Even after weeks of Annette staying in the Salvador household, the housekeeper and her servants still cast death glares in her direction. For the life of her, she couldn't understand their disdain. She had done nothing but mind her business.
She was walking down the grand staircase while Grace and two other maids trailed behind her, their sharp eyes fixed on her as she passed. The old woman's face was as tight as hardened plastic.
A few days ago, Annette had greeted her—twice—but the woman had bluntly ignored her, looking down on her as though she were nothing.
Which, perhaps, she was.
But no one had the right to treat her as such.
After that, she had sworn off being polite to the woman. The old hag could go to hell, for all she cared.
Her plan for the day was simple: explore the mansion. She had been here long enough—it was only wise to familiarize herself with her surroundings.
She decided to start with the left wing before making her way through the rest of the floors.
Turning on her heel, Annette climbed back up the staircase and headed toward the left wing on the first floor.
The hallway stretched long and wide, dimly lit by elegant candles lining the walls. The only sound was the soft echo of her footsteps against the wooden floor.
From where she stood, there were four doors on each side—most of them locked.
Only the last two at the end of the hall were unlocked.
Carefully, Annette twisted one of the knobs and stepped inside, immediately raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sudden brightness.
After a few seconds, her vision adjusted.
Her breath caught.
Her mouth slowly fell open at the sight before her.
Her legs moved on their own, carrying her forward until she stopped at the foot of a grand pianoforte.
It was massive—the largest she had ever seen. And beautiful.
Its surface gleamed under the light, polished to perfection, as though it had been crafted only yesterday.
Annette couldn't resist.
Her fingers reached out, brushing lightly against the keys—
A shiver ran sharply down her spine.
"Dear gods…" she whispered, quickly pulling her hand back.
"Do you always wander into places you're not invited to?"
Annette gasped and spun around, her eyes widening.
The Viscount stood a few feet away, dressed in a loose shirt and brown trousers, his hair falling effortlessly over his shoulders.
His sharp eyes studied her, like a predator watching its prey.
She forced a smile. "Forgive me, my lord. I was bored and happened upon this room," she said, trying to sound casual. But from the bored look on his face, it was clear she wasn't fooling him.
"Is that so?"
"Yes, my lord. I must apologize again for overstepping." She turned to leave. "I shall take my leave immediately and—"
"Stay."
She froze.
Slowly, she turned back to him. "What?"
"Do not make me repeat myself, Annette."
She swallowed. He didn't look like a man in the mood to be tested and she had no intention of pushing her luck.
"Very well," she replied.
Annette watched in silence as Vincent walked toward the pianoforte, stepping over the stool before lowering himself onto it with ease.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
She was afraid to even breathe too loudly, so she kept her eyes fixed on him.
Vincent rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows before placing his hands lightly on the keys.
"Do you play?"
"The pianoforte?" she asked, the question slipping out before she could stop herself.
He arched a brow.
"Oh… no, I don't. I don't play any instruments," she said with a nervous laugh.
For heaven's sake… what was wrong with her? Why was she behaving like a fool?
"That's quite unfortunate," Vincent said. "I play most instruments—and I play them well. I started learning as a child."
His fingers hovered over the keys before pressing down.
A soft, deep note filled the room, echoing gently against the walls.
"It took me two months to play without mistakes. Tarleth ensured I performed at every ball—he enjoyed boasting to his incompetent acquaintances about how perfect his son was."
Annette stood there, at a loss for words. She didn't know how to respond or why he was suddenly opening up to her.
Was she missing something?
Or was this another game?
"My naive younger self lived for his praise," he continued. "But that didn't last long. I soon realized I was nothing more than a pawn, someone he used to elevate his status."
His fingers moved again, this time weaving a slow, haunting melody through the air.
"I decided I no longer wanted to be controlled. So I broke free… and created my own freedom."
A quiet chuckle escaped him.
"I was fooled once. I made sure it would never happen again."
The music slowed.
His eyes lifted, locking onto hers.
"Everyone knows not to cross me," he said calmly. "I am not a man with patience which I'm sure you're aware of."
His gaze was so intense that she felt her chest tighten.
"I make no exceptions, Annette."
His fingers stilled on the keys, and the room fell into silence. Rising from the stool, he moved to stand directly in front of her.
Annette felt something inside her tremble, but she stubbornly refused to show fear. The Viscount was trying to intimidate her, and even though it was working, she would never let him see it.
She had almost forgotten how tall—how imposing—he was.
Fuck you, she wanted to spit in his face.
His eyes bore into hers. "Do not mistake my kindness for foolishness, Ann. I will not show you mercy."
Annette met his gaze, unflinching. Her fists clenched, her chest rising and falling. "And I will not show you mercy either, Vincent." She stepped closer. "I do not fear you."
A slow grin spread across his lips, his eyes glinting with something dark… something unreadable.
"How bold," he murmured, his hand rising, fingers brushing lightly against her cheek. "Or rather… how foolish."
His grip suddenly tightened as he seized her jaw, pulling her flush against him.
Annette felt his breath against her face, his body heat seeping into her skin. Vampires were meant to be cold—
But Vincent was warm. Far too warm.
Was he truly a vampire?
"Now you've piqued my interest, Ann," he said softly. "I am tempted to rip out your tongue and display it for all of Nox to admire."
His gaze dragged slowly over her face—eyes, nose, lips—before returning to her eyes.
"Fuck you," she snapped, anger flaring. "Not until I rip yours out first."
She dug her nails into the hand gripping her jaw, drawing blood.
Vincent's smile only widened.
He glanced down at the blood coating her fingers.
How delightful, he thought.
Before she could react, he caught two of her fingers and brought them to his mouth.
Her breath hitched.
The sudden warmth—the slow and gently movement of his tongue as he licked the blood away—sent a shock through her entire body.
Her anger shattered. Replaced by something far more dangerous.
Heat.
Confusion.
Something she refused to name.
Her body betrayed her, warmth spreading through her veins as her face flushed, her thoughts scattering.
Vincent slowly released her fingers, a devilish smile still playing on his lips.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
"I'm leaving for a few days," he said casually, as though nothing had happened. "Do not stir up any trouble."
And just like that, he turned and walked out of the room.
Leaving Annette frozen in place. Shaken. Breathless. And utterly undone.