Archive of Our Own ^beta

Even though the Baroness is very generous with your paychecks, you don't rent an apartment. You spend the majority of your time with the Baroness anyway. She has an exquisite room reserved for you at Hellman Hall. After staying so many nights in that room, you practically resided there. She offered you the space permanently, noting how often you've stayed the night. 

You lazily peel the luxurious blanket from your body. Slipping out of the silk sheets, you grab your robe and step into the hallway. 

You blink rapidly at the blinding light. When you finish adjusting your vision, you see them. Outside your door is the Baroness and her Dalmatians. You gasp in shock. The canines notice your presence and sprint to you. They gather around your legs and start jumping all over you. Crouching down to their level, you greet them frantically.

"Hello, my lovelies! I've missed you! Where have you three been?". You ask in a high-pitched voice. The Dalmations allow you to scratch behind their ears, and they lick your face in gratitude. 

Eventually, Genghis, your favorite of the three, lies in your lap and allows you to pet her while the other two roughhouse. You lovingly stroke Genghis' rich velvety coat and glance up at the Baroness. Remembering your last encounter, you blush furiously. You notice she hasn't changed into her nightwear yet, and it's well past the time she's usually in bed. Staring down at you with her hands on her hips, she looks slightly panicked.

She clears her throat. "Why are you awake at this hour, my dear?" she questions. You gently remove Genghis' head from your lap and stand, brushing her fur from your robe. Her large brown eyes stare into yours, pleading. You give the dog a tender smile and pat her head. "Maybe I'll convince your mother to let you stay in my room tonight, sweet girl.". You look up at the Baroness. She raises her perfectly sculpted eyebrow skeptically. 

"I was asleep, but I heard barking and went to investigate," you answer her previous inquiry. "Where did you find them?". 

She sighs and rolls her eyes. "That isn't important, my dear. What is important is that they are back in my care," she states defensively. Your brows furrow at her defensiveness, but you brush it off. She probably regrets being vulnerable with you earlier. You're honestly surprised she isn't avoiding you. 

"Well..." you hesitate, wondering if you should mention the kiss. You decide against it. "Can Genghis stay in my room tonight? I promise she'll be good," you beg sweetly. 

The Baroness sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "As long as she does not get on the bed.". 

You thank the Baroness, pulling her into a hug without even thinking. She freezes. Her arms hover next to yours until she eventually gives in and embraces you. You discreetly inhale, hoping to smell her floral perfume. You break away from her. Perplexed when you get a whiff of fire instead of the distinguished fragrance. You scrunch your brows, confused. 

"Baroness, why do you smell like smoke?". You know she would never smoke cigarettes, refusing to even look at a pack of them. She'd claim it's not appropriate for a lady of her class to inhale the chemicals. 

Her eyes widen, and she clears her throat. "Good night, my dear.". She turns away from you and speedwalks to her chamber. 

A look of confusion paints your face as you stare down at Genghis. Her large brown eyes meet yours. "What was that all about?". You whisper, well aware Genghis can't respond verbally. She exhales harshly through her snout and turns to face your door, whining. Chuckling, you open your door. Genghis rushes into the room, flopping right on your side of the bed. You sigh, already accepting the exhaustion you'll feel tomorrow. 

At 5 am, your alarm blared. Groggily, you move to turn it off, but you are prevented by an unfamiliar weight on your stomach. You glance down, seeing Genghis resting on your abdomen. Smiling lazily, you pat her head, coaxing her awake. As expected, the dog rolled all over you throughout the night, waking you multiple times. She stirs from her sleep, lifting her head to make eye contact with you. Blinking her eyes up at you innocently, you scoff. 

Pointing your finger at her accusingly, you speak light-heartedly. "You know what you did, Genghis.". She nips at you playfully before leaping off the bed and staring up at your door. She scratches her paws against it as you rise from the mattress. Allowing her the exit the room, you watch Genghis happily trot down the corridor to her siblings. 

You close the door and yawn, lightly stretching. Your assumptions were correct. With the Dalmation taking up the majority of the mattress and debating the Baroness' sudden change in attitude, you didn't rest well. 

Your alarm chimes again, and you turn the clock off. Stumbling around your room to get ready, you accidentally bump into a table. An expensive glass vase falls and shatters. You flinch at the sudden noise, cursing under your breath. Shaking your head, you pull your shirt up over your face, deciding to change into a different blouse. You'll deal with the broken vase later. 

Having heard a crash, the Baroness peaks into your room unannounced. Her eyes widen, and she blushes slightly when she notices you're shirtless. She watches you, admiring your figure.

Catching a shadow in the corner of your eye, you quickly pull a blouse over your head. The Baroness is lingering by your door, staring at your body. You smirk confidently. Now who's the one staring? 

When you place your hands on your hips, the Baroness snaps out of her trance. She clears her throat and puts on her poker face, though she's still clearly flustered. 

"Good morning, Baroness." you greet smugly. She narrows her eyes. "Good morning my dear.". "Did you need something?". "I heard the glass break and came to check. You're unharmed, but you are late.". She raises her eyebrows, glancing at the clock on your end table. You look at it as well, mentally cursing yourself out. She's right, of course. It's 10 minutes past the time you normally bring her morning tea.

She strolls over to your bed, inspecting it. "Ah, I see you allowed Genghis in your bed as well. I thought you had more competence than that.".

You shift your gaze to hers. That comment stung. She notices your wounded stare and rolls her eyes. "Don't look at me like that. You intentionally defied me, my dear. I should punish you for your disobedience.".

You smirk and blush. You know the Baroness didn't imply punishment suggestively, but your mind went straight to the gutter. Her words fuel your wildest fantasies. 

The Baroness notices your seductive smirk and sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Oh, for heaven's sake," she mumbles under her breath. Her eyes snap to yours and she narrows them judgementally. "You have the mindset of a teenager. Why did I hire you?".

This makes you drop the smirk. You know the Baroness could fire you at any given moment, and the fact that she is contemplating why she hired you, terrifies you. Some people may claim you're crazy, but you love your job. You've loved watching the Baroness reveal more of herself to you over time. You don't want to lose that. 

You sigh defeatedly, bowing your head to the Baroness. "I apologize for my incompetence, your ladyship.".

The Baroness pauses, seemingly taken aback by your sudden apology. She waves it off. "Nevermind that, my dear. We have work to do. Come along.". She struts out the door.

You follow after her loyally. 

Eventually, the Baroness sends you to the kitchen to fetch her lunch. You catch a glimpse of the tv. Your eyes widen in shock. "The Baroness' competition has gone up in flames. Cruella, a shining star in London's West End fashion scene, has tragically died in a warehouse fire." the male reporter states. 

Realization washes over you. The Baroness has a connection to that fire. Why else would she smell like smoke? She refuses to touch cigarettes or cigars. Her servants light candles and fireplaces for her. There is no other reason for her to smell like a bonfire. 

A bell dings repeatedly and forces you out of your shock. The chef glares at you, annoyed by your ignorance. You return the stare and take the Baroness' salmon. After inspecting the fish to ensure it's satisfactory, you exit the kitchen. 

Arriving at the Baroness' office, you knock three times with your dominant hand. You enter after she acknowledges your presence. You avoid eye contact with the Baroness, not wanting the reveal your suspicions. She raises her eyebrow skeptically but doesn't question your actions. 

You place the sliver lunch tray in its designated position. You take your planner and sit on a plush stool. Crossing your knees, you finally make eye contact with the Baroness. Her blue eyes meet yours, narrowing slightly before controlling her expression. 

The Baroness needs a filler event before her next ball. You suggested a formal dinner. She hadn't hosted one in a while. You're unsure why she stopped hosting feasts, and she refuses to tell you. You carefully persuade her to host a proper dinner. She hesitates but agrees. Sighing, she begins to plan the details of the occasion. 

Writing down fragments of the Baroness' ideas as she spitfires them at you, you get the basics of the plan. 

You're excited to dine with the Baroness. Your seat will be directly to her left. In case she has a special request. Apparently, your seat is a position of high honor at formal dinners. You appreciate the privilege. Perhaps she's gotten over your adolescent mentality. 

Once you finish double-checking the location and date of the event, you rush off to have invitations created. You tap your foot impatiently as you wait for the printer. The Baroness' short temper is slowly starting to rub off on you. The invitations finish printing, and you deliver them to the Baroness for her to inspect. She approves of the invitations' design and sends you to have them mailed. 

The Baroness' driver speeds through the busy London streets to the post office. You exit the vehicle, carrying a mountain of dinner invitations into the building. You stamp all of the envelopes and hand them to the postal worker. He glares at you, irritated that you've given him more work. You raise your hands in mock surrender. "Look, I'm just the Baroness' assistant. Don't shoot the messenger.". The employee's eyes widen, and he nods frantically. You chuckle. It amazes you that the Baroness' hot-headed personality is so illustrious. 

On the ride back to Hellman Hall, you lose yourself to your thoughts. You ponder your feelings for the Baroness. How you blush when her soft fingers brush against your skin. How her beauty lures you in, hypnotizing you. You also value how she's opening up to you, revealing parts of herself no one else has ever seen. You're protective of her vulnerability. 

The truth hits you like a freight train at a million miles per hour. Knocking the air out of your lungs, it puts your heart on overdrive. Your body flushes, and a smile slowly spreads across your face. You care for the Baroness romantically. 

Sure, she's a narcissist, and she's a little rough around the edges. She's quick-tempered and self-absorbed, but you've seen how she changes around you. You've witnessed how her mask slips. She trusts you enough to express her true emotions. You've watched her face light up when you glance in her direction. She feels safe around you. You're glad you give her that sense of security. She deserves the world and more. 

The car rolls to a stop in front of Hellman Hall, and you leave your thoughts in the back of your mind. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

About two weeks pass, and you watch as dinner guests file into the dining hall. You nervously adjust the front of your emerald green gown. When you advised the Baroness to host a dinner party, you didn't realize how nerve-wracking the event could be. Your palms are sweating profusely, and you fidget with your fingernails. All of your anxiety melts away when you spot the Baroness.

Her long sage green dress trails behind her. The garter on her left leg pokes out of the thigh-high slit. The tight satin clings to her skin, outlining her hourglass figure. Extravagant jewels cover her collarbones and hang from her ears. Her large bun pulls her brown hair out of her face. Tiny crystals poke out of her hair, weaved in tightly. She takes your breath away. 

Butterflies flutter in your stomach as she approaches. "How do I look, my dear?". Your heart skips a beat when you smell her perfume. "There are not enough adjectives in the English language to describe your beauty, your ladyship.". Although her makeup hides it well, there is a slight blush on the Baroness' cheeks as she smiles at your words. 

You offer her your arm to escort her down the stairs. She intertwines your arms and gently grips your bicep. You descend the staircase together. A soft smile paints your face. 

All of the guests quiet their conversations and stand when you walk in. The dining hall is silent as you lead the Baroness to the head of the table. The guests' judgemental gazes follow your every move. Your throat dries up, and your hands start shaking again. Glancing at you, the Baroness' facade falters. She notices your discomfort and squeezes your bicep reassuringly. 

When you reach your seats, the Baroness releases her grip on your arm. Gracefully taking a glass of white wine into her left hand, the Baroness raises her glass for a toast. She sighs. "Here's to me." All of the guests, including you, cheer for the Baroness.

The Baroness places her wine on the table and gestures for everyone to sit. You all follow her command. Chairs scrape across the floor as people take their seats. Attempting to maintain an appropriate posture, you adjust your seating position. To calm your nerves, you take a deep breath and pick at your nails under the table. 

You glance at the Baroness anxiously. She's engaging in a conversation with the posh gentlemen across from you. As she speaks, you watch her lips. You wonder how her red lipstick would taste. 

You're snapped out of your thoughts. The man laughs obnoxiously and makes an insensitive comment about the Baroness' brand. Shifting uncomfortably in her chair, the Baroness ends the conversation with a harsh glare. She sighs, irritated by the man's incompetence. You glare at him as well. 

In an attempt to comfort the Baroness, you discreetly rest your hand on her thigh. The slit in her dress revealed more of her skin when she took her seat. You blush when you discover you're making contact with the bare flesh of her thigh. 

Feeling a hand on her leg, the Baroness freezes. She relaxes, realizing it's your hand. She smiles at you softly and genuinely. You return the smile, glad you can bring back her genuine smile. Some of your nerves evaporate when you see your ray of sunshine. 

The dinner goes better than you expected. The meal was wonderful, and you enjoyed watching the Baroness in her element. She gossiped with snobs and boasted about her designs. The guests fed her praise which she gladly accepted. She seemed at peace. 

After a multitude of compliments to the chef and the Baroness, the last of the guests leave Hellman Hall. You shut the large double doors behind the guests and sigh heavily. The Baroness carefully places her hand on your shoulder. 

"Thank you for suggesting the dinner, my dear. I had not hosted one for so long. I'm afraid I had forgotten how much I enjoyed them.". You turn, facing the Baroness. "My pleasure, your ladyship." you smile tiredly. 

The Baroness notices your weary smile and delicately cups your cheek. "Would you like to join me for a nightcap, my dear?". You nod, and she chuckles. She gently takes your hand. "Come along.".

You allow the Baroness to lead you. Passing a maid in the hallway, the Baroness orders her to deliver a bottle of wine to her chambers. You arrive at the Baroness' chambers, and the maid is hot on your trail. Panting, she offers the Baroness a tray with white wine and two glasses. The Baroness takes the tray and slams the door in the maid's face, mumbling about her incompetence under her breath. 

She spins on her heels and places the tray on an end table. You rock on your heels by the door, unsure of where you should sit. Watching as the Baroness removes the cork from the wine bottle, you contemplate approaching her. You decide to wait for the Baroness' command instead. She pours two generous glasses and sits on a light blue chaise. Kicking off her heels and crossing her legs, she chuckles at your awkwardness. 

"Sit with me, my dear." she gestures to the cushion to her right. You cautiously step towards her. Taking a seat, you blush at the proximity. She smiles at you softly and offers you the drink in her right hand. You accept the wine with shaking hands. 

