Three days after visiting Helen…

Vivian, who had just been arrested and confined once more within her chambers, lay sprawled across the bed, bored beyond endurance. She had been lying too long, watching the sunlight crawl across the curtains while Carmina sat quietly in a nearby chair.

“What should I do?” Vivian asked, rolling lazily on her bed.

Carmina closed her book with a sigh. “I think it is time you rest, my lady. You were so busy this morning, and both your hands are still in bondage.”

Vivian ignored the advice, staring instead at the ceiling. The items she had ordered for her so-called Library of Forbidden Arts had already arrived days ago, but because of the attack—and her unstable pheromones—this was the first time she could finally tend to them. Still, Carmina had dragged her back here out of worry. Her scent was unpredictable; too much excitement could make it spike.

A knock echoed softly against the door. Carmina straightened. “Yes?”

“The Duke’s secretary, Lady Gretel, is here,” came the maid’s small, nervous voice from outside.

“Let her in,” Vivian said quickly, eager for a change from her boredom.

The red-haired woman entered with composed precision, her polished boots striking the floor in steady rhythm. The faint gleam of her monocle caught the light as she bowed gracefully.

Vivian observed her silently. Still as intimidating as ever, she thought.

“Lady Vivian, how are you feeling?” Gretel asked, her tone calm as she took the chair Carmina had been using. Carmina immediately rose and stepped aside.

“I’m sure I’m not dying,” Vivian replied, her voice dripping with that familiar villainess edge.

Gretel’s expression remained unreadable. “That would be thanks to the quick aid of our medical team,” she said evenly—which, unspoken though it was, confirmed that Vivian had indeed been dying five days ago.

“Hmph!” Vivian crossed her arms, looking away

“I came to discuss the upcoming ball,” Gretel continued.

“His Grace wishes to know if you might consider canceling your attendance.”

Gretel clarified gently. “Given your current condition, His Grace believes it would be best for you to remain in the estate.”

Vivian’s lips tightened. She wanted to agree—but she couldn’t. I need allies who aren’t bound to Father, she thought. “I can’t do that,” she said aloud, voice cold but steady. “I must go. It’s a mandatory event, and if I miss it, they’ll say the Duke’s daughter is too fragile to stand.”

Gretel regarded her quietly, the monocle glinting like a blade. “So you still intend to attend, despite your injuries?” Vivian leaned back against her pillows, smiling faintly. “Of course. I’d rather face a ballroom full of wolves than rot here in my cage.”

 “I understand,” Gretel said evenly, adjusting her monocle. “Then we are still reviewing possible partners for the upcoming ball. However, I must inform you—Lady Lilian Verdeflaur has formally requested to become your partner for the opening dance.” Vivian’s brows rose slightly. “Lady Lilian?” she asked. “Who is Lilian?”

“Lady Lilian Verdeflaur,” Gretel explained patiently. “Daughter of Duchess Vanessa Verdeflaur of the North. She rarely attends social events unless required by duty. You will recognize her easily—she is known for always wearing a mask or a veil.”

“Interesting,” Vivian murmured, lips curving faintly. “A mysterious figure.” Gretel’s gaze softened a little. “You know her already, my lady, though it is best that you remember in your own time.” Vivian nodded thoughtfully. A possible ally, then. I want to meet her.

“Lady Gretel,” she said after a moment, her tone shifting. “Would it be dangerous for me to have a partner at this ball—after what happened? We don’t know if someone might try to bribe or manipulate them in the future.” Gretel inclined her head. “You have a point, my lady.” Vivian tapped her finger against the blanket, eyes narrowing. “Then what if I ask the Duke to be my partner instead?”

Both Gretel and Carmina froze. Their eyes widened, twin mirrors of shock. For a heartbeat, neither spoke. “You… wish His Grace to be your partner?” Gretel asked, her usual composure wavering ever so slightly. Vivian tilted her chin, a hint of mischief flashing behind her calm tone. “Why not? No one would dare approach me then. And if Father wishes to keep an eye on me, it would save him the trouble of sending spies.”

Carmina pressed a hand over her mouth to hide a nervous laugh. Gretel, however, only exhaled slowly, regaining her poise. “Your logic is—unconventional, my lady,” she said at last. “But I suppose that is what makes it yours.” “Well…” Carmina managed after a beat, clearing her throat softly. “The Duke would no doubt be pleased by your decision—but are you truly certain, my lady?”

“Why?” Vivian asked, arching a brow. “You’re scaring me, Carmina.”

