"What?"
Vivienne blinked hard, staring at Mireille like she'd just asked her to lick a boot or something worse.
"No fucking way. I'm not going to do that," she said, pointing her finger like she was swatting the air.
Delphine rolled her eyes, folding her arms with a smirk. "Madame, I told you she wouldn't do it, but you never listen."
Vivienne raised her eyebrows at her. "You want me to pretend to be a maid? A fucking maid?" She stood up from the chair so fast it creaked. "You want me to clean shit? Scrub floors? Wear one of those ugly-ass black uniforms with white aprons like some old sad spinster?" She looked disgusted. "Absolutely not. Hell no."
Mireille stayed calm, sitting straight with her gloved hands folded in her lap. Her red lipstick didn't move an inch as she said, "I know you don't like it, but that's the plan."
Vivienne laughed bitterly, already reaching for her coat. "Well, I'm not interested. You can keep your stupid plan. I'll head back to my bar. At least the whiskey there doesn't talk back."
But then Mireille said it. "Two hundred thousand gold coins."
Vivienne froze mid-step. Her hand paused on the coat hook.
Mireille's voice was smooth. Confident. Like honey mixed with poison. "That's the black market price for that horse. Ancient treasure. Might even go for more depending on the buyer."
Vivienne turned slowly. Her face had completely changed. She looked… interested.
Mireille saw the hunger in her eyes and kept going. "If we get our hands on that golden horse… forget that goddamn bar. You'll have your own castle. A vineyard. You could be living in the mountains, sipping expensive wine till you rot. No more scamming low-level lords or picking pockets for pocket change."
Vivienne stared at the floor for a moment. Then at Mireille. Then at the bottle of rum on the table like it might give her advice. She turned back fully and walked to the table.
Mireille smiled. The kind of smile that meant, I've got you now.
"The plan is simple," she said. "You go in disguised as a maid. You find the golden horse. You let us know. We retrieve it. We sell it. And then…" She dragged the words out, like a singer holding the last note. "We split the money."
Vivienne sat down slowly and crossed her legs. "Fine. I'll do it."
Delphine blinked. "Wait… what?"
"But—" Vivienne held up one finger. "Only on one condition."
Mireille raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
"I get fifty percent."
Delphine choked. "Fifty? You greedy bitch!"
Vivienne didn't flinch.
Delphine slammed her hand on the table. "This is why I said we don't need her! Because she's a selfish little rat who always wants the biggest piece. Always thinking about herself."
Vivienne turned to her with a lazy smirk. "Aww, did I hurt your feelings, Delphie?"
"We don't need her! I can do it myself!" Delphine snapped.
Vivienne leaned forward like she was watching a child throw a tantrum. "You can do it? You sure about that?"
Delphine's nostrils flared. "Yes."
Vivienne laughed. "Oh sweetheart. You can't even steal a kiss without falling in love. What was it last time? You were supposed to scam a banker, and you ended up writing him poetry?"
Delphine's face turned red. "Shut up."
"No, no. Let's count. First time, you cried when he dumped you. Second time, you ran off with him. Third time—oh, that one was cute—you actually asked him to marry you before we even got the damn money!"
Delphine was trembling with rage now, looking like she was about to slap Vivienne across the face.
Vivienne stayed perfectly still, sipping from the bottle with a smug little grin.
Mireille clapped her hands once. "Girls. Calm down. We are professionals, not wild cats."
Vivienne stood up slowly, brushing off her skirt like a queen. "It's fifty or nothing."
Mireille sighed. "You do deserve a good cut… but fifty's a bit much. How about thirty? You get thirty, the rest of us split seventy."
Vivienne stared at her for a second.
Then she shrugged. "Fine."
She sat back down, making herself comfortable again like nothing had happened. "So… who's the Duke I'm supposed to rob?"
Mireille picked up a file and tapped the cover. "The Duke of Ravelle."
Vivienne raised an eyebrow. "Ravelle?"
"Yes. Duke André…" she flipped open the file, "André Rousseau."
Vivienne whistled softly. "Fancy."
Mireille nodded. "He lives in a château up north. Cold place. Very private. According to rumors, he's not like other dukes. His story is quite sad—"
Vivienne cut her off with a wave of her hand. "I don't give a fuck about sob stories. I just want to know what kind of women he likes. So I can be ready. That's all I care about."
Mireille frowned. "You might not need to seduce him."
Vivienne tilted her head. "Why not?"
"Well," Mireille said, flipping through the pages. "He's sick. Apparently. Some say mad. Others say he's dying. No one really sees him. He never leaves the château."
Vivienne shrugged like it meant nothing. "Well, that's sad. Poor him."
She leaned back, playing with a strand of her hair. "Anyways. When do I start?"
"Next week," Mireille said. "I'll forge your background papers. Birth records. Servant training documents. Everything."
Vivienne shook her head with a smirk. "No need."
Mireille looked surprised. "Why not?"
Vivienne stood and stretched. Her grin widened, cocky and wild. "Because I'll be using my real name."
Mireille blinked. "What?"
Vivienne laughed, loud and carefree. "Let everyone know. Let all of Èlysia whisper about it. Vivienne Moreau. The one who stole the golden horse from under a duke's nose. The one who fooled them all."
She turned toward the window, smiling to herself.
"I'll be a legend."
Mireille leaned back in her chair and started laughing. "That's my girl."
But Delphine wasn't laughing. She was glaring, arms crossed so tight it looked like she'd snap her own ribs. Her jaw was clenched, and her eyes were full of silent rage.
Vivienne saw it. And she smiled harder.
She sat back down, calm and relaxed, like a cat who just stole the cream.
But in her head, her thoughts were sharper.
They think we're working together? Cute.
They think I'll share? Even cuter.
No one at that table would ever forget her name. And by the time this job was over, Vivienne Moreau wasn't just going to be a legend.
She was going to be rich. Alone.
And smiling.