Chaos Girl Rewrites the Script novel Chapter 610

Cyril seamlessly portioned out the food while Alaric placed the glass of juice squarely in front of the middle chair. Then, at the exact same time, both men looked up and locked their gaze on Vivienne.

"Come here."

...

A deeply unsettling feeling washed over Vivienne. Both of their expressions were utterly, terrifyingly serious, and she couldn't quite put her finger on what felt so entirely wrong about this.

Cyril politely pulled out a chair for her. Seeing her stubbornly rooted to the spot, he feigned confusion. "What's wrong? Did you lose your appetite?"

Alaric's grip on his steak knife paused mid-air.

Had she lost her appetite because the mood lighting was gone, or because there was suddenly a third wheel at the table?

"Eating right before bed makes you gain weight. You guys enjoy. I'm going to sleep."

She had practically shaved years off her life just trying to survive tonight; there was zero chance she could hold any food down. She couldn't shake this violently bad premonition, and since Alaric clearly wasn't going to back her up, it was best she bailed on this incredibly awkward three-way dinner entirely.

As she spoke, Vivienne covertly watched Alaric for any sort of reaction, but he gave absolutely nothing. He didn't even bother to look up.

She knew it. The guy was completely useless.

Mind made up, Vivienne let out an exaggerated yawn, waved them off, and scurried straight back to her bedroom.

Cyril didn't seem the slightest bit bothered by her sudden change of plans. He looked across the table at Alaric. "I'll show you to your room once we're done?"

Wesley smoothly stepped forward. "Boss, should I go get your room ready?"

Cyril belonged to the second branch of the family, and Merriton City was entirely Dorian's territory. Wesley had been vehemently opposed to Alaric coming down here in the first place, but there was no stopping his boss when he was dead set on making terrible decisions.

Alaric set his silverware down and elegantly wiped his mouth with a napkin. "No need. I won't be needing you here. Take the next few days off."

Wesley scowled. From the day he was assigned to protect Alaric, the two had never been separated. In any other situation, he would have just happily slept on the couch.

Cyril casually chimed in, "We do have an extra maid's room—"

Vivienne leaned back in the massive tub, eyes closed in pure bliss as she absentmindedly kicked her legs through the thick foam. After a twenty-minute soak, the bone-deep exhaustion was completely washed away. She slipped into a silky black lace nightgown, crawled into bed, and prepared to sink into a deep, uninterrupted sleep.

It was weird. She was usually out cold the second her head hit the pillow, but tonight, she couldn't summon a single ounce of sleepiness. A restless, inexplicable anxiety buzzed under her skin. After tossing and turning for what felt like hours, she finally gave up, hugged her pillow, and sat straight up in bed.

"Your foot was practically bent into a perfect 'C' shape last night."

Her expression shifted slightly. She threw back half the blanket and cautiously lifted one of her legs. It was long, incredibly smooth, and completely flawless—from the curve of her hip down to her ankle, it was as if she had been meticulously sculpted by a master artist.

Vivienne stared at it intensely for a long moment, then slowly pointed her toes, pressing down as hard as she could. The second it formed even the slightest arch, a sharp cramp tore right through the top of her foot.

...

Cyril was a complete liar.

Realizing she had been totally played, her immediate reaction was absolute fury. But the second she looked down at her awkwardly pointed toes again, profound embarrassment washed over her. She smacked her forehead in sheer mortification and instantly yanked her leg back under the safety of the covers.