Chapter 4: The Dagger Behind the Porcelain Cup

A flash of lightning ripped through the night sky, casting the stark shadows of the freshly installed iron bars across the bedroom floor.

Vivienne touched the corner of her swollen lip. A sharp throb shot through her skin as her fingertip brushed the split flesh left by Corinne's slap earlier that afternoon. Crusted blood clung to the wound, mingling with the bitter, metallic tang coating the inside of her mouth.

Outside, rolling thunder rattled the windowpanes. Torrential rain hammered relentlessly against the roof of the Vance estate.

Vivienne paced between the bed and the vanity. The wooden grandfather clock chimed ten times. Every passing second felt like a grim countdown to the gallows.

Click.

The slow, deliberate turn of a key echoed from behind the heavy teak door.

Vivienne froze mid-stride, every muscle going rigid. Her eyes locked onto the brass handle as it was pushed down slowly.

The door cracked open a few inches. A slender figure slipped inside with cautious steps, carrying a silver tray draped with a white napkin.

It was Clara—a nineteen-year-old maid whom Vivienne had frequently slipped extra pocket money whenever she struggled to pay for her younger brother’s medical bills.

Clara promptly pulled the door shut behind her and pressed her back against the wood, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her eyes were red and puffy, her hands visibly trembling as she balanced the tray.

"Miss Vivienne..." Clara whispered, her voice hitching with suppressed tears.

The girl hurried over to the vanity and set down a white porcelain teacup, faint curls of steam rising from the chamomile tea inside.

"Please drink this while it's warm, miss, to calm your nerves," Clara urged, dabbing a tear from her cheek with the hem of her apron. "I can't bear seeing you locked in like this. Later... once Mr. Caldwell arrives at the front gate and the guards are distracted, I'll pretend I forgot to bolt the back kitchen door. You can slip out through there."

Vivienne stepped forward, studying the maid's face intently.

"The back kitchen door has been guarded by two armed men since this afternoon, Clara," Vivienne replied in a cool, measured tone. "How do you plan on getting it open?"

"I-I... I asked the guards to run to the front gatehouse for cigarettes," Clara stammered, her fingers nervously twisting behind her apron. Her eyes darted anxiously toward the floor, refusing to meet Vivienne's gaze. "Please trust me, miss. Drink the tea first. Your hands are freezing."

Vivienne reached for the porcelain cup. Warm steam drifted over her face, carrying the sweet floral scent of dried chamomile.

Yet, underneath that soothing fragrance, her nose caught something else. Faint, sharp, with the distinct scent of bitter almonds.

Her forensic accountant instincts kicked in instantly. In her past life, she had audited an insurance fraud case where an executive had been poisoned with a massive dose of chloral hydrate mixed into herbal tea. It had smelled exactly like this.

A single sip was all it would take to knock someone out cold for eight hours.

Vivienne glanced down at Clara's wrist. Peeking out from the rolled-up sleeve of the maid's uniform was a brand-new gold chain bracelet, polished and glittering under the light. A luxury like that was completely out of reach on a low-ranking maid's wages.

Vivienne let out a quiet breath, swallowing down the rage flaring in her chest. This girl hadn't come to help her escape. Clara had taken a bribe from Corinne to ensure her target would be completely incapacitated, unable to fight back when Hector climbed into her bed.

"It smells wonderful," Vivienne murmured softly.

She brought the porcelain cup to her lips, blowing across the surface twice as if preparing to take a sip. Clara let out an audible sigh of relief, her tense shoulders relaxing.

The split second Clara lowered her guard, Vivienne threw her arm forward.

SPLASH!

The scalding hot tea splashed squarely across Clara's eyes and face.

"Ahhh—"

Clara's shriek was cut off before it could fully escape her throat.

Vivienne's left hand grabbed the goose-down pillow from the bed, instantly smothering the maid's face with all the strength she possessed. Her right hand seized Clara's shoulder, slamming the frail body down onto the carpeted floor.

THUD!

They grappled violently on the floor. Clara thrashed in sheer panic, her kicking feet slamming into the vanity. Glass perfume bottles toppled and shattered, releasing a suffocating cloud of heavy floral fragrance.

Vivienne drove her knee into Clara's chest, pressing the pillow down harder until the maid's gasps died out. "Shut up if you value your life," Vivienne whispered coldly into her ear.

Oxygen deprivation quickly took its toll. Clara's frantic struggles weakened, her kicking legs slowing to faint, spasming twitches.

