Vivienne walked toward the stables like a woman walking to her death. Her heart was racing so fast it could have broken out of her chest, sprinted away, and left her body to rot behind. Every step felt heavier than the last. She wanted to turn back, to pretend she had suddenly caught the plague or had both legs broken, but no. She had to go. Because André would come looking, smiling that sickly sweet smile, and she would rather burn alive than deal with that in front of the maids again.
She could already hear the sound of horses neighing from afar. The smell of hay, mixed with that sharp, clean scent of saddle polish, filled the cold morning air. It wasn't bad. It smelled rich. Like the scent of money and power — two things she wanted but never had enough of.
When she finally stepped into the stables, her jaw nearly fell to the floor.
