat as a quiet smile touched her lips.

Celeste: “I know you do, Fabien. That’s why I love you.”

Fabien smiled.

Fabien: “I love you, too, mon chaton.”

He murmured, and the two kissed.

Celeste remained quiet for a beat, her fingers tracing absentminded patterns against his chest as she processed his words. Fabien shivered and let out a soft laugh. She let out a soft sigh, her voice gentle and even in the quiet room.

Celeste: “You didn’t have to do all that for me, Fabien… but thank you.”

As they pulled back, a tiny shadow scrambled onto the bed. Ashley, Fabien’s seven-week-old black kitten, pounced up onto the mattress with a soft squeak. She padded across the blankets, her small golden eyes glowing softly in the dim bedroom light, then settled against Fabien’s shoulder and curled into a tiny, purring ball of black fur.

~

The warm Mediterranean breeze swept off the coastal waters of Clerteaux, filtering through the open terrace doors of the Beaumont estate. Inside the study, Narcisse Beaumont sat composed behind his mahogany desk, a porcelain teacup resting on a silver saucer beside him. He looked every inch the immaculate patrician in his tailored plum suit, dark plum silk cravat, a white crisp shirt with a stand-up collar, and white loafers.

A discreet knock sounded at the heavy double doors before Armand admitted their visitor, bowing slightly before withdrawing into the corridor.

Viviane Lezard stepped onto the polished parquet floor. Despite the lingering humidity clinging to the stone cliffs outside, her porcelain-pale appearance remained immaculate. Her dark Gothic dress hung without a crease, and her black-lacquered nails were neatly interlocked against her lace-trimmed bodice.

Her snow-white hair was framed in neat bangs across her forehead before spilling into ringlets that hung beside her cheeks, anchored by an oversized black velvet bow at the crown. Around wide, ice-blue eyes, heavy black eyeliner flared outward in sharp, jagged wings like raven feathers, framing a gaze that flickered with wicked amusement. Dark lipstick mirrored the same jet tone, curving into a sly, guarded smirk.

Dressed in mourning black from neck to knees, she wore a Victorian-style, high-collared frock with a soft bow, snug long sleeves, and a delicately patterned sash cinching her waist. Her flared skirt had a lace trim, standing out strikingly against crisp white tights, all completed with a pair of polished Mary Janes.

Viviane: “Monsieur Beaumont…”

She breathed, her wide eyes instantly locking onto him with reverent adoration. A faint blush kissed her cheeks as she offered a precise, doll-like curtsy.

Viviane: “I came the moment the site was secured.”

Narcisse did not look up immediately, taking a measured sip of his tea before setting the cup down with a light ceramic clink. He rested his chin on tented fingers and leveled his gaze at her, offering the faintest tilt of a smile—cool, calculated, and just enough to send a ripple of excitement through her chest.

Narcisse: “You are prompt, Viviane.”

He said, his voice measured and velvet-smooth.

Narcisse: “And the clinic?”

Viviane: “It’s gone.”

She replied eagerly, taking two soft steps forward, her Mary Janes making hardly a sound.

Viviane: “The municipal authorities in the lower district believe it was merely a catastrophic gas rupture in the basement wing. Nothing of interest survived.”

Narcisse: “That’s correct. Nothing worthy survived.”

He chuckled.

Narcisse: “And our dear friend Dougal Springer? Did you dispose of that worthless behemoth?”

He inquired, raising a single brow.

Narcisse: “A man of his... conspicuous mass rarely leaves behind an ambiguous presence, even amidst rubble, not unlike how he lived his life before I put him out of his misery as well as mine. He was an absolute waste of space.”

At the mention of her work, Viviane’s eyes lit with manic enthusiasm. She clasped her hands tightly under her chin, leaning forward like a schoolgirl recounting a triumph.

Viviane: “Oh, Monsieur, he was an absolute chore, but I took care of every single ounce for you.”

She said, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial purr.

Viviane: “The blast trapped him under the collapsed masonry of the examination suite, but the fire didn’t take cleanly—there was simply far too much adipose tissue. When the concrete slabs were pulled off him, the heat had essentially rendered the subcutaneous fat, making the floor dreadfully slippery. I had to mind the hems of my stockings!”

Narcisse listened in silence, his expression unreadable, letting her spill the details she was so desperate to share.

Viviane: “He must have weighed close to a hundred and sixty kilos!”

She continued brightly, gesturing with delicate, black-tipped fingers.

Narcisse: “No, ma chérie, he weighed more than that.”

He muttered. Viviane smiled with a faint blush.

Viviane: “Moving him whole through the service corridor was completely out of the question. So, I set to work right there on the subfloor. I began at the ball-and-socket joints—the hips were the most stubborn because of the sheer density of muscle and fat layers —so I used the heavy reciprocating bone saw from my kit. The sound was dreadfully wet, but the blade cut true once I cleared the connective ligaments.”

She paused, watching Narcisse’s face hungrily, searching for any flicker of approval.