Gretel was the one who answered. “You dislike the idea of having a parent as your partner, my lady—so you would rather attend alone.” Ah, I see… like a grade-schooler pretending to be grown and feeling embarrassed to have their parents at school, Vivian thought wryly. “Well, for now, we’ll have to do that. It’s only temporary. If I walk beside the old man, no ambitious noble will come within ten feet of me. Perfect. One more elegant excuse to delay any “prospective husbands.”

“I will inform the Duke of your decision.” 

“Great,” she said aloud, flexing her fingers carefully beneath the lighter bandages. “Four days have passed, and you’re still discussing the same affair? Tell me, did you finally decide, or do nobles enjoy dragging things out forever? “The meeting will resume tomorrow,” Gretel replied, her tone carefully even. “It became… complicated.” Because your father is still too stubborn about old traditions, she thought, watching Vivian’s restlessness with a trace of pity. No wonder she’s bored out of her mind.

Before Vivian could respond, another knock sounded at the door. “Yes?” Carmina called out. A maid’s voice answered softly from the other side. “Lady Vivian, Madam Lily is here to see you.” Vivian noticed the faint stiffness in Gretel’s posture at the name but chose to ignore it. Oh? That reaction’s new. Interesting.

“All right,” she said, rising carefully from the bed. “I’ll be coming down.” 

“Yes, my lady.” The maid’s footsteps retreated down the corridor, fading into the hush of the estate. “Where’s your maid?” Gretel asked. “I let Mary take a day off too,” Vivian replied. “Told her to come back once Helen is able to work.” Gretel sighed, exasperated. “Then let me help you change.” 

“I can handle it,” Vivian refused immediately. “…You? Can handle it?” Gretel’s eyebrow arched. “Do you see yourself? The knot at the back of your dress is out of place.” She moved closer, eyes sharp as a hawk. “You can’t even tie it properly. Some of the clips at the back aren’t even fastened. You look like an abandoned child.”

Vivian stiffened, feeling the sting. Of course she knew how to wear it; she simply couldn’t reach the back alone. The design itself mocked her independence. Still, she said nothing. “Come here,” Gretel said firmly. “Let me help you. And next time, do not let your maids take a day off at the same time.”

With the efficiency of a seasoned attendant, Gretel adjusted the fabric and tied the ribbons neatly. Before that, Vivian had gone to her wardrobe, determined to choose a dress herself. She opened the carved oak doors, scanning rows of silks and satins. After a few moments of indecision, she pulled out a muted blue gown—elegant but practical, the kind she could move in easily. At least this one won’t make me look like a funeral bouquet, she thought dryly.

Gretel, watching from behind, gave a quiet sigh and wordlessly took the gown from her hands, checking the seams and fastenings with the precision of someone who’d been dressing nobility for decades. Carmina, who had been holding back laughter the entire time, took over with the finishing touches, arranging Vivian’s hair with practiced ease.

When they were done, Vivian stood before the mirror, glaring faintly at her reflection. She turned and began walking toward the door, intent on meeting the famous designer waiting below. But she noticed footsteps following her. She stopped and turned around. “Why are you following me?” Gretel’s tone was calm but firm. “We don’t know what might happen, my lady. Since your body is still unstable, it would be best if I remain by your side.” So you can manhandle me like livestock? Vivian thought sourly, but she only turned back toward the hall.

“Fine,” she muttered, resuming her stride. Now, seeing Madam Lily seated in the parlor, Vivian approached with easy grace. Gretel followed just behind her—close enough to be protective, yet silent as ever. When Vivian stopped to greet, Gretel naturally came to her side. Vivian noticed but chose to ignore it.

“Lady Vivian, how are you feeling?” Madam Lily rose to greet her, executing that precise curtsy she reserved only for Vivian. Vivian smiled faintly. “I’m feeling bored, Madam. I’m glad you came to visit me. Another hour in that room and I might’ve died from it.”

Madam Lily laughed softly, her tone like velvet laced with amusement. “Hahaha! You always say such things. Every time I see you, you’ve survived something outrageous.

Vivian blinked, then let a wry smile tug at her lips. The stallion—yes. The wine—unfortunately, mine. And St. Thérèse… Her throat tightened for a beat. That one nearly cost a life. She forced her voice steady, masking the flicker of guilt. “Well, I suppose luck has a strange fondness for me.”

Gretel’s eyes glinted—sharp, calculating, the kind of gaze that could slice through silk. Her stare lingered on Madam Lily’s hand, still resting lightly on Vivian’s arm. For a heartbeat, the air thickened; the rich undertone of red wine stirred faintly—Gretel’s warning, restrained but unmistakable. Across from her, Madam Lily’s calm expression never wavered, yet a slow, grounding weight of fir and warm olives answered back, steady and unyielding.

