The Million-Dollar Heart

Percival couldn't believe his eyes as he watched Vivienne perform. It was like witnessing a car crash in slow motion-you want to look away, but you just can't.

Especially when she started singing. It was like a mix between a cat in distress and nails on a chalkboard. Who would have thought this bright young thing had the vocal charm of a banshee on a bad day? Nearly sent the whole room running for the hills!

And her dance moves? Straight out of a B-grade horror flick. Where on earth did she pick up those moves?

"Here we go round the mulberry bush, I'll pop your head off with a single push..."

"I love taking baths, watch the turtle crash, oh oh oh..."

Vivienne was belting out tunes with the confidence of a rock star, going strong until 4 AM.

Thank the stars the Perez household didn't have neighbors close by, or the cops would have been called for sure!

Finally, she concluded her one-woman show with a grand finale, "I'm a girl, cute as a pearl..." and then, out like a light. Percival heaved a sigh of relief. If she hadn't passed out, he was sure he'd be the next to go down.

Imagine, face painted like a carnival attraction, nursing a broken arm, and enduring Vivienne's howls. What a night!

Once Vivienne was safely carted off to bed, the servants locked her in tight on Jasper's orders. "Make sure she doesn't escape," he instructed, still shaken from the night's events.

to their misery. It wasn't just the

Vivienne tucked away, the Perez family didn't even bother washing up. They were too drained, retreating

moment near her. Who knew what she'd do next? He opted for the guest room, leaving Arthur

Waking up, she found the house eerily quiet and everyone avoiding her

having a costume party?" she asked, puzzled by the bizarre artwork on

sober now?" they asked in unison, visibly relieved when she confirmed her

holding back his frustration, asked if she remembered anything

on my face? Really?" Vivienne was bemused, only to find out it was her own

antics-the impromptu marathon the laxatives, and oh, the singing: Percival, Maddox, and the rest shared their trauma,

profusely. "I forgot I can't handle my liquor," she admitted,

wasn't her

certainly one for the books. Next te'd steer

of moonshine, and boy, did things spiral out of control. Later, her fellow

high-intensity workout in the middle of the

their doors with mud

them of their