Noticing your anxiety, she teases. "Don't be nervous. I don't bite people whose company I enjoy.". You blush and clear your throat, thanking her with a whisper. She chuckles softly, placing her hand on your thigh as you did for her. You squirm slightly, and she hides her smirk by sipping her wine. 

You gulp a large portion of your drink, needing alcohol-induced courage. The Baroness glances in your direction. "Slow down, my dear. You'll choke.". You bow your head shyly and begin taking controlled sips. The Baroness smirks at your obedience. "Good girl.".

Your eyes widen, and you choke on your wine. Heat flushes your body. A blush spreads from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. 

The Baroness chuckles. She attempts to start a conversation. "Did you enjoy the dinner?". You glance at her sheepishly and nod. She narrows her eyes at you. "Use your words, my dear. You know I despise one-sided conversations.". You square your shoulders, wanting to appear more confident. "Yes, I enjoyed the dinner, Baroness. You should host them more often.". She smirks proudly before taking a sip of her wine. "That's better.".

Knowing the Baroness wants you to ask the next question, you sip your wine before approaching the subject. Inhaling deeply, you ask the question that has been on the tip of your tongue all evening. "Why did you stop hosting dinner events?". 

She freezes, and you shrink into yourself, preparing for her reprimands. She places her wine down and clasps her hands in her lap. Sighing, she begins. Your eyes light up, and you scoot closer to her. You expected her to shut down, but she's opening up. You savor the moment, grateful she trusts you.

She reveals to you the unfortunate events that caused her to stop hosting dinner parties. Behind closed doors, the Baron was mentally and physically abusive. He would take his rage out on her as if she was his personal punching bag. Shouting nasty names and derogatory remarks in her face when one of his business offers fell through. 

One evening, the Baroness was hosting a dinner to promote her new designs, and the Baron stumbled into the dining hall. He reeked of alcohol and anger. He began screaming insults across the room, claiming she and her brand were useless. He slapped her, and she fell onto the table. He repeatedly slammed her head into the table while her guests watched in horror. 

After he finished, he left her in pain and embarrassment. She swore to herself to never host another dinner event. 

Her eyes begin to water as she finishes her story. A tear rolls down her cheek, and you take her shaking hands out of her lap. Holding her hands in yours supportively, you kiss her cheek sweetly. She flinches, and you frown. 

She's traumatized. It pains you to see the Baroness' heart shattered in pieces. You promise yourself that you will collect those fragments. You will keep her heart safe as she slowly rebuilds it. 

You gently squeeze her hands. "Thank you for trusting me.". Your whisper into her scalp as you kiss the top of her head. She sniffles. Hesitantly wrapping your arms around the Baroness, you hold her tight against your chest. She curls into you and weeps. 

Rubbing your hand along her arm to comfort her, the Baroness stops crying. She glances up at you with teary eyes and sniffles. "I probably look a mess." she chuckles watery. "You look beautiful.". You whisper under your breath. You kiss her temple. "Would you like me to draw a bath for you?" you whisper into her skin. She nods. Her voice is soft as she answers. "Please, my dear."

You gently remove your arms from her body. Moving a stray hair off her face, you place a soft kiss on her forehead. 

You go to the ensuite bathroom, turning on the facet for the grand tub. Steam fills the air. Water droplets stick to the cold surfaces in the ornate bathroom. Once the water reaches the top of the bathtub, you add expensive soaps and oils to the water. The strong smell of lavender hits your nostrils. You want the bath to be relaxing as possible for the Baroness. You finish preparing the tub and exit the bathroom. 

When you re-enter the Baroness' chamber, she's still curled up on the chaise. You stand in front of her and see her blue eyes are glossy. She's staring, disassociated in her thoughts. You gently run your hand up her side. Her gaze snaps to you, and you smile softly. You offer her your hand. "Your bath is ready.". 

Soft fingers intertwine with yours as the Baroness allows you to lead her to the bathroom. You open the door for her, letting her step inside. You attempt to leave, but she stops you. "Stay.". She whispers with pleading eyes. You nod softly, complying with her request. 

You stand awkwardly by the door, unsure of what you should do. The Baroness faces her back to you. She turns her head over her left shoulder. "Can you get my zipper, my dear?". 

A slight brush spreads across your cheeks as you approach her. You swallow thickly as your shaking hands slowly pull her zipper down. The fabric of her gown separates, revealing the delicate skin of her back. The zipper stops above her hips, and she steps out of her dress. You turn around to give her privacy and respect, but you catch a glimpse of her black lace underwear.

Heat pools deep in your core as you face away from the gorgeous naked woman. You hear the water slosh around the tub as she enters. The steaming water hits her skin, and she sighs contently, sinking to the bottom of the tub. "You may turn back around, my dear.".

You hesitantly turn to face the Baroness. You smile when you see how peaceful she is. Her eyes are closed, and a faint smile paints her face. Even with mascara staining her cheeks, she looks ethereal. The crystals stuck in her hair reflect the water onto her skin beautifully. 

You pull a decorative stool out from the corner and sit next to the tub. Staring up at the ceiling, you place your hands in your lap. She opens her eyes and smiles at you. You glance down and return the smile. 

She removes her hand from the tub. Water drips down her forearm onto the tile floor as she holds her hand out to you. 

"Care to join me, my dear?".

Her words replay in your head like a broken record. You mentally argue with yourself for what seems like hours. The wine from earlier influences your thoughts. Deciding to throw caution and rationality to the wind, you accept her offer. 

You unzip the back of your emerald green dress with shaking hands. The fabric falls from your body and pools around your ankles. You remove your undergarments, avoiding eye contact with the Baroness as your skin flushes bright red. You leave your clothes piled on the floor. The Baroness' sage green gown pokes out beneath the layers of your clothes and hers. 

Gradually sinking into the warm water, the lavender-scented bubbles surround you. You hug your knees close to your chest and glance at the Baroness. She's smirking at your shy display. She leans her head back and closes her eyes. Water drips down her arms as she rests them on the tub. The smirk still paints her face as she sighs languidly. You slowly grow more comfortable as you watch the Baroness. Easing the grip on your legs, you release some of your body's tension with a sigh. 

"Relaxed, my dear?". The Baroness asks softly, noticing the lack of uncertainty in your movements. You hum in agreement but instantly catch your mistake and reply verbally. "Yes, Baroness." She smiles at your quick wit. 

You shift your position, determining what to say next. The sound of the water gently sloshing against the tub is the only noise that breaks the comfortable silence. You decide to be bold, knowing the Baroness appreciates it. 

Clearing your throat, you ask. "Would you like help with your hair? It's pulled into such a tight bun it can't be relaxing.". 

The Baroness lifts her head from the edge of the tub. She smiles softly, gesturing with her left hand as an invitation. The wine from the dinner and nightcap affects your subjectivity. Alcohol clouds your mind as you approach her with growing confidence. You disturb the bubbly water with your fluid actions. The Baroness' enchanting blue eyes follow your movements amorously. 

You straddle the Baroness' thighs, delicately removing the crystals from her hair. The Baroness smirks and holds your hips in place, balancing you on her lap. A short table sits behind the Baroness' head. Containers of expensive oils and exfoliating bath salts rest on the table. Reaching to place the crystals on the table, you press yourself further into her. The Baroness' breath hitches as your body pushes closer to hers. You smirk at the effect you have on the older woman. 

You pull the last bobby pin out of her long brown hair. It gracefully falls over her shoulders, getting submerged in the water. Strands of grey poke out of her lengthy hair, adding to her beauty. 

You gently cup her chin and wipe the mascara stains off of her cheeks. She watches you, eyes filled with fondness. You lean back on her lap to admire her. Her brown hair frames her face, and her eyes shine with adoration. A soft smile paints her glowing face, highlighting her crow's feet. She is an ethereal being, gracing the world with her radiant beauty. 

You marvel at her. "You're glorious.". You whisper into the steamy air, running your fingers up her arm. A spark follows your fingertips, warming your entire body. You feel like an unknown entity is pulling you forward with a magnetic force. Your eyes lock on the faded red lipstick lining her lips. An electric buzz fills the space between you as you both lean forward. 

Your lips meet in a desperate kiss, sending heat through your veins. Her perfume fills your nostrils, and her lipstick lingers on your tongue. You finally got your answer to how her lipstick tastes. 

Breathlessly, you pull back and admire the Baroness' flushed cheeks. She grins hungrily and grips the back of your thighs, locking her lips to yours. Her kisses become impatient, dripping with need. Parting her lips, she welcomes your tongue into her mouth. You gladly accept the invitation, intertwining your tongues in an erotic and seductive dance. 

You nip at the Baroness' bottom lip, and she pinches the back of your thigh in retaliation. You squeak and release her lips from the kiss. "Baroness!" you scold. She chuckles, out of breath. Her voice is heavy with lust. "Victoria.". Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. She rolls her eyes. "You may refer to me by my given name in private.". 

You begin kissing down her neck with a smug smile. You know her name. It fits her perfectly, regal and demanding respect. She moans against your ear as you cup her breasts, rolling her nipples between your fingers. Taking your time teasing her, you watch her become needier. Her breathing is heavy, and she's moaning softly. 

The water grows cold as you relish in the taste of the Baroness' skin. You notice her shivering from the temperature instead of pleasure. Kissing your way up to her ear, you whisper. "Let's move this to the bed, shall we?". She nods eagerly. You chuckle at how submissive she is. Although you wouldn't expect it from a woman who inflicts fear in the hearts of her designers, you enjoy her soft side. 

Standing from the tub, you offer her your dripping hand. She takes it, gracefully exiting the now-cold water.

Your eyes wander along her body. You smile hungrily, and the Baroness blushes from your almost lecherous stare. Licking your lips, you motion with your pointer finger for her to twirl. She follows your command, allowing you to ogle her figure. 

You're drooling over her as she finishes her display. You kiss her passionately. Grazeing your hands over the back of her thighs. You pick her up and carry her into her bedroom. She wraps her legs around your waist as she returns the kiss. 

Gently laying her on the bed, you attack her neck with frenzied kisses. She runs her hands through your hair, pulling you closer to her. 

"You're so beautiful, Victoria," you whisper into her skin. She moans. Hearing her name on your lips excites her. You smirk at the effect you have on her. 

You continue kissing down her neck to her chest. Nipping and sucking her delicate skin along the way, you leave love marks. She's panting under you. Her eyes locked on your movements. You caress her sides, savoring the feeling of her soft skin. You kiss across her breasts, pulling a nipple into your mouth with a gentle tug. Lapping your tongue over the erect bud, you pinch the other between two fingers. She moans at your touch. 

Squirming under you as you continue to tease her, she begins to grow impatient. She groans when you begin kissing down her stomach, only to move back to her collarbone. "Please, Y/N," she begs softly. Her face flushes in embarrassment. 

You smirk against her skin in triumph. You've barely started, and she's already begging for your touch. "Your wish is my command, pretty girl," you whisper. She gasps when you call her pretty girl. Her chest turns bright red, and more desire seeps between her thighs. 

You slowly run your hands up her muscular calves. Stopping at her knees, you pry her legs apart, revealing your goal. You stare at her sex lustfully, licking your lips before you make eye contact with her. 

"Before I continue, do I have your permission?". She smiles at you, touched that you asked for her consent. She nods. You raise your eyebrow. "Use your words, pretty girl.". Blushing, she clears her throat. "Yes, my dear. You have my consent.".

You return the smile, moving to kiss up her inner thighs. She sighs in pleasure, closing her eyes and leaning her head back. You glide your tongue through her folds, moaning at her taste. She groans, hips bucking into your face. Lapping at her clit, you suck it into your mouth, moaning against her. The vibrations send blissful shocks up her spine. She moans softly. "Oh, for Heaven's sake.".

Releasing her clit with a pop, you rest two fingers on her lips. "Suck," you order. She obliges, coating your fingers in her saliva. Satisfied, you pull your fingers out of her mouth. "Good girl.". Smirking, you watch her reaction to your praise. You gently push your lubricated fingers into her. Monitoring her micro-expressions, you check that she is not in pain. 

She moans your name, clenching around your fingers. You move your fingers in and out, curling them slightly. You take your thumb and occasionally flick it over her sensitive clit. Moaning, she grips the silk bedsheets below her. You smirk, biting your lip at the sight of her pleasure. 

After a little while, her legs begin to shake, and you caress her thigh to soothe her. You notice how heavy her breathing is becoming and how often she moans. She's close. You coax her to her orgasm by whispering praise in her ear. "You're so beautiful under me. You're such a good girl, Victoria.".

She shudders, moaning loudly as her whole body tenses. Pausing your fingers, you caress her arm and gently kiss her neck to help her ride out her high. Her body relaxes, and you remove your fingers. You listen to her panting, sucking her cum from your fingers. You moan at her taste on your tongue. 

You place your hand on her chest, feeling her erratic heartbeat. You kiss her, and she returns it passionately. Chuckling, you whisper praises as you kiss her jawline. "I'm so proud of you, pretty girl. You did so well.".

Her arms wrap around your neck as she holds you close. "I haven't felt pleasure like that in a while," she speaks breathlessly. You smirk against her skin. "Lucky for you, we have all night.".

She shivers in anticipation.

Whispering gentle words alongside sweet caresses, the Baroness drifts to sleep, comforted by your presence. You watch her chest rise and fall with relaxed breaths. Nuzzling your face into her scalp, you fall asleep, cuddling the Baroness. 

When you awake, the blankets are cold. Missing the warmth from the Baroness, you sit up to examine the room. The chamber is empty. The Baroness is nowhere to be found. You glance over at an alarm clock. 5:04 am. An overwhelming sense of dread washes over you. Did the Baroness regret your encounter? Why else would she be out of her room so early? 

