Page 15 of Black Castle

She felt like throwing up every time he made faces at her when he thought Isadora wasn’t watching. And when his hand, marred with calluses, continued to sneak under the desk to rub at her thigh, she really felt like dying.

She didn’t have the gut to breathe a word. It would be her word against his. Isadora would never have believed her even if she actually saw what he was doing under the table.

“I’m waiting.” Isadora’s voice pulls her out of her thoughts.

Vivienne forces a swallow, shaking her head. “No.”

Isadora hums, taking a slow sip of her wine. “No?” She arches a challenging brow. “Not even about Josh?”

Josh? Who is Josh?

Then Vivienne’s eyes widen. She knows him. The boyfriend. She just never knew Josh was the name.

The air suddenly turns sharp, biting at her skin, her stomach twisting in nerves.

Isadora watches closely, full of patience. But her smile is worse than shouting, worse than rage. It’s clear to Vivienne that Isadora knows about her and her boyfriend. But how? Even if she noticed something a bit weird at the dinner table, that still isn’t enough to draw a conclusion, right?

Wait, does that mean she knew all along and finally had enough at the dinner table?

“Something happened between the two of you, didn’t it?” She tilts her head slightly, watching, waiting.

Vivienne’s pulse slams against her ribs. But she won’t dare deny it. Not when it’s so obvious that she knows. Lighting a fire to your ass and forcing you to confess your darkest secret is Isadora’s favorite thing to do when beating is not in the picture.

“He—he came onto me.” Vivienne forces the words out, recoiling, her voice barely above a whisper. But Isadora hears it anyway.

Isadora silently swirls her wine, her eyes fixed on the red liquid coating the glass, captivated by its movement.

“Did you let him?” she asks, still staring at her wine.

Vivienne’s breath hitches. Her mind screams at her. To say the right word. To thread with utmost caution.

“No,” she shakes her head. “I didn’t. I tried to stop him.”

With a deep breath, Isadora brings the glass to her mouth and takes another measured sip.

“I see,” she nods slowly.

And that is all. There is not a trace of disgust on her face, no anger, no question, and the one Vivienne fears the most—accusation.

There is no accusation.

Vivienne should be relieved by this. But something isn’t right. The calmness unnerves her.

Is Isadora planning to ignore it? Sweep it under the rug like it never happened?

Isadora remains rooted to the door, unmoving. Vivienne risks a glance at her. She is staring into her wineglass again, deep in thought.

Then, after a long, heavy pause, she speaks again. “Well, good night.”

And just like that, she turns and walks out, leaving nothing but the lingering scent of her perfume. But unease remains woven into Vivienne’s nerves.

That ended too quickly. Too smoothly. This isn’t right. Something is off.

The next morning, the smell of roasted coffee and burned toast lingers in the air as Vivienne pulls on her arm warmers, adjusting them over her wrist.

Right outside on the overdue-for-a-trim lawn, Kenji jams to an 80’s pop song in his car.

He has come to pick Vivienne up. One of her favorite authors is hosting a book signing across the city. She has never done one of these before—attend any event. But it is a Saturday. She can’t hang out with Kenji like she always does because he is going for soccer practice for the game coming up.

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