Chapter 4: Becoming Madame V

The days that followed my first paid encounter tested both my body and resolve. Each time hunger or desperation loomed, I hardened my heart and did what was necessary. In smoky taverns and dingy inns, I learned the art of survival anew—one silvery coin, one stolen night at a time. The work was bitter and often degrading, but with each transaction I grew more determined that this would not be my end, only my beginning. If society wanted me to be a courtesan, then I would become the very best among them.

Within a fortnight I had amassed a small purse of coins by selling my favors to those who could pay. It was enough to purchase a few second-hand gowns, modest but presentable, and passage on a mail coach heading north to the capital city of Averinne. I chose Averinne for its size and cosmopolitan nature; a stranger could reinvent herself there with little question. Most importantly, it was far from the reach of anyone who knew Vivienne Renelle.

During the journey, as the landscape rolled by in a blur of green and gold, I quietly laid my old self to rest. The naïve debutante who believed in love and honor had no place in the life ahead of me. In her stead, I began crafting an identity that could thrive in the shadows of high society. I would need a name—something simple, memorable, yet not easily traced. My given name, Vivienne, still felt like me, but I dared not use it openly. And so, by the time the coach rattled past the gates of Averinne, I had resolved upon my rebirth: Madame V. A single letter to hint at my past, and "Madame" to lend me an air of sophistication and mystery.

Averinne was a bustling metropolis of fashion and intrigue, where fortunes and reputations were made and lost nightly in glittering salons. Stepping onto its cobbled streets with my trunk in hand, I was both exhilarated and terrified. I had a small rented room in a decent part of town—secured in advance by post under the pretense of a young widow relocating to the city. The widow persona would serve well; it explained my presence alone and allowed for a touch of wistful melancholy I could wield to attract sympathy or interest.

In the privacy of that tiny apartment, I prepared for my debut into the demi-monde. I tailored one of the better gowns I'd bought—a deep burgundy silk that clung to my curves more daringly than any dress I'd worn as a lady. Before a cloudy mirror, I dressed my hair in the latest style, high and slightly powdered, securing it with cheap paste jewels that nevertheless glittered in the candlelight. My face, I painted just enough to accentuate my lips and eyes, remembering the tricks I'd seen actresses use. When I was finished, the woman staring back at me was transformed. No longer a bedraggled girl begging for bread—she looked every inch a seductress from some exotic locale, with dark eyes that hid secrets and a bearing that suggested she answered to no one.

"Madame V," I whispered to my reflection, testing the name on my tongue. It felt foreign and empowering all at once. This was the shield I would present to the world; behind it, I could act with boldness that timid Vivienne never could.

Outfitted in my new plumage, I ventured into Averinne's nightlife. I had done my research in daylight hours, listening in cafés and reading broadsheets. There were certain parlors, theaters, and gentlemen's clubs where a courtesan might find patrons among the wealthy. I targeted a famed music hall first—a place called La Maison des Étoiles, where the city's elite mingled with opera dancers and courtesans after performances.

That evening, I swept into the gilded foyer of La Maison des Étoiles with my heart hammering but my head high. Crystal chandeliers cast shimmering light on marble floors as refined men and women chattered in clusters. I was careful to affect a slow, confident stride, as if I belonged there, as if I expected admiration. And indeed, I caught more than a few eyes. Some curious, some hungry.

At the bar, I ordered a flute of champagne—using a precious coin despite the expense, knowing it would lend credence to my role. A gentleman to my right, captivated by my presence, struck up polite conversation. He was a perfumer to the aristocracy, wealthy enough, but I gently disengaged after a few minutes. He did not stir my instincts; I needed someone more influential for my first true patron.

I did not have to wait long. While I stood observing the crowd, I sensed a gaze resting on me from across the room. I turned and found a distinguished-looking older man watching me intently. He was tall and gray at the temples, dressed in an expensive midnight-blue tailcoat. Even from a distance, there was an aura of power about him. When our eyes met, instead of looking away as a proper lady might, I let my lips curve in a subtle, inviting smile and held his gaze. The bait was set.