You brush your thoughts away, wrapping a throw blanket around yourself and leaving the bed. You flick the bathroom light on and blink to adjust your eyes. Crouching down to retrieve your discarded clothes from the previous night, you smirk at the memories. You slip on your emerald green dinner gown and leave her bedroom. You slink down the hallway to your room, hoping no one will catch you. 

Successfully arriving at your chamber without being caught, you get ready for the day. Dressed in your typical black attire, you head to the kitchen. You fetch the Baroness' morning tea and take it to her office at 6:15 am as always. You balance the silver tea tray on your arm and knock twice with your dominant hand. The Baroness' voice signals your invitation to enter. 

You walk into the office, smiling. She returns the smile. Fresh red lipstick paints her lips. She wears a high-collared blouse to hide the color-corrected love bites you left on her neck. 

You greet the Baroness. "Good morning, Baroness.". She raises her eyebrows and places her hand on her hip. She stares at you while you set the tea tray down and pour the pot. "What did I tell you last night, my dear? Greet me again, properly.".

You chuckle. At least she doesn't seem to regret your time together. You sigh dramatically and hand her the teacup. "Good morning, Victoria.". She smirks and accepts the porcelain dish. Taking a sip, she sighs. "Better. Although the theatrics were unnecessary.". You shrug your shoulders, rolling your eyes playfully. She shakes her head at you.

"Why did you leave the bed so early this morning?" you ask. She pauses. "I had a meeting.". "Before five in the morning?" you question skeptically. "My time is very valuable, my dear.". You scoff but decide to not press any further. To lighten the mood, you engage in small talk. The simple conversation eases the tension in the room. You leave the Baroness' office when she lays down for her 9-minute power nap, satisfied you didn't anger her. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two weeks pass, and you've ended up in the Baroness' bed more times than you can count. She enjoys stress relief, and you enjoy intimacy. Although in the beginning, it seemed she was only using you for pleasure, the Baroness has opened up to you more. She's told you about moments from her childhood and her marriage to the Baron. You let her cry her heart out onto your chest every time she tells stories about that awful man. 

You didn't see it at first, but your relationship with Victoria has blossomed into something more. She'll kiss your cheek just because she feels like it. She'll wrap her arms around your waist when she wants to be close to you. She even told you about the warehouse fire. Even though it's wrong, you don't blame her for setting the fire. Cruella deserved it.

The Baroness is now stressed about her upcoming charity gala. The servants of Hellman Hall are frantically decorating. Exotic feathers in a variety of bright colors fly across the room. Maids carry them to the staircase, strategically weaving them around the railing. 

You follow after the Baroness, clipboard in hand, jotting down last-second requests for the event. She argues with a police commissioner about Cruella's death as you walk through the ballroom. The commissioner holds his hat under his left arm. His walking seems stiff compared to the Baroness' effortless stride. If she can storm through a room in 4-inch heels and still look graceful, why can't he keep up in loafers? 

The Baroness twists around a chair in the middle of the ballroom. She was informed that he and his team didn't discover Cruella's body. Staring at the commissioner sternly, she thanks him for his incompetence. He glares at the Baroness before leaving the room. 

The Baroness' rage flashes across her face as steam blows out of her ears. Gripping the chair in front of her, she slings it across the room. The poor maid that the chair hits gasps. The Baroness points at her. "You're in the way.". She states unapologetically as her face twitches with anger. All of her servants shrink into themselves, afraid of the Baroness.

To prevent the Baroness' wrath, you approach her, gently resting your hand on her shoulder. Her gaze snaps to you, ready to reprimand anyone foolish enough to touch her. Her eyes soften when she realizes it's you. She nods appreciatively, caressing the hand on her shoulder, and leaves the room without another word. The clicking of her heels fills the tense silence. The maid she hit lets out of sigh of relief, thanking you with her eyes.

Once you ensure the servants have decorated the ballroom correctly, you rush to find the Baroness. Finally tracking her down to her office, you knock gently. You poke your head into the room, calling her name softly. She lifts her head out of her palms. Sighing, she rubs her temples.

"How can I help, pretty girl?" you ask gently. You've started calling her 'pretty girl' more often. When you asked her how she felt about the pet name, she permitted you to use it. 

"Exterminating Cruella, the pest that she is, would be marvelous.". You chuckle and go behind her office chair. Resting your hands on her shoulders, you lean down and kiss her neck. She tilts her head to give you better access, and you massage her shoulders. She hums as your thumbs dig into her tense muscles. "Although, this is quite beneficial. I could do this all day.".

You continue to massage all of the knots from the Baroness' shoulders and neck. When you finish, you give her one last peck on the cheek. She groans when you pull away. Chuckling, you offer her your hand to help her stand. "We must get ready for your gala.". She accepts your hand and rises from her chair, sighing. "I suppose we shall, my dear.". She intertwines your fingers and leads you to her dressing room. 

As night falls, the Baroness adds the finishing touches to her appearance. She adds an extra bobby pin to her braided updo. She ties her silver dog whistle around her wrist, pushing her angel-style sleeves further up her arm. She spritzes her ridiculously expensive perfume above the collar of her silver satin gown. She changed the design of her gown last minute, adding the collar to her Queen Annie neckline to hide the marks you left. 

You admire her as she examines herself in the mirror. Your eyes lock through her mirror, and you smile softly. The overskirt train of your sliver pantsuit flows behind you as you approach her. Recently, you've noticed that at every major event, she has you wearing matching colors. You think it's a sweet sentiment. 

You wrap your arms around her waist from behind, resting your head on her shoulder. "You are beautiful, Victoria," you whisper. She runs her arms over yours and smiles. "Thank you, my dear.". You smirk and kiss her cheek, whispering against her skin. "Gratitude's for losers," you tease. 

She gasps and swats your hands away. "Y/N!".  She inspects her cheek in the mirror, checking for lipstick residue. You gently angle her chin with your index finger, turning her head towards you. Wiping the stain from her cheek, you gaze into her eyes lovingly. "There, all better. You'd still be the most stunning woman in that ballroom with my lipstick on your cheek.". She rolls her eyes, giving you a swift kiss before her guards walk in. 

Her facade arises, and she creates distance between you. She clears her throat, attempting to appear nonchalant. "Well? I hope for your sake she's hidden in your coat.". Both men look at their feet. George, the taller of the two guards, replies. "No, Baroness.".

Scowling, the Baroness bundles the train of her dress into her hand, so she can walk without tripping. "George, come here.". She orders while approaching the table with her accessories and beauty products. George steps forward, and the Baroness grabs a perfume bottle, spraying it in George's face. George winces and the Baroness places the perfume on the table carelessly. It thuds against the dark wood.

Placing both of her hands on her hips, she addresses both guards. "She'll be here tonight. I want her caught before she's seen. Everyone thinks she's dead. She better be that way by the end of the night.". "Yes, Baroness," both guards reply. She rolls her eyes. "Just find her you idiots.".

Once the guards leave, she rubs her temples. You grab the Dalmations' leashes as she walks towards the door. "Why are we the only two people who are competent?". She complains. "I apologize, pretty girl.". You offer her your left arm, gripping the Dalmations' leashes in your right. She accepts it, intertwining your arms and squeezing your bicep. She pulls her gown over her shoes with her left hand to walk and lets the dogs lead. 

Your earpiece goes off as you escort the Baroness to the ballroom stairs. "All teams, Baroness requires everybody in the library now. She's angry, boys.". Your eyebrows narrow in confusion before you realize what's happening. Cruella's goons are planning something. Quickly releasing the Baroness' arm, you radio George. "George, follow them. I'm with the Baroness now, and she did not order anyone to the library.". 

She glances at you, eyebrows furrowed. "What's going on, my dear?". "I don't know.". You continue leading the Baroness to the ballroom, knowing Cruella will not cause a scene there. When you reach the mid-platform of the stairs, your eyes widen. The Baroness is too preoccupied with taking champagne flutes from a waiter to notice yet. She hands you one and turns towards the crowd. She freezes. Every woman in the building has the same gown and black and white wig. 

Her eye twitches, and she takes a deep breath. Raising her glass with a fake smile, she begins her toast. "Thank you all for coming. What a great tribute to our dear friend who shall never return. Sadly.". Her eyes scan the room as she continues. "To Cruella.".

All of the guests cheer and applaud. "To Cruella!". You roll your eyes and toast. "To the Baroness.". Downing your champagne flute while the Baroness sips hers. 

At the Baroness' command, the Dalmations start descending the stairs to the main floor. You follow closely behind, not wanting to risk the Baroness' safety. "Where are my guards?" she questions you. Although you know she'll hate it, you don't answer. You see John and nod at him to watch her, trusting he'll protect the Baroness. You weave through the crowd to the library.

The library's doors are barricaded shut. You struggle to remove the sword from the handles and the chairs from the front. Once the library doors are unblocked, all of the guards tumble out. You stare down at them and shake your head. You would scold them, but you have to find the Baroness. "Go!" you order them.

You leave the library, looking for John. All of the guests are heading towards the terrace. You spot him through the crowd but not the Baroness. "Where is she?" you question sternly. He stares at you, maintaining eye contact and not speaking. "Traitor.". You snarl and follow the crowd outside. 

Police sirens blare in your ears as you rush to the terrace. The crowd chatters as they group to watch the Baroness' interaction with a strange woman. You shove your way to the front of the guests, eyes widening when you see who the Baroness is conversing with. 

Estella.

The Baroness approaches Estella, arms wide like she's about to embrace her. You know the Baroness inside and out. You know exactly what she's going to do. She is going to push Estella off the cliff. Police officers push through the crowd. Glancing over at them, your panicked mind goes into fight or flight mode. You have no control over your body as you break into an adrenaline-induced sprint down the terrace stairs. 

Your silver overskirt train ripples behind you as you charge toward the Baroness, screaming her name. "Victoria! Victoria!" you chant at the top of your lungs. She turns her head over her shoulder, and her eyes widen at the scene. You are darting toward her, and there is a swarm of police officers and her guests watching her. Estella curses under her breath and draws a sharp object from her pocket. 

You hear the Baroness gasp, and Estella jumps from the balcony into the rocky water below. Reaching the Baroness, you place your hands on her shaking shoulders. "Victoria! Are you okay?" you question frantically. She slowly turns to face you. Tears stream down her cheeks, leaving red blemishes and mascara streaks. Her entire body shakes as she looks down at her silver dress. You follow her gaze and gasp.

Blood red. 

The Baroness is your priority. Positioning your hand over the stab wound, you keep pressure to stop the bleeding. Her hands cover yours, pressing feebly. You offer her a weak smile that fades when you notice she's struggling to keep her eyes open. Placing your free hand on her lower back, you whisper. "Stay with me, pretty girl. Stay with me.".

Her eyes flicker open. She leans the majority of her body weight on you. Resting her head on your shoulder, you kiss her temple. She staggers alongside you, and you shout for help. She winces from pain and the volume of your voice. Silent tears flow down your cheeks as you mumble apologies between your screams. 

Witnessing the Baroness' pain breaks you. Her grunts and winces cause more tears to fall from your eyes. Ambulance sirens invade your thoughts. A smidgen of relief flows through your veins before your nerves wash it away. You listen to the Baroness' shallow breathing as she hobbles beside you, relying on you entirely. 

You lead her to the ambulance. An EMT immediately rushes beside her, taking some of the Baroness' weight from you. He helps her lay on a stretcher and loads the bed into the emergency vehicle. You hop into the back with her, clutching her hand. You whisper reassuring words as you stare at your intertwined fingers. Her warm red blood coats your palm sickeningly. Your stomach flips at the sight. 

She stares up at you with watery eyes. Pain and vulnerability paint her face. Her voice is broken and weak as she mumbles your name. Your heart shatters as you soothe her, rubbing your thumb over her shaking hand. "Shhh, pretty girl. You'll be okay.".

You drown out the EMTs' conversation, gazing into the Baroness' drooping eyes. Caressing her cheek with your free hand, you catch bits and pieces of the conversation. "Severe hemorrhaging... Bp 90/60... Her heart rate's 120. She's tachycardiac...". 

Their rapid-fire words flow through one of your ears and out the other. Tears pool in your eyes as you helplessly watch the Baroness suffer. Her breathing becomes short and heavy. She stares at you with more fear in her eyes than you've ever seen before. Her grip on your hand slackens, and you panic.

"Victoria. Victoria, no, please." you cry. The Baroness' eyes flutter close as she loses her fight for consciousness. The wires connected to her chest send the monitors into a beeping frenzy. The EMTs shove you out of the way, frantically tending to the Baroness as the ambulance pulls into the hospital.

Shouts of medical terminology and the noise of the monitors buzz in your ears. You barely register the firm grip on your arm, dragging you away from the scene. You watch over your shoulder as medical professionals roll the Baroness' gurney through a set of double doors. 

Life and death with the faint, unmistakable scent of blood seeps through the veil of antiseptic, flooding your nostrils. Blinding white overhead lights blur your vision. Your chest rises and falls with sporadic breaths. The nurse holding your bicep leads you to a cold metal chair. Your thighs stick to the metal as you sink into yourself. 

You feel a weight on your knees. Glancing at the veiny hands covering your kneecaps, you notice a gentle smile. The nurse, a younger woman, stares into your eyes sympathetically. Tears cloud your vision, but she looks oddly familiar. You squint, attempting to get a better look, but you're distracted. She runs the pads of her thumbs over your legs to soothe you, effectively pulling your focus from her facial features. "She'll be okay, love. Her title makes her our top priority," she reassures you. 

You stare at the blood coating your hands. Her blood. It mixes with your skin tone and stains your palm. The dark red patch on your silver pantsuit makes you sick. Nausea washes over you, and you swallow the bile that rises in your throat. The nurse notices you gazing at the stain. "I'll get you something to change into. Okay, love?". She leaves to get you some different clothes. 

You nod shakily, nostrils flaring in an attempt to prevent more tears. Your attempt was fruitless. Salty tears roll down your cheeks, stinging your eyes, and your breathing quickens. A pressure settles over your chest, squashing your heart and lungs. Each breath burns your trachea, becoming shorter than the last until you're hyperventilating. 

