Vivienne and André walked together down the corridor, and every step felt like a death march to Vivienne. Her heart kept pounding so loud she swore even the cockroaches hiding in the chateau's walls could hear the drum inside her chest. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor, trying not to think about what was waiting ahead.
André, on the other hand, looked far too calm. His face was soft, almost glowing, like a man walking his bride to some paradise garden. His smile was gentle, sweet, saint-like. But Vivienne knew better. She knew this man wasn't taking her to paradise. He was taking her to hell, and he was enjoying every single step of it.
Vivienne's thoughts ran like a mad horse. Please, God, let it be something easy. Maybe he just wants me to scratch his back. Or comb his hair. Or—God help me—just sit on his lap like a doll. Anything but… that.
But she wasn't stupid. She knew deep down he had only one thing on his mind.