Viviane: “I separated the limbs into eight manageable portions, drained the remaining vascular fluids directly into the fractured storm drain beneath the tiles, and treated the torso. An obese thoracic cavity presents such unique buoyancy issues with chemical dissolution, you see. I had to open the sternum, split the rib cage in half, and pack the visceral core with concentrated sodium hydroxide pellets before sealing the segments in reinforced poly drums. By the time I poured in the boiling water to activate the lye, the saponification process did the rest. Within three hours, Dougal Springer was reduced to nothing more than a sterile, soap-like sludge that washed right out into the sea.”

She drew a soft breath, smoothing the skirt of her dress with a proud, delicate pat.

Viviane: “Not a hair, not a dental fragment, not a drop of marrow left behind for the gendarmes to catalog. Your name remains completely untouched.”

Narcisse leaned back slightly in his leather armchair, regarding her with quiet satisfaction. He knew precisely how much value lay in an operative who executed butchery with the delicacy of an artisan—and who looked at him as though he were the center of her universe.

Narcisse: “Thorough… I couldn’t have wasted another minute looking at that fat thing. I already did to torment my naughty nephew, but I think Tristan greatly overestimated him.”

He said softly, his voice carrying the calm authority she craved.

Narcisse: “Exemplary work, Viviane.”

A shiver of sheer delight ran through her, her cheeks flushing a deeper pink.

Viviane: “Anything for you, Monsieur Beaumont. Truly. Anything at all.”

Narcisse gave a subtle, dismissive nod.

Narcisse smoothly rose from his mahogany desk, smoothing the front of his suit. He motioned toward the grand double doors of his study.

Narcisse: “Join me in the salon, Viviane.”

Viviane’s eyes lit up with quiet delight, and she curtsied once more before following close behind him as he glided down the corridor into the spacious, opulent salon.

As they entered, Armand stepped forward silently, holding a polished silver tray with an elegant box of black Sobranie Cocktail cigarettes and a crystal lighter. Narcisse reached out with practiced grace and took a slender black cigarette from the tray.

Armand stepped forward with the lighter and flicked it open, producing a small, steady flame. Narcisse leaned in slightly, resting the tip of the black Sobranie cigarette in the center of the light, and took a gentle draw until the end glowed a soft crimson. He leaned back, exhaling a thin, fragrant ribbon of smoke into the salon’s warm air.

Armand: “Shall I fetch a bottle of the vintage wine from the cellar for you and Mademoiselle Lezard, Monsieur?”

He asked, bowing his head respectfully as he closed the lighter.

Narcisse: “Yes, Armand. The ‘72 cabernet will suit the occasion nicely.”

He replied calmly, waving a dismissive hand as Armand bowed once more and retreated silently toward the cellar stairs.

Viviane sat across from him, her wide ice-blue eyes fixed entirely on Narcisse. A deep, rosy blush spread across her pale cheeks as she watched the slow, deliberate motion of his hands. Every drag he took from the black Sobranie cigarette seemed to hypnotize her, and she leaned back into the velvet cushions with a faint, adoring sigh, completely enamored by his effortless poise and commanding elegance.

As Narcisse relaxed into his chair, Viviane’s gaze drifted toward the grand display along the salon’s oak-paneled wall. Mounted high above were immaculate head trophies of rhinos, zebras, and massive Cape buffalo, their preserved features stark and commanding. Beneath them, framed photographs documented Narcisse’s long history of big-game hunts. In several crisp prints, Narcisse stood proudly with his rifle, posing beside fallen rhinos, giraffes, baboons, hippos, and zebras under the harsh sun of the distant Nandrasana.

Beside those hung older sepia photographs of a young Narcisse standing side by side with his father, Gaston, both posing solemnly amid their own prized hunts.

A few moments later, the heavy cellar door creaked open, and Armand stepped back into the salon carrying a dusty 1972 Cabernet Sauvignon along with two crystal wine glasses on a polished silver tray. He approached smoothly and set the glasses on the low table between Narcisse and Viviane. With practiced precision, Armand uncorked the bottle, letting the rich, fruity aroma waft through the air before carefully pouring a deep red glass for Viviane, then another for Narcisse.

Armand: “The 1972 Cabernet Sauvignon, Monsieur. Mademoiselle.”

He bowed respectfully and stepped back into the corridor’s shadows. Viviane lifted her glass, admiring the deep crimson hue in the soft lighting before looking back up at Narcisse with adoration.

She brought the crystal glass to her lips and took a slow, delicate sip of the vintage wine. The rich cabernet washed over her tongue, but her senses were entirely focused on Narcisse. Over the rim of her glass, her wide, ice-blue eyes remained adoringly fixed on him, drinking in every detail of his relaxed yet regal posture as he casually brought his own glass to his lips and took a smooth sip. He flicked his gaze to her.

Narcisse: “Is something on your mind, ma petite perle?”

Viviane shook her head.

Viviane: “N-Nothing, Monsieur…”

She murmured.

Narcisse lifted his glass again, but he did not drink right away. Instead, he swirled the liquid lazily before shifting his gaze directly back to Viviane. His white hair fell across his brow in soft waves, and his eyes were sharp, calculating, and laced with that theatrical, disarming charm.