Madam Lily’s fan fluttered lazily, her eyes sliding toward Gretel with a hint of mischief. “My, my. The Duke’s secretary looks ready to duel me for a touch.” Vivian chuckled lightly, though she had no idea why the room suddenly felt heavier. Did I just walk into a territorial dispute?

Because of the silent clash between Gretel and Madam Lily, the air in the parlor turned almost tangible—thick, charged, and humming. Their scents—red wine and fir with warm olives—twined and strained against each other until something else bloomed between them.

Lavender.

Soft, wild, sweet—but dangerously alluring. It spilled from Vivian without her knowing, her unfiltered scent responding instinctively to the invisible power struggle around her.

Both women froze. Gretel’s breath caught sharply; Madam Lily’s fan halted mid-wave. A tremor flickered behind their composed masks. Oh no, Gretel thought, steadying herself with a quiet inhale. Of all time—it had to be now. Why did I even start this?

If I’d known she was this potent off suppressants, I’d have burned every bottle in the infirmary, Madam Lily cursed inwardly, keeping her smile fixed. Vivian tilted her head, brow furrowing. “Is it just me, or does the room feel… warmer?”

“W–warmer?” Madam Lily’s voice came a bit too high before she regained control. “Perhaps it’s the fire.” The fire of damnation, perhaps, Gretel thought, shifting her stance, shoulders locked against the pulse of lavender that made her skin prickle. “Ah. Must be that.” Vivian stretched slightly, unaware of how the motion made both women’s throats tighten. Strange. It’s like breathing through honey, she thought idly, then brushed it off.

Madam Lily forced a graceful chuckle, tapping her fan once against her palm. “I came to deliver the order you placed after the Spring Collection,” she said, fighting to sound normal. “It’s finished—every piece just as you envisioned.” Vivian brightened instantly. “Oh! That’s wonderful! I’ll use them for the social ball. At least something beautiful will come from all this waiting.” She reached out to touch Madam Lily’s hand with her bandaged fingers, gentle but eager.

A spark leapt in the air.

Gretel, standing behind Vivian’s chair, stiffened visibly, bending slightly as if steadying herself. Saints preserve me, Even her touch carries scent. Vivian glanced back, puzzled. “Are you… bending for some reason?”

“I—checking the hem of your gown, my lady,” Gretel muttered stiffly, eyes averted. Madam Lily tried to breathe evenly, but her own fingers betrayed her, brushing lightly against Vivian’s in return. Behave, damn it. You’re an Alpha, not a fool in heat, she scolded herself silently, keeping her practiced smile.

 Both women mutually regret challenging each other. Neither woman had meant for it to happen, but now both were fighting not to drown in it.

Madam Lily’s fingers, still resting on Vivian’s arm, trembled. Her body swayed forward before she could stop herself, and her head came to rest lightly on Vivian’s shoulder. Saints above, pull yourself together,  Behind the chair, Gretel’s knees buckled. She bent lower, trying to breathe through her nose, then gave up and leaned forward, arms braced around the backrest—until somehow she ended up half-hugging Vivian from behind, her own head resting on the other shoulder. If the Duke walks in, I’ll resign, she thought in horror.

“Ah.” Vivian blinked at the sudden contact, bemused. Weird. Everyone’s acting like I released a gas bomb of etiquette anxiety. What’s gotten into everyone?

Still, she chose to ignore it, her tone brightening again “Anyway, thank you for the delivery, Madam Lily. You’ve just saved me from eternal boredom.”
She lifted the small wrapped box from her desk, offering it out. “And before I forget—this is for you. A little something for the trouble.”

Madam Lily gave a soft laugh that sounded just a little strained. “You never fail to liven a room, Lady Vivian.”“I try,” Vivian said cheerfully. Even while half-mummified, she added inwardly, glancing at her bandaged hands

For a few seconds they remained tangled like that—Madam Lily half-folded over her arm, Gretel curved around her back—before frozen awareness hit them both.
Warm breath brushed the side of Vivian’s throat, then the nape of her neck, as if both women had leaned a fraction too close at once. Their near-touch left a trail of cold goosebumps down her spine, a sensation she couldn’t place. She frowned briefly, unaware of whatever had hovered just shy of her skin.
They jerked upright in perfect, mortified harmony, adjusting skirts with the stiffness of people caught doing something they shouldn’t. The meeting ended quickly after that. With polite smiles that were a little too bright, both women excused themselves almost simultaneously.

Vivian watched their retreating backs, bewildered. Did I say something wrong? Or did the tea go bad?
She sniffed—lavender clung to the room, warm and unruly. “Strange day.”