Panic surges through your veins as you double over. Thoughts rush through your brain like a river while your pulse pounds underneath your skin, begging to escape. Your clothes feel too tight, too constricting. You pull at the bodice of your pantsuit, scratching yourself in the process. 

The river of thoughts washes over you. The current is too strong, yanking you under before you can reach the surface. You drown in the deep sea of despair, choking on your tears and ragged breaths. 

Your brain blocks out the sounds around you as you panic. The murky water of thoughts surrounds you. You reach your hand above the surface, a feeble attempt to save yourself. 

A familiar weight on your knees grips your hand, draining the ocean that trapped you. You glance up to the same understanding smile as before. She grounds you to this moment, coaching you on your breathing. "There you go, love. Just like that. Inhale. Exhale. Perfect, love.".

With the nurse's assistance, your breathing evens out, and the pounding thoughts still. She rubs her hands over your legs and coos softly. When you're able to focus, you make eye contact with her. It's difficult because your eyes are puffy and swollen from your tears. Her sweet smile brings a sense of relief to you. She offers you clean clothing without saying a word. You accept the clothes with a weak, teary smile. "Thank you...". "Stella.". You furrow your eyebrows at the name's familiarity but brush it off. "Thank you... Stella.".

You ignore the peculiar feeling and head towards the restroom to change. Dressing in an itchy pair of scrubs, you examine yourself in the bathroom mirror. Black mascara streaks paint your red, swollen face. Sighing, you clean yourself up as best as you can. You don't want the Baroness to be concerned for your well-being instead of her recovery. 

Sluggishily leaving the restroom, you return to the waiting area. You slump into the cold metal chair. Resting your head in your hands, you sink into yourself as you wait for the Baroness to get out of surgery. 

A few hours later, Stella returns with a sickeningly sweet smile. She taps your shoulder, and the surgeon accompanying her informs you of the Baroness' post-op status. "She's stable but unconscious. She's lost a lot of blood, and her recovery will be rough. Take your time with her. I'll visit when she wakes.". You nod along with the surgeon frantically, thanking him as he leaves. 

Stella puts a comforting hand on your shoulder and addresses you softly. "Would you like to see her?". "Please," you beg softly. She nods and roughly leads you to the Baroness' room. Her nails dig into your skin, and a scowl paints her face. 

Air catches in your throat as realization washes over you. Now that you've stopped crying, you have a clear view of Stella's face. Although her hair is a different color, and her makeup distorts her complexion, you know exactly who she is. 

Cruella De Vil.

You approach a door and your steps waver. You tense against Cruella, attempting to stall the inevitable. Tears form in your waterline as you stare through the cracked open door. The Baroness lies in her hospital bed, unconscious, with wires sticking out of her delicate skin. She's defenseless, completely vulnerable, and you cannot protect her. Cruella jabs the knife further into your back as a warning. 

Hopelessly, you move forward, knowing Cruella won't hesitate to kill you. You inhale deeply and bury your fear, wanting to appear indifferent. Cruella chuckles tauntingly behind you. "So brave, love.". Her words drip from her tongue like a lethal poison, made purely of malice. 

She kicks open the door, startling the Baroness awake. You refuse to meet the Baroness' eyes, sparing yourself from the heartbreak, as Cruella pushes you into the room. She closes the door and laughs darkly. "Look who I found, Vicky. It's your sick little sex toy.". She pauses. "I like that actually, Sicky Vicky.". You grimace at the nickname. It strips Victoria of all of her dignity and nobility. 

Cruella notices that you haven't made eye contact with the Baroness. She tuts and grabs you by the neck from behind. Her veiny hand closes over your throat, restricting your airway. She keeps the knife pressed into your back, just under your ribcage. You arch away from her as she turns you towards the Baroness. "Look at her, Y/N. Look at the fear in her eyes.". 

Blue, horror-filled eyes meet yours. The Baroness' emotions are written clearly across her face as a single tear slides down her cheek. Your nose flares, and you glance at the ceiling to conceal your rage. Cruella chuckles beside your ear as you fight against her. "You picked a feisty one, Vicky," she grunts as she restrains you. 

You roll your eyes, and Cruella jabs the knife into your back, breaking the skin. You yelp, understanding the message, and you stop struggling. Cruella smirks. "Good girl," she taunts. You gag, preferring when the Baroness praises you.

Cruella tightens her hold on your throat as punishment for your retaliation. She places the knife on a nearby table and grabs the Baroness' medical chart, holding it in front of you as she examines it. You glance over the doctor's almost illegible handwriting. All of the medical terminologies fly over your head, but you do a double-take at the personal information. You smile weakly at the new knowledge you gained from the chart, the Baroness' middle name.

Cruella sighs from behind you. "Sicky Vicky isn't sick enough to die on her own. I have to do everything myself," she complains. She flings the chart toward the Baroness and grabs her knife. The Baroness grunts as the clipboard lands on her wound. Her hands dart to the injury. 

Seeing Victoria in pain from Cruella again lights a fire under your feet. You start kicking and scratching at Cruella, trying to break free. Adrenaline and rage fuel your actions, solely focused on protecting Victoria. 

Victoria's eyes widen as she watches you try to remove yourself from Cruella's clutches. Silent tears of terror roll down her cheeks. Her breathing is erratic, and her heart pounds in her chest uncontrollably. She sinks further into herself, attempting to create as much distance between you as possible so she doesn't get hurt. Her eyes follow your movements incessantly as Cruella struggles to restrain you. 

You gain the upper hand while fighting Cruella. Knocking the knife out of her grip, she groans, irritated, as it slides across the floor. She tightens her hold on your neck and leans to grab the knife. When she stretches her arm, a glimmer of silver catches your eye. It's the Baroness' dog whistle, loosely wrapped around her wrist. Using the moment of leverage, you elbow Cruella in the gut and pull the dog whistle from her wrist with your free hand. 

Instinctively, her hands fly to her stomach, releasing your throat. You cough from the sudden lack of pressure and stumble away from her. You inhale to the best of your ability and place the whistle between your lips. A high-pitched hiss reaches your ears as you blow into the whistle. You cross your fingers and close your eyes, desperately hoping someone brought the Dalmations to the hospital. 

The pounding of 12 black and white spotted paws sprinting through the halls brings a relieved smile to your face. Cruella's eyes widen when she hears the barking. She doesn't even have time to react before three gorgeous yet vicious canines burst through the door. You can barely hear Cruella's shriek over the snarls of the Dalmations as they pounce. Cruella curls into a ball, attempting to protect herself, as three powerful jaws gnaw at her limbs. 

You immediately turn to the Baroness, climbing into her hospital bed and holding her close. You keep an eye on her wound as she buries herself against you, sobbing into your shoulder. You run your hand through her unkempt hair, soothing her while you watch the Dalmations mutilate Cruella. 

A police officer, having heard Cruella's screams from the hallway, barges into the room. He glances in your direction with a look of panic. This is obviously above his pay grade. He presses the button on his radio and calls for backup. Two other officers arrive, and you figure Cruella is too mangled to resist them. You call off the dogs, and the officers arrest Cruella. They drag her bloody body out of the room while reciting their words of caution. 

"She's gone, Victoria. You're safe," you whisper while caressing the Baroness' hair. She sniffles and lifts her face from your shoulder. Bloodshot blue eyes stare into yours, brimmed with pain and vulnerability. You run your hand up and down her arm and offer her a comforting smile. 

One of the Dalmations bark, drawing your attention away from each other. You both turn toward them and freeze. Blood stains the white fur around all three of their mouths as they give you toothy grins. Victoria's body shakes against you, and her breathing quickens. 

You're heart aches at her reaction. A small smile plays on your lips as an idea of how to distract her comes to mind. "So, Elizabeth, huh?". Her face snaps to you, and her eyebrows furrow. "Pardon?". You smile in triumph and decide to tease her a little bit. "Elizabeth. It's your middle name. I'm going to start calling you Liz from now on.". The Baroness' eyes widen, and her mouth falls agape. "You wouldn't dare.". You chuckle at her response. "Oh, but I would dare, Liz.". You punctuate your sentence with a kiss on her cheek, and she glares at you. Her pouting is adorable.

She untangles herself from you and gets out of the hospital bed. She limps towards the door, and you stare, confused. "Do you need help?". "No," she replies sternly as her steps slow. 

You roll your eyes at her hardheadedness and hop off the bed. Your foot snags Genghis' paw, and you fall, landing flat on your face. The Baroness chuckles as you scramble to stand. "Imbecile.". 

You scoff and take your place beside her, offering her your arm. She waves you off and continues limping down the hallway. "Stubborn," you mumble under your breath. "I heard that.".

You roll your eyes and follow your lady loyally.

When the Baroness' 3-inch heels clicked out the double doors, the nurses burst into cheer. You give them all a sympathetic smile as you follow the Baroness. Cameras flash in your face, temporarily blinding you. The press got a tip that the hospital discharged the Baroness. You assumed the Baroness was the one who tipped them off until you noticed the discomfort in her body language. Her face stayed stone cold, portraying confidence, but the falter in her steps and the shrinking of her shoulders told you otherwise. 

She is vulnerable and uneasy. Without much thought, you begin walking in front of her. The Baroness is grateful for your interference, body blocking her from the cameras. The photographers groan and shout insults, urging you to move out of their shots. You hold your ground, focused entirely on protecting the Baroness' reputation. 

You lead her to her tan Jaguar 420g. You open the door for her to get in, covering her the entire time. She brushes her hand against your arm and gives you an appreciative nod. You return the nod with a soft smile before closing her door and getting in on the other side. 

After you take your seat, the driver starts the car, heading towards Hellman Hall. Although the hospital discharged the Baroness, she's not allowed to return to work for another week. She protested but eventually agreed to the terms of her recovery. 

You rest your left hand on the middle seat cushion that separates you and the Baroness. With her right hand, she takes yours, intertwining your fingers and squeezing lightly. Victoria tends to refrain from displaying acts of love -such as physical touch- in public, believing intimate moments should be private. Surprised, you turn your head to face her. Intense blue eyes meet yours, filled with tender emotions. 

"Thank you, my dear," she whispers. You pull Victoria's hand to your lips, placing a chaste kiss on top, maintaining eye contact. She smiles, eyes displaying nothing but love and adoration. A faint blush paints her cheeks, surfacing through her makeup. You return the gentle smile and graze your thumb back and forth over the top of her hand, enjoying the feeling of her soft skin for the rest of the ride. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The week passes, and the Baroness returns to the House of Baroness as her usual stern self. Designers cower in fear as she struts past them with a smug grin. Watching the terror she inflicts in the hearts of others fills her with joy. She forbids her employees from discussing the charity gala, shooting daggers at anyone brave enough to defy her. 

Today, she summons you to the design room. She has her hand on her hip, and she is scolding a designer, so you sneak into the room without knocking. You don't think she'll mind anyway. She can see you through the glass doors. She glances in your direction, and her gaze softens for a millisecond before she snaps back to the designer harshly. 

"Your designs lack flavor, and you have no taste. A toddler's scribbling is better than this rubbish.". She directs her attention to you, and her designer faces you as well. Her tone changes completely, going from ruthless and commanding to gentle and understanding, stunning her employee. She doesn't catch her mistake. 

"Y/N, my dear. What would you do to fix this hideous piece?". You walk over to her desk and examine the drawing pad. It's a boring strapless dress that clings to the figure's body. The design isn't as bad as the Baroness claims, but it does lack creativity. You reach across her desk to grab a pencil, unaware of the designer's lingering gaze. The Baroness notices and glares at the man, resisting the urge to wrap her arm around your waist possessively. You are hers after all, and she doesn't appreciate a man ogling over you. The designer shrinks into himself, staring at his loafers to avoid her gaze. 

You take the pencil and alter the design, adjusting the bodice and adding straps. You put an evening wrap with a large bow on the front to produce the dramatic collar you know the Baroness enjoys. Although it's a bit basic, you keep the tight silhouette, knowing it will balance out the extravagance of the bow. You sketch creases in the design, creating the illusion of a snug fit. Overall, you're proud of the altercations, and based on the Baroness' hum from over your shoulder, she likes it too. 

"Impressive," she praises. You blush as she compliments your work and brushes her hand against yours to spin the drawing pad toward her designer. She pulls her straight razor out of her pocket and taps it against the sketchbook.

"Now, this is fashion. It would do you well to learn a thing or two from my assistant.". The man scoffs. The Baroness damaged his ego, so he uses arrogance as a shield. He stands, showcasing his masculine frame in an attempt to intimidate her. The man begins rambling about his design and how the Baroness is a stuck-up posh bitch. You're extremely close to biting his head off, but you know the Baroness is capable of defending herself. 

She places both of her hands on her hips and raises her eyebrows with an amused smirk. She allows the man to have his tantrum. His words have little effect on her. Eventually, she grows bored with his speech.

"Stop talking," she commands. The man's jaw falls open, appalled. There's a gap of silence before the man takes a breath to speak again. The Baroness cuts him off. "Ah, a gap. You're fired.". The look on his face was priceless. He goes to protest, but the Baroness snaps her fingers and points at him. Two guards that you didn't notice enter the room come up behind the man. Grabbing him by the bicep, they escort him from the building. 

Once the guards remove the ex-designer, the Baroness falls into her office chair carelessly. She crosses her lengthy legs and rests her elbows on the desk. Massaging her temples, she sighs dramatically. You chuckle softly at the Baroness' theatrics and approach her from behind. You glance through the glass, making sure no one is watching. Placing your hands on her shoulders, you lean forward and kiss her cheek lovingly.

"Don't let him get to you. You're far better than him, pretty girl." A soft smile forms on her dark cherry lips. She moans quietly when you dig the pads of your thumbs into her tense muscles. 

"I know, my dear. It's just tiring, dealing with imbeciles all day.". She leans her head back and sighs pleasurably as you continue massaging the knots from her shoulders. You smirk and lean down to whisper in her ear. "I can help with that.". Victoria turns to face you, eyes heavy with lust. "Go on.".