Vivienne didn't waste a heartbeat. She tossed the pillow aside, snatched a heavy silk scarf from the coat rack, and shoved it deep into Clara's mouth as a gag.

Moving with brisk efficiency, she yanked down the gold braided curtain cord and bound Clara's wrists and ankles securely behind her back.

Vivienne dragged the helpless maid into the corner of the room, shoved her into the massive teak wardrobe, and jammed the handles shut from the outside with a heavy wire coat hanger.

Vivienne caught her breath in ragged pants. Cold sweat beaded along her forehead, mingling with the smear of blood on her split lip.

Just as she straightened up, a sickening, raspy laugh drifted down the corridor outside.

"Just unlock the damn door! Tonight she's gonna learn who owns her!" Hector Caldwell's heavy voice boomed, accompanied by the thudding tread of four pairs of combat boots marching down the parquet hall.

Her time was up. The main entrance was completely blocked.

Vivienne whipped around toward the balcony. While the iron bars had been securely welded to the outer railing, the six-foot sliding glass doors hadn't been reinforced yet.

She grabbed the heavy, solid brass desk lamp from the nightstand, yanking the cord from the wall outlet with a sharp tug.

Gripping the lamp's brass neck with both hands, Vivienne swung it with everything she had straight into the glass.

CRASH!

The ten-pound chunk of solid metal shattered the thick glass pane into a thousand jagged pieces, showering the balcony floor in debris.

A blast of freezing, storm-driven gale immediately tore into the room, whipping the silk drapes into a frenzy and blowing out the bedside lamp. Torrential rain drenched the floors and soaked Vivienne to the bone in an instant.

Vivienne leapt over the shattered sill, stepping onto the second-floor balcony ledge. The biting downpour lashed her face, momentarily blinding her.

Directly below the balcony lay the sloped glass canopy of the estate's greenhouse—roughly thirteen feet below where she stood.

BANG!

The bedroom door was kicked off its latches, slamming hard against the wall.

Hector barged in, his silk shirt gaping open to reveal his repulsive, protruding gut. Two armed guards flanked him, holstered handguns resting at their waists.

Hector's eyes bulged at the sight of the trashed, empty bedroom and the gaping hole in the shattered window looking out into the raging storm. His gaze locked onto Vivienne standing on the outer ledge, her white nightgown thrashing wildly in the wind.

"Damn it! Grab her!" Hector roared, his face purpling with rage as he lunged across the glass-littered floor.

Vivienne threw one last glance over her shoulder. She saw Hector lunging forward, his chubby, grasping fingers reaching for the hem of her gown.

Without a second's hesitation, Vivienne stepped off the edge and leapt into the pitch-black night.

CRASH!

A deafening impact shattered the storm.

Her body slammed violently into the greenhouse's reinforced glass canopy. The tempered glass spiderwebbed with a violent screech before collapsing entirely under her weight.

Vivienne plummeted through the dense fronds of ornamental palm trees, crashing down and tumbling hard onto the sodden, muddy lawn beyond the hedge.

Agonizing pain flared through her left ankle, severely sprained from slamming into the canopy's iron framework. Shards of broken glass ripped into her bare soles and sliced open her palms as she braced herself against the rough earth.

Her white silk nightgown was shredded, soaked in black mud and streaked with crimson.

Vivienne bit down on her lip until it bled again, forcing down a scream to avoid giving away her position. Dragging her useless left leg behind her, she forced herself to crawl forward through the rain-soaked brush.

WHEEEEEL—!

The east wing's security alarms shrieked to life, piercing through the roar of thunder.

Blinding floodlights atop the mansion ignited all at once, carving through the curtain of rain and sweeping the estate grounds with harsh white glare.

"She jumped into the garden below!"

Shouts from the guards echoed from the second floor, quickly drowned out by the vicious, frenzied barking of attack hounds in the distance. "Lock down the main gate! Don't let her leave alive!"

Vivienne raised her head from the muddy hollow.

Across the front courtyard, the towering thirteen-foot iron gates were sealed shut, flanked by a dozen burly men armed with assault rifles.

Every path to freedom was cut off.

Vivienne turned her gaze the opposite way. Shrouded in the torrential darkness, a black marble bridge spanned an artificial river, connecting the central gardens directly to the West Wing.

Bastien Vance's private domain.

A forbidden zone heavily patrolled by snipers, where any unauthorized intruder would be shot dead on sight.