He approached with the confidence of a man used to getting what he desired. Up close, I recognized him from whispered rumors: Baron Nicolas d'Arcy, a widower known for both his wealth and his appetite for beautiful young women. I could scarcely believe my luck—if I managed to charm him, I'd be well on my way.

"Good evening, madame," Baron d'Arcy greeted, bowing over my hand. His eyes never left mine as he brushed a courtly kiss on my knuckles. "I don't believe we've met. Your face is one I would surely recall."

I gently withdrew my hand, allowing a playful laugh. "Oh, I am quite new to the city, my lord. Perhaps that is why." I kept my answers coy, revealing little. Mystery was my ally.

He introduced himself with a flourish. I gave him my chosen name only: "They call me Madame V." I purred the words softly, watching his reaction.

His brows lifted a fraction with intrigue. "Madame V… An enchanting moniker. Might one inquire what the V stands for?"

I sipped my champagne and gave a slow, enigmatic smile. "For whatever you wish it to mean, Baron." It was a bold, flirtatious answer—one I never would have dared in my previous life. But here, as this new creature, it felt almost natural.

He chuckled, clearly delighted. His gaze roamed appreciatively over my figure, taking in the foreign cut of my burgundy gown, the elegance of my posture. "Allow me to welcome you to Averinne. Are you enjoying our fair city?"

"Immensely, especially now," I replied, letting a hint of sultriness lace my tone. My nerves were singing, but I masked them with practiced coquetry. This dance of words and glances—I realized I quite enjoyed it. There was power in enchantment, in making a man like Baron d'Arcy lean in a little closer, drawn to me as surely as a moth to flame.

He offered me his arm. "Come, join me in my box for the next act? The soprano is divine, but I suspect I shall find your company even more diverting."

I placed my hand lightly on his arm, feeling the fine quality of his coat and the solid warmth of him beneath. "It would be my pleasure, monsieur."

As he escorted me through the crowd, I caught the jealous stares of a pair of younger courtesans, their whispers following in my wake. Already, Madame V was making an impression.

In the privacy of the Baron's opera box, we talked in low tones between arias. I spun a vague but enthralling story for him: a young widow from a distant province, recently arrived with a small inheritance—enough to live independently, but oh, the nights can be lonely. He listened, entranced, as I revealed just enough heartbreak in my tale to tug at his chivalry, and just enough wit to keep him laughing.

By the time the final curtain fell, Baron d'Arcy was utterly captivated. He invited me to a late supper at a prestigious café, where he fed me delicate pastries with his own fork and brushed my leg under the table with his knee. I responded with gentle enthusiasm, allowing our touches to linger, letting soft sighs escape at his compliments.

All the while, my mind raced ahead. I recognized the shift in his demeanor—the flush in his cheeks, the spark in his eye. It was the look of a man who had decided on a new conquest. When he asked if he might call on me the next day, I knew I had him.

"I shall look forward to it, Nicolas," I murmured, daring to use his first name as I lightly ran a finger along the back of his hand. A visible shiver ran through him at my familiarity.

That night I returned to my little flat with a pounding heart and an exhilarated smile. I had played my role flawlessly. The Baron had no inkling of the disgraced girl behind my façade; to him, I was an enchanting mystery he burned to unravel.

Alone in my room, I allowed myself a single moment to collapse against the door and exhale in relief. My feet ached and my face hurt from smiling so long. But it had paid off—tomorrow, I would entertain the Baron in this very apartment (after hurriedly adding some touches of elegance to it with the coin he'd pressed into my hand for "expenses"). If all went well, I would secure him as my first patron, establishing myself as a courtesan of the highest tier.

As I extinguished the candle, I realized I felt something akin to joy. Not the naïve joy of love, but the hard-won triumph of having taken fate into my own hands. Vivienne was gone; in her place stood Madame V, a woman who bowed to no destiny but that which she carved for herself.

In the darkness, I whispered a promise: "This is only the beginning." I would rise from the ashes of scandal and make the world remember Madame V—not as a victim, but as a woman to be desired and feared in equal measure.