A smile stretches across your face as you begin to kiss her neck. You're surprised she's allowing you to continue. She tends to be quite apprehensive about having romantic interactions in public. Although, you haven't had sex since Cruella's attack. You wanted to ensure she was fully healed before participating in such activities. 

As you trail kisses from her neck to her collarbone, her breathing quickens. You run your hands up and down her arms before pulling her chair back. You sink to your knees before her, uncrossing her legs. You slip her feet out of her heels, careful not to touch her ankles. You kiss up her muscular stocking-cover calves before stopping at her knees. Your fingertips dance along her thighs teasingly as you push her skirt to her hips. 

You toy with her garter belt and gently caress her skin. Nipping and sucking her thighs, you watch the spot on her lingerie grow darker with a burning desire. The feeling of her pulse and twitching muscles against your lips send heat to pool in your stomach. 

Soft moans leave Victoria's slightly parted lips as she watches you work. Her breath hitches when your teeth wrap around the band of her underwear, pulling them down her legs. You glance up to meet Victoria's eyes, silently asking for consent. She nods, spreading her legs wider and running her elegant fingers through your hair.

You accept her invitation willingly, gripping her thighs and running your tongue through her folds. She shutters above you and sighs deeply at the new sensation. Closing her eyes and leaning her head back, she allows the pleasure to wash over her. You continue teasing her, occasionally dipping your tongue into her entrance before sucking her clit into your mouth. You hum against the sensitive bundle of nerves, sending a shock of pleasure down her spine. 

Suddenly, Victoria grips your hair, pulling you away from her dripping cunt. She rolls her chair forward and pushes you under her desk before there's a knock at the door. She ignores the throbbing between her legs and clears her throat. 

All of her designers file into the room with sketchbooks clutched tightly to their chests. You glance at your watch and mentally curse yourself. It's time for daily design presentations. You figure Victoria's out of the mood until you notice her throbbing. A mischievous smirk paints your face as you part her legs again and dive in. 

Victoria notices your movement under her desk as she attempts to focus on the designs before her. She feels your hands against her heated skin. Before she can swat them away, your tongue prods at her entrance. Her eyes widen and she coughs to cover a moan. She glances at you and glares, tugging on your hair harshly as a warning. 

You smirk into her, doubling your efforts to see how long it takes her to dismiss everyone. After a few skillful flicks, Victoria can't handle it anymore. Sweat drips down her shaking thighs, and her face is flushed. Gripping her desk with white knuckles, she cuts off one of her designers mid-sentence.

"Out!" she commands shakily, holding back another moan. Her designers give her strange looks. She glares in return. They all know better than to disobey her, so they follow her demand. Collecting their design pads, they all scurry out of the glass double doors. 

The second the room is cleared, Victoria pushes her chair back. Spreading her legs wide, she yanks you by your hair. She shoves you into her needy center. She lets out a loud moan, shocking for a woman of her status. Her hips rock against your face as your mouth works diligently to pleasure her. Your nose brushes against her clit as your tongue thrusts into her roughly, hitting her sweet spot. Your jaw aches, but you aren't stopping. Soon, she cums on your tongue. A profound moan of your name rises from her throat, overpowering the lewd noises between her legs.

You gently lap at her cunt to clean her up. You help her ride out the aftershocks, and she strokes your hair lovingly. You listen to her soft panting and unintelligible praises as she comes back down to Earth. 

Eventually, she pushes you away, becoming over-sensitive. You rise from your knees with a smug grin. Wiping her excess from your chin, you lean forward and press your lips to hers. She moans in your mouth, enjoying the taste of herself on your tongue. She pulls away from you to catch her breath, and you move to redress her.

"Thank you, my dear," she whispers between pants. You kiss her neck and reply. "You're welcome, pretty girl. I...". Three words lay upon your tongue, threatening to escape past your lips. The three words you've been hesitant to say for fear of scaring Victoria away. All of that worry dissipates when you stare into her blue eyes. Her gaze holds nothing but love as she's sprawled out before you. 

Her chest flushed and heaving, lipstick smudged against her swollen lips, and a genuine smile paints her face. At that moment, she looks more beautiful than you could ever describe. At that moment, you knew. She is the woman you will spend eternity with. 

Caressing her cheek with a loving smile, you utter the three words. "I love you.".

"I love you too, Y/N.".

Finally, a door comes into view, cracked open slightly, allowing you to see the sunshine reflecting on the tile floor. You open the door cautiously, listening to the eerie creak of the hinges as you push it forward. Your chest heaves with heavy pants. Lungs begging for oxygen after your exertion. The sunshine blinds you temporarily as you enter the room. You squint against it to better assess the area. 

A gasp leaves your throat, shocked by the scene before you. Victoria lies in her hospital bed. Her torn blouse reveals her stab wound. Blood oozes from the injury, painting her torso bright red. Her tear-filled eyes lock onto yours, and she offers her hand to you weakly. As you approach, you get a better view of the bruises decorating her delicate skin. More specifically, the purple handprint wrapped around her throat. 

You take her hand into both of yours, gently squeezing it with a soft smile. A whirl of emotions plays in your mind. Each thought overlaps with another as you struggle to understand the situation. Your eyes glaze over as you zone out. 

A whisper of your name followed by a wet cough pulls you back to the moment. Your eyes widen in horror as blood drips from Victoria's slightly parted lips. She coughs again, forcing more of the red liquid from her throat. You caress her cheek with watery eyes, gripping her hand tightly.

"It's okay, pretty girl. I'm here for you," you whisper between silent sobs. Her body spasms and her cries of pain flood the room. You wrap your arms around her neck and clutch her head to your chest. Whispering apologies and sweet nothings into her messy brown hair, you attempt to soothe her while her body seizes beneath you. Tears freely flow down your cheeks, landing on her scalp, dampening her greying roots. 

Victoria stills, and a loud, uncontrollable sob racks through your body. A weight rests on your chest, as heavy as a boulder, fracturing your lovesick heart. Pain and grief wash over your senses as you hold Victoria's lifeless body. The shattered pieces of your heart puncture your lungs, making it difficult to breathe. You choke on the air, hyperventilating as you writhe in sorrow. 

Dark, malicious laughter rings in your eardrums. A veiny hand rests on your left shoulder, and hot air grazes your right ear. You can sense the smirk spreading across the speaker's lips as a familiar voice reaches your ear. 

"The queen is dead. Long live the queen," Cruella taunts. She angles her blade and thrusts it into your back, piercing your kidney. Searing pain ignites your body as Cruella twists the knife before removing it. Your lips part to cry out in agony, but no sound leaves your throat. The room around you fades to black as the pain dissipates. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You jolt awake, gripping the silk sheets under you for stability. Ice-cold sweat clings to your heated skin. Your chest rises and falls rapidly with sporadic breaths. Swallowing harshly, you reach across the bed. Your eyebrows furrow when you feel nothing but the cool blanket beside you. 

You glance over to find the Baroness' side of the bed empty and made. The clock on your bedside table reads 12:56 am. Confusion influences your thoughts. Where is Victoria? 

Per the Baroness' request, you moved into her chambers. You accepted her offer and quickly hauled all of your belongings into her bedroom with the help of John. You still despise the valet for working with Cruella, and you've informed the Baroness of your hesitations. She didn't believe your allegations, of course, and decided to keep him as an employee. Even though you don't trust the man, you respect the Baroness' wishes. John had comforted Victoria for years while the Baron, Hans, abused her. 

Over time, you've grown used to waking up to cold sheets. Although, it's usually later in the morning. You roll out of the plush bed with a groan. Resting on the back of a chair is the Baroness' marabou robe. You lazily wrap it around your waist, covering your lingerie. The sheer fabric drapes around your body and the long fluffy sleeves conceal your hands. 

In the dark, you saunter to the Baroness' office. The fur edge of the robe trails behind you elegantly. You feel like a woman from a dramatic romance movie, eliciting the energy of a rich widow who killed her husband in that very robe. A smirk crosses your face at the thought, feeling a rise in your confidence.

You enter the Baroness' office without knocking, knowing she won't mind because it's you. You cross your arms over your chest and lean against the doorframe. Slanting over her desk, the Baroness discreetly argues with someone over the phone. She doesn't notice your presence, and you'd like to keep it that way. You zero in on her conversation, hoping to understand who dragged her out of bed so early. 

"No. I don't care what you have to do. Get it done.". She scoffs and slams the phone into the receiver. She falls back into her chair and sighs heavily, massaging her temples. Clearing your throat to announce your presence, you step out of the shadows. You place your hands on your hips and glare at Victoria, waiting for an explanation. 

Victoria squeaks when she hears you, startled. "Y/N, my dear. What are you doing out of bed?". Her voice holds a bit of uncertainty, raising your suspicion. You rake your eyes over her, studying her body language. She's tense and shifts uncomfortably in her chair. It's rare to see the Baroness without her confident demeanor. Her change in behavior doesn't help your skepticism. Usually, Victoria conceals her emotions, even from you. The fact that she isn't wearing her facade right now means she's done something terrible. 

You speak sternly, allowing your tone to portray your disappointment. "Victoria.". You pause, letting the silence put her on edge. "Why are you out of bed?" you question her. 

Her eyes widen, and she clears her throat. Standing abruptly, she puts on her mask of indifference. She stands in front of you and pecks your lips. "It's nothing to concern yourself with. I assure you.". Her heels click against the hardwood floor as she attempts to brush past you. 

You catch her right arm, gripping her bicep and spinning her around to face you. The anger in your gaze disappears when you hear her yelp and see the terror in her eyes. Guilt washes over you. Your actions remind her of the Baron. You did the one thing you swore you'd never do -make her fear you as she feared him. You realize your hold, gently caressing her arm instead. 

"I'm sorry, pretty girl. It wasn't my intention to scare you.". The shame is evident in your voice as you whisper your apology. "Let's go back to bed, hmm? We can discuss this later.".

Victoria inhales softly and nods. You terrified her, but she accepts your apology. Even though she knows you'd rather injure yourself than harm her, she can't help but let her thoughts spiral. When her ex-husband, Hans, would grab her like that, he'd usually slam her against the wall and sexually assault her. No matter how much she pleaded and begged for him to stop, he never did. Eventually, John couldn't stand watching Hans use Victoria for his pleasure. He took it upon himself to remove her from the situation. He refuses to disclose what he did, but you respect him for protecting your lady.

She slips her hand into yours, intertwining your fingers as you walk toward your chambers together. She rests her head on your shoulder and allows you to guide her. Your guilt eats you alive as you notice her eyes zone out, falling deep into her traumatic past. You rub your thumb back and forth over the top of her hand. Attempting to comfort her but also give her space. 

You lead her to her side of the bed. She sits on the edge, and you drop to one knee. You kiss her kneecap and remove her heels, careful not to touch her ankles. She smiles down at you and runs her hand through your hair, scratching your scalp. You place your hands on her hips and stare at her lovingly. 

"Stand up for me, pretty girl.". She obliges happily, standing before you. You chuckle slightly at the sudden height difference. She glares at you and puts her hands on her hips. You shake your head with a smirk, motioning for her to turn with your finger. Turning for you slowly, she adds a teasing roll to her hips. You groan and position your hand to slap her perfectly round ass. You restrain yourself at the last second, choosing to graze your hand over her waist instead. Although you believe she'd be okay with it, you still want to have a conversation first. 

You hold her waist and whisper in her ear. "You're beautiful, Victoria.". She scoffs, but a light blush paints her cheeks. "I know that my dear," she replies smugly. You're constantly inflating her ego, and she adores it. You shake your head with a smirk, placing a chaise kiss on the pulse point of her neck. She moans softly at the feel of your lips on her skin. 

A content sigh leaves her lips as you continue kissing her neck. She arches her back slightly when you drag the metal zipper of her dress down. Her toffee brown dress flutters to the floor around her ankles. Expecting to see the smooth skin of Victoria's waist, you're surprised when you see the black corset laced tightly around her figure. 

You pick at the lace with your fingernails, untieing the knot before speaking. "When did you start wearing corsets again, pretty girl?". You approach the subject lightly, reassuring her that you aren't upset with her, just curious. You knew she wore them in the past, but she stopped after you asked her to. It took some major convincing on your part, but she eventually agreed when she realized you were just concerned for her well-being. Wearing the constricting garment as tight as she does for multiple hours at a time tends to result in bruising across her ribs.

Once you finish untieing her corset, it falls on top of her dress. She turns to face you, staring at her perfectly painted toenails. Tilting her chin up to meet your gaze, you offer her a reassuring smile. You're unsure why she's being bashful until you glance down. Realization washes over you. This is the first time she has let you see her scar. Placing a kiss on your thumb, you gently brush it over the light pink scar. Your eyes meet her teary gaze. Kissing her lips passionately, you express all of your love for her with your actions. 

She breathes shakily as a single tear rolls down her cheek. Brushing the tear from her cheek, you kiss where its trail ends. You guide her to the bed, placing your hands on her hips. Pulling back the blankets, you tuck her into the sheets. You place a gentle kiss on her forehead, and she smiles softly.

Dropping Victoria's robe back onto the chair, you climb into bed beside her. Hesitantly, you wrap your arms around her waist, pulling her closer to you. She nuzzles herself into you, purposely pressing her hips into yours. You kiss her shoulder and smile against her skin. Massaging her bare waist, you enjoy the feeling of her skin beneath your fingertips. She moans softly and curls herself into you. You wrap your leg over hers, enclosing her in your warmth. 

Exchanging "I love you"s back and forth, Victoria drifts to sleep in your arms. Comforted by your embrace, she allows herself to relax fully. You hum softly and play with her silky hair. You savor the moment, wanting her to stay in this state of tranquility forever.

You'll address her mystery meetings soon, hopefully.

