That was Westley's wine.
Vivienne knew it came from the finest vineyard in the entire Empire—a wine most people couldn't even dream of tasting.
And yet, right now, she didn't want to drink it.
Too bad she didn't have a choice. The black-haired woman seemed to have accepted her fate. Calmly, she asked the young duke, "If I finish this, can I leave?"
Westley gave a soft "Mm."
"All right," she replied. Fine.
Vivienne didn't try to stand up directly. Instead, she lifted her hands, still bound together in handcuffs. "Would you mind?"
Westley said, "Unlock her."
A black-clad bodyguard stepped forward and unlocked the cuffs. Vivienne's hands were finally free.
She moved her stiff wrists a bit and pushed herself up from the carpet. Her hair was tousled from the hood, her complexion a little pale.
Another bodyguard handed her the glass of red wine.
Vivienne took it neatly. "Nothing else added in it, right?"
"No." Westley rested his chin on his hand, eyes fixed on her without blinking. Now that she was standing, she was taller than him sitting on the sofa. "As long as the wine the server brought in wasn't tampered with."
He echoed her own words from earlier.
Vivienne didn't respond. She raised the glass, ready to down it in one go.
But Westley suddenly spoke. "Yshi, did you know? The hallway surveillance was completely destroyed."
So Little Gavin wasn't lying. The cameras really were broken.
Was that why he suspected her based on the timeline?
Vivienne still didn't answer him. The rim of the glass touched her lips.
"Yshi, are you mad at me?"
Why was he suddenly so chatty?
Vivienne finally opened her mouth, her tone cool: "No."
She was just relieved she hadn't pretended to be completely innocent from the beginning—otherwise, she might've slipped up by now.
As she swallowed, she closed her eyes. Her throat moved with the motion. The rich, sweet wine slid from her mouth, down her throat, and into her stomach.
Meanwhile, Westley thought to himself: Her eyelashes are really long.
Just like when she was sitting on the carpet earlier, eyes shut tight—those long lashes had cast soft fan-like shadows across her pale cheeks.
Clink.
Vivienne set the wine glass down. Only a thin layer of red remained at the bottom.
"May I leave now?" she asked.
The two locked eyes for a moment.
Vivienne stared at the young man sitting on the sofa. Under the light, her dark irises glowed faintly amber, the porcelain-blue of her sclera making her look all the more innocent.
If looks could accuse, Westley would've been yanked by the collar and shaken into a wet noodle by now.
[As you wished, I drank it.]
[Are you satisfied now?]
Westley gazed at her.
Vivienne understood. "Waiting for the effect to kick in?"
She didn't press. Just stood quietly where she was.
The room fell silent.
Only Gavin Thornton's screams of agony could still be heard from the study.
Westley admitted to himself that her words were getting under his skin. He tugged at his collar and said to his head bodyguard, Mornan, "Make him quiet down."
Mornan took the order and entered the study.
…
"Westley, you arrogant bas—ah!"
"Let me go! Let me go… you twisted lunatic!"
Cries of pain mixed with cursing, but Gavin's voice soon weakened. The dull, rhythmic thuds of stick against flesh continued—methodical, relentless.
It was hard to listen to.
Vivienne didn't think she was any more resilient than Gavin.
Her gaze drifted vaguely to a pot of lush green plants in the corner of the living room. The leaves shone brightly under the lights.
When can I leave…
Finally, after one last thud, Gavin went completely silent.
Footsteps shuffled outside the study. Mounian returned and leaned in to whisper to Westley, "Your Grace, he's passed out."
"Mm." Westley dismissed the bodyguards, still trying to strike up a conversation. "Yshi, you're really not angry?"
Please stop barking.
Vivienne gave in. This man really wasn't easy to shake off. "Aren't you the one who's angry, Lord Westley?"
His golden eyes flickered.
When Vivienne had left the private lounge because of that boy who tried and failed to sell his looks—he had felt disdain.
No matter her intentions, that impulsive act could've cost her everything.
Vivienne stared at him with disappointment. "Wasn't it you who suddenly turned cold?"
"I…" Westley hesitated.
If this dragged on any longer, he might start digging again—and if he found out even her name was fake, she was done for.
"It's been a while now. Is that enough?" Vivienne asked softly. "Westley?"
Westley's mind jolted. He seemed to hear a faint whisper, nearly imperceptible, like a feather floating on the breeze—soft, elusive.
[Let me go.]
The voice was faint and continuous, like a whale song echoing in the deep sea—low, drawn-out, ancient, mysterious. It lingered on the edge of his consciousness, distant yet undeniable.
All the way from the moment she was captured by Westley's black-clad guards, Vivienne had not used her abilities to resist or escape.
Physically? No point. She wasn't about to try headbutting a wall and calling it a strategy.
Mentally? When she was first pinned at the door, she had already sensed how many people were involved. There was no way she could make it out in one piece.
So she endured—right until she was brought before the final boss.
Now, facing Vivienne's calm yet subtly pleading question, Westley suddenly turned his head, avoiding her gaze. He felt a strange sense of unease rising in his chest.
[But this was her fault.]
[She chose to get involved, then watched from the sidelines.]
[She had the chance to warn him and clear her name, and now she's pretending to be innocent?]
Still…
After a long pause, he said, "You can go."
[Forget it.]
He had invited her to the event in the first place.
[Maybe Ixchel really is just an unrelated bystander.]
Maybe it was just coincidence.
Vivienne's righteously indignant performance had "successfully" persuaded Westley, allowing her to leave in one piece.
The guards at the door gave her a curious glance. Since the Young Duke hadn't issued any orders to detain her further, they didn't stop her.
What did His Grace do to that sentinel?
Why does she look so pale?
Vivienne, on the other hand: …Nope. I need to get out of here fast.
Westley was a high-ranking guide. If she didn't move quickly, he might notice something was wrong with her state.
…
After finally escaping the black-suit security zone by sheer force of will, Vivienne staggered and caught herself against a wall.
She could feel her mental strength slipping out of control—like a tower on the verge of collapse, swaying and cracking. Her once orderly mind was now chaos, twisted by some invisible force.
Something ancient and terrifying stirred beneath the surface—ready to break free from the ice.
Her mental landscape was unraveling.
If she held out any longer, she might be forced into a full-blown third awakening…
She'd already enlisted after her second awakening. If she had a third, and it was discovered, she'd likely lose her freedom for good.
"Ugh—"
The headache was brutal.
She needed a guide.
Now.
Heaven hadn't abandoned her just yet—a figure entered her blurred vision. Not quite a stranger, but not quite a friend either.
But he was a sentinel…
So what?
A sentinel could still be her saving grace!
"J-Jan Squire!"