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chapter eighteen.
ㅤ ㅤ
𝕿𝖍𝖆𝖙 same night, much later, Oliver changes into his pajamas and heads to the adjoining bathroom.
Upon reaching the door and attempting to open it, he finds it locked, resistant to his attempts. Clearly locked from the other side, as Oliver didn't lock it himself.
He pauses, hearing faint moans from the other side of the door. Undoubtedly, Felix and Gabriette are inside, involved in the same ministrations he'd witnessed twice before. This time, though, he wouldn't have the pleasure of visually assisting.
Did Gabriette lock the door?
When he tries the door again hours later, it finally yields and opens, but the room is empty. Gabriette and Felix likely retired to his bedroom for the night.
Oliver completes his nightly routine and goes to bed, anticipating that tomorrow will be quite a birthday.
When Oliver regains consciousness, it isn't the next morning as he expected. The usual wake-up call from the maid, announcing breakfast, is absent.
His fluttering eyes meet the darkness of his room, with only the faint light of the seldom-used bedside lamp. An attempt to move reveals his arms restrained and an unfamiliar pain emanating from the side of his ribs.
In a panic, Oliver's gaze lands on a silhouette atop him, later identified as Gabriette.
"What the fuck?" Oliver whispers, his eyes shifting to his arms being restrained by her legs.
A jab of pain from his ribs draws his attention to a large kitchen knife pressed against the skin between his ribs, occasionally digging in from the pressure of Gabriette's hand.
"Watching us twice wasn't enough for you? You wanted to do it again earlier?" Gabriette's hollow tone fills the room.
"I knew you would try, that's why I locked it," she adds, looking down at him.
A moment of silence hangs, filled only by Oliver's heavy breathing.
Leaning down, Gabriette whispers in his ear, "I know everything that happens in this house, I know what everyone does in this house. I know what you're doing in this house," sending a jolt of panic through Oliver.
"I know what you did to Farleigh," she states matter-of-factly, followed by another increase of pressure on the knife.
"I know what you're doing," Gabriette's tone remains even. "And I've been doing it for much, much longer than you."
"You're not going to take my own plan from me," she says coldly. Before Oliver can process her words, she drops the knife, both hands flying to his face- one covering his mouth, the other pinching his nose shut.
He thrashes, panicked, as his lungs constrict, deprived of air. Wide-eyed, he looks at Gabriette- thrashing, squirming, kicking- until his vision fades to black.
Suddenly, Oliver jolts awake, gasping for air, sitting up on his bed. The maid enters, heading towards the curtains, stopping short at the sight of Oliver's panicked, sweaty figure.
"Breakfast is ready," she says routinely before leaving his room. Oliver, in bewilderment, checks for any signs of the nightmare having been a reality-no knife, just the indents of his own fingernails on his ribs.
"What the fuck..." he mutters, heading toward the bathroom, oblivious to the bedside lamp blending with the sunlight streaming into the room.
After mustering the courage, he enters the bathroom to find Felix and Gabriette brushing their teeth, with Felix playfully trapping Gabriette between him and the sink.
Noticing him, they pause their giggling. "Hey, birthday boy!" Felix exclaims, allowing Gabriette to slip away and skip happily toward Oliver.
With her toothbrush still in her mouth, her cheerful words are muffled as she engulfs Oliver in a hug. "Happy birthday, Ollie boy!"
All traces of yesterday night's Gabriette-or more accurately, yesterday night's nightmare Gabriette-are gone, and instead, she appears to be her usual self.
"Get dressed; we're going on a road trip," Felix announces from the sink as they separate from the hug.
"Where?" Oliver asks, furrowing his brow.
"Oh, it's a surprise," Felix replies as he rinses his mouth.
"Wear something nice," Gabriette adds with a smirk that leaves Oliver slightly unsettled.
Going in blindly wasn't usually his style.
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