As she moves around the room, readying herself for the day, Victoria stops to admire you. Warm sunlight illuminates your features, highlighting the glow of your skin. You slumber peacefully, breathing slowly and deeply. The soft smile has diminished to a slight smirk. Love flutters in Victoria's chest at the sight of you, a feeling foreign to her because of her past. She furrows her brows and bites her bottom lip anxiously. She regrets lying to you, knowing you deserve the truth. Shaking her head, she leaves you to rest longer.

6:15 am. The silver tea tray rests on your arm as you knock on the Baroness' office door. You enter the room, expecting to see your lady slumped over her paperwork. To your surprise, the office is empty. You place the tea tray on a decorative table and examine the room.

Everything is neat, meticulously placed in the correct position, as expected of the Baroness. Being a woman of high influence, the Baroness keeps her belongings organized. She claims it gives her a sense of control over the chaos of the fashion industry. Upon further inspection, you notice one of the drawers is open, specifically, the large, typically locked, bottom drawer. Curiously, you pull the drawer out the rest of the way. It's empty, as expected, but an outline of dust reveals the absence of an object. A box, perhaps? 

Confusion floods your thoughts as you close the drawer, leaving it cracked to avoid suspicion. The Baroness has something up her perfectly tailored sleeve. After you caught her late last night, and you found that drawer unlocked and empty, you can't help but wonder what's going on. Although you don't want to, you leave the office in search of the one man with knowledge of the Baroness' whereabouts. 

John was relatively easy to locate. With a press of the button on your radio, John followed your command and met you in the foyer. Your nostrils flare as you lock eyes with the bald man. Anger runs through your veins and seeps into your bones. You've refused to talk to him since the Charity Gala. Any being, no matter their relationship with the Baroness, who dares to betray her is dead to you. In your opinion, John deserves to be in a casket, decaying, being consumed by the Earth as fertilizer. You bite the inside of your cheek to conceal your disdain. You may not trust him, but Victoria does, and he's the only person she'd tell her current location. 

Skipping the pleasantries, you address John sternly. "Where is she?". "Y/N, I-". You cut him off with a wave of your hand. "Where. Is. She?". He sighs redundantly. "Y/N-". "John. If I have to ask you again-". "If you would allow me to speak, I would tell you where she is!". You huff and roll your eyes. Crossing your arms, you gesture for him to continue.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, clearly just as annoyed as you. "I will tell you where she is after I explain myself.". You inhale sharply. You don't have time for this, but you need him to tell you the Baroness' location. Nodding reluctantly, you allow him to continue. He gives you a short, appreciative nod before beginning. 

"Cruella forced my hand. I wasn't aware she intended to harm the Baroness.". You scoff and adjust your stance, unimpressed with his response. He huffs, clasping his hands in front of him and rolling his shoulders to suppress his irritation. "I know you won't forgive me, but Victoria has. I protected her for years before you came along. Neither one of us is leaving her, so we'll have to learn to tolerate each other.". He pauses, discerning your reaction to his words. Your stiff posture remains unchanged, but there is a softness in your eyes that signals your understanding. "She's with Roger.".

You narrow your eyebrows. She fired Roger. Why would she be with him now? Nodding, you thank John and dismiss him. He leaves, and you use your radio to request a driver. You'd drive yourself, but you don't know the location of Roger's law office.

The driver parks in front of Hellman Hall with one of the Baroness' ridiculously expensive vehicles. You requested a less flashy car, but Victoria's definition of an average vehicle greatly differs from yours. You get into the back of the silver Mercedes, sliding behind the passenger's seat. You fidget with your hands as your anxiety rises during the ride. 

Slowing to a stop in front of a rundown brick building, you exit the car and thank the driver. Your heart beats rapidly in your chest. The Baroness is an unpredictable woman. As you wrap your hand around the metal railing and trek up the discolored brick stairs, your mind wanders over the what-ifs. 

You reach the top of the stairs and take a deep breath, collecting yourself. Raising your fist, you knock your knuckles against the wooden door. Standing in the summer heat with the sun beating down on you, you tap your foot against the staircase impatiently. After being in a relationship with the Baroness for a few months, her temper has rubbed off on you. You huff and ring the doorbell, assuming they were upstairs, and didn't hear you knock. 

You hear shuffling and muffled voices on the other side of the door. The lock clicks from the inside, and the door opens. You take a step back to allow the door to swing forward. When you glance back up, you're met with a disheveled Roger. You narrow your eyes at the dark-haired man. Someone untucked his shirt and undid a few buttons. A light layer of sweat shines on his forehead, and a blush paints his cheeks. You almost brush past your suspicion until you notice the faint lipstick marks staining his collarbone. 

Rage floods your facial features. Your anger seeps through your pores, and your nostrils flare as you inhale sharply. Roger notices your change in demeanor and shrinks into himself. He uses the door as a shield as he addresses you. 

"Y/N. What brings you here?". "Where's the Baroness? I know she was here," you question harshly. Roger chuckles nervously and clears his throat. "You, uh, just missed her. She left right before you got here.". You nod at him, maintaining eye contact to see if he's bluffing. His dark eyes dart away from your intense stare. He shifts further behind the door to where only his face remains uncovered. You sigh deeply at his cowardice but decide he isn't lying. Without saying goodbye, you turn on your heels, stomping down the brick stairs back to the Baroness' car. 

The Baroness' driver can sense you're irritated. After he asks where you'd like him to go, he keeps quiet while he drives. Sitting behind the passenger seat, you cross your arms over your chest and sulk. You zone out, watching the busy streets of London as you drive by. Why was Victoria at Roger's after she fired him? Why has she been lying to you? And most importantly, why did Roger look like he just had a hot make-out session? Was Victoria... cheating on you with him?

Your pouting ends when you hear the waves crash against the shore surrounding Hellman Hall. The gravel crunches beneath the tires as the car creeps down the long, winding driveway. Colorful yet tasteful flowers sprout from the garden beds, adding character to the mansion. The Baroness has an immaculate landscaper. He keeps Hellman Hall's exterior looking fresh and tidy. 

The driver parks the car, and you exit, thanking him before shutting the door. You take a deep breath before stepping up the staircase, preparing yourself for your impending conversation with the Baroness. 

Two security guards stand in front of Hellman Hall's grand entrance. They allow you to pass through without any issues, aware of your relationship with the Baroness and wary of the anger evident on your face. Marching through the well-decorated mansion, you head directly to the Baroness' office. You don't stop to admire the expensive artwork, too blind with rage and betrayal to notice the beauty.

Victoria can tell you're upset by the echo of your stomps. She inhales deeply, mentally preparing herself for your wrath as her office door swings open. You stand, in the middle of the room, with your hands on your hips. Everything about your body language says you're furious with her, but she decides to test the waters anyway, effectively poking the beast. 

She glances up from the papers on her desk. Her eyes trail up your figure before her gaze meets yours. "Hello, my dear.". You can't deny how attractive she looks right now. The way she leans over the desk, giving you a full view of her cleavage, makes you absolutely feral. Her glasses rest lazily on the end of her perfectly sculpted nose, and you desperately want to bend her over her desk and ravish her. Your eyes wander to her plump lips, and your mouth waters at the prospect of tasting her lipstick. Her lipstick is what draws you out of your lust. Your gaze darkens, and your features harden as you remember what she's done. 

"Don't 'Hello, my dear.' me. You know exactly what you've done." you snap. Victoria flinches slightly and blinks away her shock from the harsh tone of your voice. "Whatever do you mean, Y/N? I've done nothing wrong.". She uses her Baroness voice to intimidate you. You roll your eyes and scoff, knowing her commanding tone holds no power over you anymore. Popping your hip and crossing your arms over your chest, you raise your eyebrow challengingly.

"So you don't see anything wrong with taking mysterious calls at midnight or visiting Roger after you've fired him? What about the lipstick stain on his neck? Care to explain that?". Your emotions flow through your words like water, adding to the thick tension of the room. Victoria's eyes widen in shock and realization, you think she's been having an affair. Her defensiveness flares at your accusations. Why would she ever cheat on you? Especially with an incompetent fool like Roger. 

"Pardon?". Victoria keeps her responses short, signifying her annoyance with the conversation. Her voice drops, and she crosses her arms as well. You know you've hit a nerve because all of the usual softness she displays around you has melted from her features. It's clear your assumptions were wrong, but you're in too deep now to back down. 

You raise your voice slightly before replying. "Are you cheating on me with Roger? There's obviously something you're not telling me. 'It's nothing to concern yourself with, my dear. Go back to bed, my dear.'" you mock. Victoria's eyes narrow, and a dangerous glint burns in her pupils. She sighs heavily, closing her eyes and massaging her temples. "Oh, for Heaven's sake," she mumbles.

Gritting her teeth to compose herself, she smiles, speaking with a sickeningly sweet voice. "No, Y/N. I have not been having an affair with Roger.". "Then what have you been doing?!" you snap. You didn't mean to yell, but you're frustrated with how vague she's being. "If you must know, because apparently I'm no longer entitled to my privacy, Roger and I have been discussing legal things," she scowls. 

You scoff and raise your eyebrows. "What legal things need to be discussed in the dark at 1 am? And when did you hire Roger again?". "That is none of your concern, my dear.". "Wow, okay," you chuckle. "So I'm not allowed to know anything about my girlfriend anymore?". She huffs. "God, Y/N, why are you so clingy?". 

You ignore her last question and approach her desk, noticing a box with a lock you've never seen before. "Y/N, what are you-". She stops speaking when she sees you're focused on the wooden box. A light layer of dust rests on the polished top. Running your index finger over it, you collect the dust on your fingertip. Using the evidence you've been given, you can safely assume this box was in the locked drawer. 

Victoria sighs, noticing your fixation with the box, and gently lifts the top. Inside are a few neatly folded documents. She rummages through the papers, selecting one that's turned yellow with age. Unfolding the legal record, she scans over it and sighs. You watch her reactions, curious as to what the document entails. She sets the paper down face first and moves the box out of the way. When you lock eyes with her again, her gaze holds a certain sadness and regret that is unusual for her. 

Taking an uneasy breath, Victoria gestures to the chairs in front of her desk. "Sit, my dear. You'll want to be seated for this.". You nod softly and follow her command. The vulnerability in her voice caused all of your anger to disappear. Victoria's stance holds no power. She shrinks into herself, and her hands tremble. She's scared of how you'll react.

She places the aged paper in front of you, unfolding it for you to read. "Roger and I have been discussing how to legally destroy this document. It could ruin me.". She speaks softly, making her appear smaller than she truly is. You take the paper out of her hands, and she pulls away. Squaring her shoulders and adjusting her stance, she clasps her hands in front of her. She watches as your eyes scan over the document, and she takes a deep breath, preparing herself. 

"Estella is my daughter.".

"Estella is my daughter.".

The entire room stills. Thick tension floods the air, suffocating any noise. Inhaling heavily, you try to wrap your head around Victoria's words. She watches as your facial features contort, ranging from shock and confusion to anger and betrayal. Victoria shivers, her mind clouded by unpleasant memories. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gasping as liquid gushed to the floor, Victoria's blue eyes widened, and she clutched her swollen abdomen. Nine months prior, Victoria had fallen pregnant to her abusive husband, Hans, after he forced himself upon her. Groans of pain echoed throughout her office as her body prepared for childbirth. 

When Victoria first learned of her condition, her actions were a blur. Her symptoms—nausea, tender breasts, change in appetite, and weight gain—all triggered alarm. Many of her posh friends mentioned experiencing similar indicators before finding out they were expecting. In a panic, Victoria immediately called a doctor. Hastened by Victoria's status, a physician arrived at Hellman Hall shortly after she rang. 

The doctor, albeit unsuccessfully, attempted to calm Victoria after informing her she was with child. Victoria's thoughts were incoherent. Betrayal, guilt, and hatred were incomparable to the pain and humiliation she felt. She couldn't be a mother. A child would alter her body, permanently damaging her hourglass figure. It would leech off of her, selfishly sucking all of her nutrients for itself. Motherhood would age her, causing her to lose respect in the fashion world. Her business and reputation would plummet. Everything she worked for would be ripped away by the sticky hands of an infant. 

To calm her racing mind, Victoria took her emotions out on the objects around her. Goose feathers and glass shards flew across her chambers. Screams of anger and frustration resonated throughout the exquisitely decorated halls of the estate. The maids were unbothered by the shouting, well acquainted with their mistress' temper. The Baron, on the other hand, was not. Drunkenly, he stumbled into Victoria's chambers to confront her about the noise. 

The pungent stench of alcohol reached Victoria's nostrils, and she flinched. Stilling her movements, she turned to her husband with a sickly-sweet smile. "I'm pregnant," she gritted, internally grimacing. She watched the Baron's reactions anxiously. Expecting an argument to ensue, Victoria took a deep breath to prepare. Panic burned through her veins when her husband's scowl turned into a malicious smile. 

Hans grabbed at his wife, pulling her into a rib-crushing embrace. Victoria froze. Her breathing quickened, and her eyes darted to the Baron's hands, preparing to flinch away if he attempted to strike her. Taking her jaw into his left hand, Hans pressed his chapped lips against Victoria's ruby-red lips. Victoria gasped, and Hans forced his tongue into her mouth. Grimacing at the intrusion, Victoria placed her hands on her husband's shoulders, attempting to distance herself from the kiss. Offended by his wife's rejection, Hans pulled away from Victoria with a frown. 

A smack echoed through the room. Victoria's hands darted to her cheek, and tears formed in her eyes from the stinging sensation. Her ears rang, and a bright red mark in the shape of the Baron's right hand covered the left side of her face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Noticing Victoria's watery blue eyes and her left hand cupping her cheek, you stop talking. You tilt your head to the side, watching the Baroness with concern evident in your features. Her eyes glaze over, lost in thought. Gradually, you stand from your chair and approach Victoria.

Carefully removing her hand from her face and taking it into yours, you kiss her cheek, whispering, "You're safe." in her left ear. Her breath hitches, and her eyes meet yours as she returns to the moment. A gentle smile paints your lips as you wipe away the tears spilling from her eyes. Uncomfortable with the affection, Victoria swats you away. "What are you doing you imbecile?" she sniffles.