Narcisse: “You are uncharacteristically quiet, ma petite perle…”

He murmured, the sweet, heavy scent of his gardenia cologne drifting forward as he leaned in toward her. A slender curl of gray smoke from his Sobranie cigarette drifted lazily between them. His lips curved into an indulgent, knowing smirk, his voice dipping into a low, private velvet that seemed to command absolute honesty.

Narcisse: “Your eyes betray you…”

He purred gently, tilting his head to study the faint blush dusting her porcelain cheeks.

Narcisse: “Tell me… Is there something on your mind, Viviane?”

A deeper crimson flush spread across Viviane’s cheeks as she lowered her eyes for a brief, bashful moment, her black-lacquered fingers tightening around the stem of her crystal glass.

Viviane: “N-Nothing untoward, Monsieur…”

She admitted in a timid, velvet whisper, looking back up at him through her dark lashes with breathless reverence.

Viviane: “I… I was merely lost in contemplating your absolute brilliance and magnificence. To witness your vision unfold so flawlessly… it fills my entire heart with boundless adoration. My life, my hands, my very existence are entirely devoted to serving you.”

Narcisse gazed at her and a wide smile spread across his face.

Narcisse: “Music to my ears.”

He chuckled and took another drag. He stared at her.

Narcisse: “I don’t feel that many appreciate the lengths I go to for them, so hearing that… is a breath of fresh air.”

He exhaled a plume of smoke.

Narcisse tapped some ash into the crystal tray.

Narcisse: “I might be needing your services sooner rather than later.”

He began.

Narcisse: “Victor thinks he can move on from Charlotte with this useless fat pig. He can think again.”

He said as his jaw tightened.

Narcisse: “True, this Jasper fellow isn’t as tall as the other useless pigfuck, but they’re in the same league.”

He said, his right eye twitching.

Narcisse: “And my naughty little nephew thinks he can get them out of there… As if that will stop me!”

He laughed bitterly.

Viviane’s ice-blue eyes sparkled with unhinged delight, her smile widening to reveal a flash of white teeth against her dark lipstick. She leaned across the table, her hands trembling slightly with eager anticipation as she locked her gaze onto Narcisse.

Viviane: “Oh, Monsieur Beaumont, please say the word! It would be my absolute honor and supreme pleasure to rid you of such foul, irritating eyesores!”

She breathed, her voice a breathless, ecstatic purr as her black-lacquered nails pressed tightly against her chest.

Viviane: “When you dispose of Jasper, I shall carve, dissolve, and erase every single obstacle from your path until not a trace remains to bother you ever again!”

Narcisse nodded in approval, delighted to see her enthusiasm.

Narcisse: “I will let you know, ma petite perle.”

Charlotte stepped into the salon, draped in a floor-length, dark cyan gown that exposed her shoulders.

Viviane: “Hello, Madame Trémaux.”

Charlotte: “It’s Beaumont. I’m not married to Victor anymore; Narcisse is in his head.”

She said sharply. Narcisse shook his head and clenched his teeth.

Charlotte: “Still wasting your time trying to dispose of Victor’s new doughboy, Narcisse? Papa would be disappointed in you.”

She scoffed. Narcisse’s grip on the wine glass noticeably stiffened.

Narcisse: “Well, Charlotte, YOU married him.”

He laughed bitterly.

Charlotte: “I was a fool to marry him. Nothing good came out of that marriage for me…”

She scowled.

Charlotte: “Do whatever you want, Narcisse, but I don’t want Victor. He’s yours.”

She spat and stormed out.

Narcisse stared at the doorway where she had disappeared, his chest heaving as silent rage boiled beneath his refined exterior. He seethed at his older sister, her sharp words echoing through his head and cutting straight to his pride. His fingers locked around the stem of the crystal wine glass, his grip tightening uncontrollably until the delicate glass shattered violently in his palm.

The sharp shards pierced his skin, drawing deep crimson blood that mingled with the dark Cabernet. Unbothered by the sudden sting, Narcisse simply glared ahead, his hand trembling with fury as droplets of blood fell from his fingers and dripped onto the pristine carpet below.

Viviane gasped in horror, the sudden spray of crimson shattering her quiet adoration. She immediately set her wine glass on the table and rushed to Narcisse’s side, dropping to her knees beside his chair.

Viviane: “Monsieur Beaumont!”

She gasped, her voice trembling with concern as she gently took his bleeding hand in hers. With careful, precise movements, her dark-lacquered fingernails pinched each fragment of broken crystal, pulling the sharp glass shards from his palm one by one and setting them on the silver tray. She watched his face attentively, her ice-blue eyes filled with fierce devotion as she tended to his wounded hand.

Gently, Viviane clasped both of her hands around Narcisse’s bleeding palm. A soft, vibrant blue glow emanated from her hands, spreading soothing warmth over his torn skin. As the ethereal azure light washed over the cuts, the bleeding stopped instantly, and the deep lacerations knitted back together smoothly, leaving no scar behind.

Narcisse gazed down into her wide, ice-blue eyes, his expression softening slightly as he looked at the devoted young woman who had just healed his hand without a second thought.