They were trembling again.
All of them.
Kneeling in a perfect line, heads lowered, shoulders shaking as if the floor itself might swallow them whole.
Cassian Dreyvorn stood before them in silence.
He had ordered the inspection after hearing rumors.
Rumors that servants in his own mansion had been gossiping about **Vivienne Laurent**.
Her name alone was enough to darken his mood.
Vivienne.
Why didn't she come with him?
He had told himself it was temporary.
An excuse.
A reasonable delay.
But the longer she stayed away, the more the silence clawed at him.
"I know this is just an excuse…" he muttered under his breath.
The maids stiffened.
Every time he thought of her, something inside him twisted.
Tighter.
Hotter.
Unbearable.
His thoughts spiraled.
Is she avoiding me?
Did someone speak against me?
Is she afraid?
The questions gnawed at him until his chest felt too tight to breathe.
And when that feeling grew too strong—
He lashed out.
"Who spoke her name?" His voice cut through the hall like steel.
No answer.
Only trembling.
His jaw tightened.
He stepped forward.
The air grew heavier.
"They gossip about her in my house," he said coldly. "In my territory."
The maids bowed lower.
One began to cry softly.
The sound snapped something fragile inside him.
"Silence!"
His voice thundered.
A nearby porcelain vase shattered against the wall.
The crash echoed violently.
Another object followed.
Then another.
His temper flared fast, wild, uncontrolled.
They call me the mad duke.
The Crimson Duke.
He had heard the whispers.
Perhaps they were not wrong.
One of the thrown objects struck a maid.
A dull impact.
A sharp inhale.
Then—
Blood.
She collapsed slightly to the side, red staining her forehead.
The room fell deadly quiet.
Cassian froze.
His breathing was heavy.
He stared at the girl on the floor.
"…Damn it."
He had done it again.
Because of Vivienne.
Always because of Vivienne.
His fingers curled tightly at his sides.
He despised this loss of control.
Despised that a single name could unbalance him.
The maid on the floor did not cry.
She did not beg.
She simply looked dazed.
Blood trailing down her temple.
Cassian exhaled slowly, forcing himself back into composure.
"Take her," he ordered, voice colder now.
Two servants rushed forward immediately.
"And the rest of you," he continued, eyes dark and unreadable, "leave."
They scattered without hesitation.
The hall emptied quickly.
Only silence remained.
Cassian stared at the door long after they had gone.
Vivienne.
Why are you not here?
His expression hardened.
He would not lose control again.
He could not afford to.
The North depended on him.
And weakness—
Even emotional weakness—
Was unforgivable.
.
.
.
.
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