You huff, rolling your eyes. You've seen the woman cry more times than you can count, but she still refuses to be vulnerable around you. It quite frankly annoys you how stubborn she is. "Let me help you.". You reply, lifting your hand back to her face. Scoffing, Victoria takes a step back and adjusts her necklace. "I do not require your assistance.". She brushes past you, attempting to flee her office.

Spinning on your heels, you cross your arms over your chest and face her. "Come on, Victoria. We aren't playing this game.".

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Come on, Victoria. We aren't playing this game.".

The Baron's loafer tapped impatiently against the marble flooring. Victoria gripped the doorknob. The cool metal did nothing for her sweating palm as she doubled over, another contraction wracking through her. "I assure you, this is not a game," she gritted between her teeth. "I am in labour.". A muffled scream left her lips as she bit the back of her hand, making an effort to manage her pain. 

"Stop being so dramatic, Vicky. It's not excruciating. Getting kicked in the balls is worse.". Rolling his eyes, Hans brushed past his wife. He grabbed his luggage and marched out of Hellman Hall. A few of his clients planned to meet him in Scotland, and his train was scheduled to depart soon. Without giving Victoria or her condition another thought, he abandoned her to suffer alone.

Agony. Victoria was in agony. White hot flashes of pain ran through her veins. An intense pressure knocked her legs out from under her. Her knees buckled, scraping against the cold flooring. Bracing her hands against the marble to stabilize herself, Victoria was on all fours, trying to regulate her breathing as her uterus convulsed. Moans of discomfort and ragged breaths echoed throughout Hellman Hall, alerting the staff to their mistress' distress. 

John, ever the loyal servant, raced through the lengthy hallways of the mansion, desperately searching for the Baroness. When he found her, he dropped to his knees, pulling his boss into his embrace. Tears streamed down the Baroness' face. Her mascara stained her splotchy cheeks. John held the Baroness' hand tightly as he tried to soothe her. Coaching her on her breathing as her child prepared to enter the world. "Follow my lead, your ladyship. Inhale. One. Two. Exhale.".

Following her valet's directions, the Baroness took unsteady breaths as he instructed. Screaming in pain, she squeezed John's hand tight enough to crush his bones as a contraction sent waves of pain through her. She couldn't do this. She wasn't strong enough to do this. Her body wouldn't survive this. Giving birth would destroy her. Motherhood would destroy her. The parasitic fetus would rip her apart from the inside out, leaving a shell of her once glorious form. 

"I can't do this. I can't do this." She chanted hysterically between breaths. John knew how stubborn the Baroness could be, so he forced her to face her fears. Placing a gentle on his employer's back, he helped her stand. "You will do this. For your brand's sake. You. Will. Do. This.". Motivated by her valet's words, she rested all of her weight on him as she stood. She had to do this. She had to show the world her genius. She would not become a brilliant woman with a drawer full of unseen genius and a heart full of sad bitterness. The Baroness Victoria von Hellman would not be beaten by childbirth. 

Struggling slightly from the extra weight, John led the Baroness to the infirmary. Taking longer than expected due to frequent stops to let a contraction pass. Victoria's hair stuck to her sweaty forehead. Dried tears stained the delicate skin of her cheeks. Her chest heaved with sporadic breaths, and low moans escaped her lips. At that moment, John pitied her. She never asked for that pain, for her dignity to be stripped away in such a manner. She didn't deserve it. 

With sad eyes, John assisted the Baroness into the bed. Lighting cracked outside the window. The flash highlighted the Baroness' contorted facial features, and the thunder drowned out her groans. Rain poured down as Victoria gripped the bedsheets with all her might. One last scream tore through the room before the squeals of a newborn overpowered it.

Relief washed over the Baroness' senses. After several hours of pushing and straining her body, Victoria had expelled the parasite. She glanced at the creature after it was placed on her chest and grimaced. She felt no emotions toward the ugly thing with its two-toned hair and scrunched face. It looked more like a goblin than a human, let alone a baby. She had read about the overwhelming sense of joy and love mothers experience after birth, but Victoria felt none of it. She had no maternal instincts. She was completely detached from the being resting atop her. 

"Get it off! Get it off!". She demanded, disgusted by the bloody beast. John, who had been standing at the Baroness' bedside supportingly, gently scooped the child into his arms. Cradling her to his chest, he soothes the newborn. He glanced at the Baroness quizzically. "Your ladyship-". "It's filthy. Clean it before laying it upon me.".  Reluctantly, John followed his boss' orders. He knew the child's fate but refused to accept it. 

Weeks passed with no sign from the Baron. An infant's broken screams resonated throughout Hellman Hall at all hours of the day. The Baroness, exhausted, tried her best to soothe the wailing beast. She knew what the creature desired. It had been hours since her last attempt to feed the damned thing. 

Sighing heavily, Victoria caved, craving silence. Taking the child into her arms, she sat in the nursery rocking chair and began to unbutton her blouse. Her breasts throbbed with each cry from the infant. The Baroness hated it. She hated how her body reacted to the creature. She hated how it relied on her for survival. Once the leech attached to her breast, it quieted, suckling nutrients from Victoria. A deep sigh left her lips as relief washed over her. 

When the infant finally finished feeding, Victoria laid it back in its bassinet. She watched the creature's eyes droop as it fell into a peaceful slumber. Placing her index finger under its nose to ensure it was breathing, the Baroness left the nursery to let the beast sleep.

Sluggish, she dragged her drained body through the vast hallways to her chambers. A steaming hot bath awaited her arrival, prepared by one of the maids. The faint smell of lavender reached her nostrils as she peeled her clothes off. She smiled weakly. The prospect of relaxation drew her in. 

Her smile faded when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The woman before her terrified her. The reflection showed a woman similar to Victoria but tired and aged. She ran her hands over her aching breasts and sagging skin, reminiscing about her once-perfect form. Lithe fingers traced each stretch mark and blemish with growing disdain. A single tear flowed down her soft cheek. Weary blue eyes met her own, lacking their usual shine. Her dark brown hair looked horrible, piled messily upon her head. This wasn't the woman she knew, the woman she was proud to be. This woman was a mother, and motherhood wasn't pretty. 

Sighing, the Baroness dragged her feet to the bathroom, accepting her new fate. Her brilliance was long gone, stolen away by the beast's tiny hands. Victoria was a shell of what she used to be,  young and full of genius. Now she was pathetic, ugly, and aged. After her bath, she called her valet to her room, deciding to save herself. 

Concerned, John rushed into the Baroness' chambers. He met his mistress, wrapped in a towel with a defeated stance. The time had come. She was at her wit's end. Giving the Baroness an understanding nod, he left the room to dispose of the child. A weight lifted off of Victoria's chest as she watched her employee leave. She felt free, knowing that the creature that used her could no longer. She was free.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Victoria stands frozen in thought. Her hand hovers over the metal doorknob. Unfolding your arms, you approach your lover from behind. Placing your hands on her shoulders, you kiss her on the cheek. She flinches as she comes back to reality, sniffling. She turns to face you with black, mascara-filled tears staining her cheeks. Staring into her eyes, you give her a gentle kiss. "Would you like to talk about it?" you ask softly. 

She shakes her head, running her hands over your waist to ground herself. "No, my dear. That isn't necessary," she replies. You sigh defeatedly. "Victoria, you can't bottle it all up forever. I won't judge you.". She nods, finding truth in your words. You take her hand gently, leading her to the stripped chaise. She kicks her heels off and lays down, sighing heavily.

Taking a deep breath, she explains her feelings. Occasionally, she takes a break when it gets too overwhelming. You're not sure when or how it happened, but somehow you ended up with Victoria's head in your lap, playing with her dark hair. She sobs against your thigh, and you rub her back to soothe her. "I'm a horrible person. I abandoned my child. Motherhood destroyed me," she sobs. 

You brush her hair behind her ear before speaking softly. "Pretty girl, look at me.". Watery blue eyes met yours, A million thoughts and emotions swimming in those oceans. You stare back into those deep blues lovingly, hoping you can express your adoration through your eyes. Smiling down at her, you cup her cheek. "You've been knocked down by trauma, yet you got back up swinging. You took your situation and used it as kindling for the fire within you. You are intelligent, beautiful, and talented. Motherhood did not destroy you, Victoria. It gave you fight.".

"It gave you power.".

Low hums fill the air. Lavender-scented hair care products reach your nostrils as you massage the Baroness' scalp. Smiling down at your lady sweetly, you watch her tired features relax. The furrow between her perfectly sculpted brows softens. A content smile rests upon her red lips. Leaning down, you press a gentle kiss to her forehead. Your hand stills and the Baroness' bloodshot eyes flutter open, meeting yours. 

"Why did you stop, my dear?". Lovingly, you smile at her and kiss her passionately. Shocked, Victoria's eyes widen before she returns the kiss with just as much passion as you. She shifts on the chaise, elegantly resting her legs to sit sideways as your lips stay glued together with soft kisses. Plump red lips meet yours, pressing their devotion deep into your soul. Lithe fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you close enough for your nose to touch hers, exhales hitting each other's skin. 

Your hands wander along the fabric clinging to her hourglass figure, thumbs traveling up to graze her collarbones and trace the curve of her breasts. Victoria's chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. Moans escape from her lips. Your cool fingers brush against heated skin, and Victoria gasps at the temperature difference. Using her parted lips as an invitation, you slip your tongue into her mouth. The salt from her tears hits your tastebuds, momentarily startling you. When the shock fades away, you continue your ministrations, enjoying the closeness. 

Victoria parts from you with a wet pop. You both pant to catch your breath. The sight of her flushed cheeks, slightly sweaty forehead, and smudged lipstick set your mind on a rampage. Scandalous fantasies fill your head as you make eye contact with the Baroness, her eyes dark with desire. "Lock the door," she rasps, voice horse and dominating. You chuckle at her attempt to command you but follow her request. 

After double-checking the doorknob, you turn to face Victoria. Sitting on the edge of the chaise with her knees pressed together, she unties the wrap around her waist. You approach her as her top parts, revealing her perky breasts and a dark corset. Smirking at the view, you trace the carefully tied bow before undoing the lace of her corset. A sigh of relief passes her lips as you discard the restricting garment with her other clothing, caressing the soft skin of her tummy. You cup her breasts, thumbs grazing over erect nipples as you kiss her neck. Kissing and sucking her pulse point, Victoria squirms beneath you, growing impatient. 

She groans, wanting you to expedite the process. Teasingly, you brush your hand against her thigh, fingernails tickling her skin. As your hand inches closer to her skirt, you bunch the fabric around her hips. Before you can finish, she swats your hand away, complaining about creasing the expensive material. You roll your eyes but unzip it, slipping both the skirt and her underwear down her legs when she lifts her hips. Her bare form entices you, luring you in like a moth to a flame.

Dropping to your knees before her, you lift her right leg, resting it on the chaise. She leans back on both of her hands, supporting herself as you kiss her inner thigh. Your tongue ghosts through her folds and a low moan leaves her. Using her dominant left hand to stabilize herself, she plays with her breast with her right as you pleasure her. Her thighs quiver around your head, and her erratic moans fill the room as you work her toward her release. 

You pull away at the last second, mouth and chin covered in her essence. Whining, she grips your hair, attempting to push you against her dripping center. You brace your hands against her thighs to create resistance and look at her puppy dog eyes. You smirk at her needy form, flushed skin, sweaty hair, and trembling thighs. Standing, you kiss her swollen lips, and she moans at the taste of herself. "I want to try something new if you're comfortable," you rasp. Victoria raises her perfectly sculpted eyebrow skeptically but nods her approval. Placing a gentle kiss on her lips, you leave her office to grab her surprise. 

Returning to the Baroness' office, strap on and lube in hand, you pause when you open the door. Head tossed back and eyes screwed shut in pleasure, two of Victoria's fingers plunge into her, knuckle deep. You watch the show with great interest, the older woman's heavy breathing and moans adding to the burn between your thighs. Your nostrils flare in an attempt to control yourself. 

Quietly, you lock her office door and strip. Victoria, lost in her self-pleasure, doesn't notice your presence. Slipping the strap over your hips, you adjust it, ensuring it fits properly. The click from you opening the bottle of lube breaks Victoria from her spell. Her eyes fly open, and a strangled combination of a gasp and a moan leaves her lips as her fingers stop their movements. You tsk disapprovingly, pouring the lube onto your fingers and lathering the toy until it's slick and shiny. "Did I tell you to stop?" you question sternly. She shakes her head no in response. "Then keep going," you order.

Swallowing harshly, Victoria begins to pump her fingers again, working towards her original pace. You approach with growing arousal, the Baroness' core swallowing her fingers whole. Throwing her head back in pleasure, Victoria's breathing quickens as she nears her climax. 

Catching her wrist, you stop her movements. A whine leaves her smudged red lips as you remove her hand from her entrance, her impending release fading away. With a pout, Victoria watches as you raise her hand to your face, sucking her soaked digits into your mouth. A low moan leaves your throat as her wetness coats your tastebuds. Her fingers slide out of your mouth, connected to your tongue by strings of saliva, and you smirk. "Delectable," you compliment.

She eyes the purple toy attached to your hips, a schoolgirl blush painting her cheeks. "When did you purchase this?" she questions, blue eyes filled with arousal and curiosity. "Shortly after our first time together," you reply, resting your hand on her propped-up right kneecap. "A noblewoman such as yourself deserves to be pleasured properly.".

She gulps, suddenly avoiding eye contact. Gently, you cup her chin with your free hand, guiding her face back to yours. "W- will it hurt?" Victoria whispers, lust-filled eyes clouded with apprehension. A pitiful smile graces your features. Closing your eyes, you rest your forehead against hers. "I won't hurt you. I promise," you reassure her. She sighs, nodding her approval. 

Smirking, you place your hands on your hips and look down upon her. "Bend over.". Your lady obliges, propping her shaky elbows against the chaise and presenting herself to you, conveniently standing perpendicular to one of the four symmetrical mirrors in her office. Caressing her hips, you lean over her, your bare breasts pressing against her back, easing her nerves. You kiss her neck, nuzzling your nose against her pulse point to help her relax. With the assistance of your sweet touch, all of the tension is released from her body, allowing arousal to overcome her senses. You feel the older woman shiver with anticipation beneath you before she presses her hips into yours.

You chuckle, receiving her message loud and clear. Adjusting your position, you rise, gripping the Baroness' hips and guiding your silicone appendage through her slick folds. She shifts forward on her elbows, a pleasured gasp leaving her parted lips at the intrusion. Easing the toy the rest of the way in, a groan of pleasure leaves both of you, Victoria's due to the depth, yours due to the base pressing against your clit. 

Carefully, you thrust forward, monitoring the Baroness' reactions. She huffs beneath you. "I'm not porcelain. I will not fracture if you use a bit of force.". You roll your eyes at her quick emotional shift, jerking your hips as a warning before increasing your pace. A loud moan of your name echoes throughout the office, overpowering the sound of slick skin slapping against each other. "Better, your ladyship?" you grunt, angling your hips to hit the spongy spot deep inside her. You snake your hands between her thighs and the chaise, locating her swollen clit with ease and making quick, tight circles. 

Overwhelmed with pleasure, the Baroness falls forward, her beautiful face smashed into the stripped chaise, relying on your strength to hold her up. Wild strands of hair stick to her sweaty skin. Lengthy moans spill from her parted lips. Her eyebrows furrow in concentration as her climax rapidly approaches. Two sweat beads roll down her neck, joining together and completing their journey down her back. 

As your thrusts are met with more resistance, her walls clench desperately around the purple toy. You gently coax your lady to look forward. Wide, lust-blown pupils meet their reflection in the large gold-framed mirror. Her eyes rake over your scandalous position. The Baroness, in all her glory, studies herself. Her breasts bounce with each thrust, her body shifting back and forth from the force. Skin flushed and covered in sweat, her body threatening to collapse beneath you. She looks magnificent like a rare work of art one would find displayed in a world-class museum, as she takes all of you. Leaning over her, you whisper your deepest desires in her ear. Smudged red lips part with a silent moan of your name as she climaxes, your filthy words and her exquisite reflection sending her tumbling over the edge of bliss.

Slowing your pace, you help Victoria ride out her high, placing gentle kisses along her left shoulder and neck. You whisper your praises as she relaxes beneath you, sighing, completely spent. Warning her beforehand, you slowly remove the toy, placing it aside to be cleaned later. She whimpers at the sensitivity, and you caress her hips to soothe her. "Let's get you cleaned up, pretty girl. You did so well.". She nods along with you, too tired to make a snappy comeback as you help her stand on weak legs.

Wrapping a spare blanket around her shoulders, you grab the toy and lead her back to her chambers. She rests her head on your shoulder as you trek through the lengthy halls, admiring various decorations along the way. Entering her ensuite, you guide her to sit on the edge of the grand tub. You turn the golden sink faucet, waiting for the water to warm, before wetting a washcloth. Warm water droplets race down your arm as you kneel before your lady, parting her legs and gently cleaning her inner thighs. She stares down at you lovingly, lazily running her fingers through your hair.

After you finish cleaning her up, you place a soft kiss on her kneecap and stand. You offer her a silk robe, which she takes and wraps around her waist. She watches you as you finish cleaning everything up, observing your figure. A hue of different colors wracks through her brain as she decides which would suit your skin tone best. Lost in thought, she doesn't register you smirking down upon her until you tap her shoulder. Her tired blue eyes focus on your outstretched hand, inviting her to take it. Her delicate fingers wrap around yours, red fingernails digging into your palm, and she allows you to lead her to bed. 

She removes the robe, allowing the garment to flutter off her shoulders and onto the rug below. Crawling into bed together, you face each other. Your arms slip around her waist, and she rests her head on your bare chest, listening to your steady heartbeat. Your chest rises and falls with even breaths as you rest your chin on top of Victoria's head. Her signature lavender shampoo reaches your nostrils, and you smile at the familiarity. Kissing her scalp, you intertwine your legs with hers. 

You watch her eyes droop and feel her warm breaths against your breasts. She mumbles as she tethers between the state of consciousness and unconsciousness, seemingly declaring her love for you. You whisper your devotion back, tightening your hold on the brunette. After ensuring your lady is comfortable, you close your eyes, allowing sleep to wash over you. Lying together so intimately, skin melting together, two lovers joined beautifully as one in the safety of each other's arms. 

A scene worth as much as a masterpiece.

She set her next project for the end of October, her Autumn Ball, essentially an annual costume party. It will take place the week after she releases her Autumn Collection, a tasteful assembly of gowns inspired by the colors of the season. She only has a month to produce twelve genius designs. Mindful of the time crunch she's put herself in, your lady spends every waking hour in her office or the design room. The maids often give you sideways glances as the Baroness' groans of frustration resonate from her working space throughout the estate's vast hallways. Her employment rates are close to the negatives because of her short temper and intolerance for idiocy. All eyes are on you to calm her ladyship before she terminates every staff member she has. 

Treading lightly, silver tea tray in hand, you knock on the design room glass doors. The Baroness peeks over her glasses, acknowledging you, before returning her attention to the sketchbooks and stacks of papers on her desk. As you enter the room, her fountain pen scratches swiftly across the thick papers. Placing your tray on the round end table beside her desk, you prepare her tea. You slip the warm tea saucer to the right of her sketchbook. Your lady never glances up from her work, eyes darting back and forth across the page as quickly as her left hand. 

Sighing, you approach her from behind. You glance at the glass doors, ensuring there are no peering eyes present, before wrapping your arms around her shoulders and kissing her neck. Her pen stills and silence resonates throughout the design room. A loud sigh penetrates the silence, her ladyship's head dropping slightly. As she reaches for the porcelain teacup, you kiss her temple. 

"Chamomile, to help you relax, pretty girl," you whisper against her skin. She nods appreciatively, sipping the steaming beverage. A content moan slips past her lips as the warm herbal liquid coats her tastebuds, sliding down the back of her throat. 

Glancing down, you examine the details of her designs. Brilliant reds, oranges, and browns blend, reminding you of the leaves falling outside. The sound of porcelain clinking pulls you out of your trance as the Baroness finishes her tea. She relaxes in your hold, allowing herself a moment of peace before returning to her work. The ornate grandfather clock chimes twice, disrupting the intimate moment. Sighing, the Baroness shoos you away so she can continue sketching without distraction. You abide, swiftly cleaning up the tea tray and leaving the room. As you close the glass doors behind you, you glance at your lady one last time. Her pen scratches against the sketchbook rapidly, and her eyes never leave the page.

Words stretch across the page of your book, but you aren't reading them. Your mind races through concerns for your lady. The previous night, she didn't join you in bed until the early hours of the morning, and you woke to cold sheets. Something you've grown accustomed to, but it still disappoints you every morning. She rarely joins you at mealtimes anymore. You have to beg her to eat, pleading with her as if she were a picky toddler. 

A familiar groan and the smashing of porcelain echo throughout the vast estate. Sighing, you mark the page of your book, enclosing your thoughts within the novel. You leave the dimly lit library and make your way to the Baroness' office. Her screams of frustration bounce off the walls, and maids give you sideways glances as you pass. You offer them a polite smile in return, a silent promise that you'll try to extinguish her ladyship's fiery temper. 

Once you reach the Baroness' office, you knock three times and call her name. You open her door slowly, avoiding any potential flying objects. Standing in the middle of the room, hair unkempt and chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, the Baroness stares daggers in your direction. Her gaze softens slightly when she realizes it's you entering her office unannounced and not some foolish servant. She straightens out her skirt with a heavy sigh and addresses you.

"Yes, my dear? Did you need something?"

Remaining silent, you step over fragments of exquisite decorations as you approach her. Wrapping your arms around her waist, you pull her into a loving embrace. Victoria tenses in your hold before melting into you. Her shoulders relax, and a content sigh escapes her crimson lips. Kissing her neck lightly, you pull away and admire your lover's features. Tired blue eyes meet yours, deep eye bags sticking out beneath her concealer. 

You glance around her office, Victoria's self-imposed prison cell, desperately searching for a way to put your lady out of her misery. An idea comes to mind, and you meet your lady's curious expression with a smirk. You turn and walk to the door, careful not to step on any broken glass. Completely bewildered, Victoria watches as you leave her. You roll your eyes at her adorable pout, offering her your hand. 

"Come along," you order with a teasing smile. Over time you've adopted Victoria's idiolect, much to her disdain. 

"Where are you taking me?" she questions, taking your hand and following you. 

"Out," you reply. "Being cooped up in your office for hours cannot be healthy."

She chuckles lightly at your antics but decides to indulge you regardless. Sitting in her plush office chair all day was beginning to hurt her back. 

Stopping a maid dusting an ornate picture frame, you arrange for Victoria's driver to pull to the front of the mansion. Before the maid can scurry away to fulfill her task, you request one of Victoria's lesser-known vehicles to be driven. The maid bows her head in submission and practically runs out of the room, not wanting to risk angering either of you. Crossing her arms, Victoria scoffs, clearly upset that you won't be riding in one of her preferred automobiles. 

"I don't want the paparazzi tailing us while we're trying to enjoy the day together," you explain. Her expression softens slightly, understanding your reasoning. 

Panting heavily from running a marathon throughout the grand estate, the maid returns. She informs you that the driver is waiting at the entrance. Thanking the maid with a nod, you trail behind Victoria as she struts past you. 

The busy streets of London whirl past you as the Baroness' driver navigates through the traffic. Victoria sits to your left, arms crossed over her chest, and her signature pout painted across her red lips. 

"If you had taken a left at that light, we would have been there already, you imbecile," she complains. The driver simply hums in acknowledgment, used to their employer's backseat driving. 

Victoria huffs and rolls her eyes at her employee's carelessness. You chuckle lightly, taking the lady's soft hand into your own and watching the various shops pass by. Giving your hand a light squeeze, the Baroness glances in your direction. A smirk forms on her face as she observes you, your eyes widening with childlike wonder at the stores. 

When the car pulls to a stop, you scurry to the Baroness' door, opening it for your lady. "How chivalrous," she teases with a wink before slipping her sunglasses over her eyes. 

The crisp autumn air caresses your skin as you stroll alongside the Baroness, causing chills to run down your spine. You trail after the Baroness as she struts into designer stores. Gorgeous garments worth more than ten times your salary flood your field of view. Victoria marches through the aisles, commenting on the designs while piling the ones she plans to purchase on your forearms. A few fashion influencers recognize the Baroness, engaging in conversations longer than a fantasy novel. 

Rhinestones scratch your skin, and your arms buckle under the mountain of clothing. The sparkle in her bright blue eyes and her radiant smile prevent you from complaining. A ray of sunshine reflecting off the crystals adorning the luxurious gowns surrounding you. Seeing her happy never fails to lift your spirits. You'll overcome any obstacle solely for her. 

Six boutiques later, the Baroness declares that she's finished shopping for the day. Balancing the bags on your dominant arm, Victoria rests her head on the opposite shoulder briefly, holding your hand as you navigate the busy sidewalk together. A gust of wind sweeps through, causing you to shiver slightly. Victoria pulls you into her, and your heart warms at the gesture. 

An awning with pink and white stripes comes into view, and you smile at your lady. Gently swinging your intertwined hands, you lead the Baroness to the shop that caught your eye. Noticing the sudden change in pace, the Baroness follows your gaze, looking for what caught your interest. An amused smirk crosses her features as she addresses you.

"Ice cream? Were you not just shivering, my dear?" You shrug in response. "It tastes good, and I deserve a reward for being your personal trolley."

Unimpressed, the Baroness raises her perfectly carved eyebrow. You bow your head apologetically and kiss her cheek. Rolling her eyes with a dramatic sigh, the Baroness allows you to drag her into the ice cream parlor like an overly eager child.

Waiting in line, you're practically bouncing off the walls, excitedly telling Victoria what you plan to order. She simply nods along with you, a light smile painting her delicate features. After ordering, Victoria swats your hand away when you attempt to pay, glaring at you light-heartedly. You scoff at her playfully but thank her nonetheless. She acknowledges your gratitude with a nod.

Hurrying in front of your lady, you go to the tiny round table she had her eye on and pull out a chair for her. She smiles at the proper treatment and squeezes your hand appreciatively as you place her cup in front of her. You take your seat across from the Baroness and stick your spoon into your sugary treat, stirring the ice cream and toppings together until it has a soft serve consistency. The older woman watches you as she lifts her plastic spoon to her ruby lips.

"Are we playing with our food now, my dear?" she smirks.

Focusing on her smug expression, you offer one in return. "It's fun. You should try it sometime," you bite back playfully.

Victoria scoffs at your statement. "I have plenty of fun." "Says the woman who ordered a single scoop of sugar-free, fat-free vanilla ice cream. I bet your tastebuds would explode if you tried mine." You challenge, pointing your spoon at her teasingly.

Ever competitive in nature, she takes the spoon from you, refusing to turn down a challenge. The Baroness grabs your cup, scoops a huge glob of topping-covered ice cream onto the spoon, and raises it to her mouth. She stares into your eyes and licks the sweet treat off the spoon with a triumphant smirk. She makes it a point to lick the plastic utensil clean, smacking her lips when she finishes. A wave of laughter washes over you as her face falters, disgust overtaking her features.

"That was terrible," she coughs out, reaching for a napkin. 

Still giggling, you hand her the brightly colored napkin from the center of the table. Your fingers brush against hers as she takes the napkin from you and intertwines your hands. Staring into her eyes lovingly, you wish for nothing more than to press your lips against hers. Having similar thoughts, Victoria shifts her elbows onto the table and leans forward. Plush lips less than a hair's length away from yours, she whispers her love for you sweetly.

Unaboust to you both, a camera flashes in the distance.