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CHAPTER ONE

AURELIA

T here’s a strange kind of silence that falls after someone dies. That silence was fresh when I killed DeMarco, a drug when I offed Whitman, and an old friend when I ended Victoria.

But this silence… the silence that hangs around Adrian’s lifeless body… I can’t bear it.

I can’t bear the weight of so much death.

I thought revenge would feel like victory. Like justice. Instead, it feels like Adrian’s blood drying on my hands while Julian aims his gun at my heart, his mother’s web of lies choking us both. The truth of what she’s done—what she’s orchestrated—sinks into my bones like poison.

The silence cuts deeper than any blade as I stare down the barrel of Julian’s gun. Betrayal has cracked me open completely—his more than Lady Harrow’s. Everything I thought I knew is bleeding away like Adrian’s life on this pristine carpet.

Mom, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was so naive. I know you wanted a better life for me.

My gaze darts to the door behind Julian and Lady Harrow.

The survival instinct that’s kept me alive all these years kicks in, sending electricity through my limbs.

My heart pounds as I calculate angles, distances, possibilities.

The cream-colored walls of Lady Harrow’s new recovery room feel like they’re closing in.

The antiseptic smell mingles with the metallic scent of blood and her flowery perfume.

There has to be a way out. There’s always a way out. But I don’t think I can run around both of them fast enough. And the window behind me is too far away; Julian will fire before I reach it.

My chest aches—would he really shoot me?

Julian’s finger twitches around the trigger and I flinch, but really, the ice in his eyes has already killed me.

Those eyes that once looked at me with such heat now remind me he’s a Harrow .

Powerful. Cunning. Cruel. The dim light catches on his muscled frame, on the skeleton snakes tattooed up his forearms. The way he holds himself now—jaw clenched, shoulders rigid—reminds me of all those times I watched him in the underground fight club.

He’s trained to eliminate threats without hesitation.

Even though he tried so hard to distance himself from the Inferno Consortium and his father, Lucian, cruelty runs deep in his veins. And right now, all I am to him is a threat to be dealt with. The woman who supposedly murdered his brother and tried to kill his mother.

The fear crystallizes into something harder, something that burns. How dare he? How dare he make me the villain? He didn’t even try to hear me out when I told him the truth.

My fingers tighten around my own weapon as I keep it trained on Lady Harrow—the real puppet master. The gun trembles slightly in my grip, the metal slick with Adrian’s blood against my palm. My hands look small wrapped around it, just like they always looked small in his.

I hate that I’m trembling, hate myself for showing weakness. For letting them see how everything inside me is struggling to hang on.

The rage is now bubbling in my throat like bile. Rage at Lady Harrow for her perfect manipulation. At Julian for believing her lies so easily. At myself for not seeing it sooner. For getting here too late to stop Lady Harrow from shooting Adrian.

Adrian…

He’s… gone. Suddenly, there’s a chasm in my heart I never expected.

We dated for ten years, but I always felt he only wanted me for show—the Harrow who got the Golden One.

He was always so distant. In return, I kept myself closed off, not wanting to fall for him when I knew he’d never truly love me.

So what’s this emptiness I feel?

I swallow hard. Whatever this is, I can’t linger on it right now. First, I need to escape, and it’ll take a gamble for me to survive this alive.

“Go ahead,” I taunt, tasting copper on my tongue from biting my cheek too hard. “Pull the fucking trigger. Show me how much of your father’s son you really are. ”

His jaw ticks. It means I’ve struck a nerve. Good. Let him feel a fraction of what’s burning through me right now.

“Don’t,” is all he says. The word comes out low and dangerous and makes my blood freeze.

But there’s something else—a slight waver that most people wouldn’t catch because they don’t know him like I do. Right now, beneath that cold exterior, fear flickers in those blue eyes.

Real fear.

Fear of what, though? Me? How could that be true when he has the upper hand?

Doesn’t matter, his fear and hesitation are my way out. I’ll call his bluff.

“What’s wrong, Julian?” I force my lips into a cruel smirk. “Scared you’ll miss? Or scared you’ll actually do it?”

Lady Harrow’s hands twist in his shirt, her thin fingers clawing at the fabric.

Even now, with her skin tight from botox and her black bob disheveled, she maintains that prim demeanor.

But I see her eyes widen as her mask slips for just a moment.

She didn’t expect this—didn’t expect me to fight back when cornered.

Didn’t expect her perfect plan to meet resistance.

Also good. Let her fear what she’s created. Because I’m done being anyone’s puppet.

“Don’t,” Julian echoes, like I didn’t hear him the first time.

“Or what?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

I laugh. “Too late. I was stupid to ever think I could trust you, so why not kill me and end my misery?” I adjust my aim slightly, making sure Lady Harrow knows exactly where I’ll shoot if she moves. “Or do you not have the balls?”

I’m taking a huge risk—the part of him that thinks I’m a killer could be stronger than whatever part still cares for me.

“Aurelia,” he says with ice in his voice, but there’s also an unspoken plea behind it.

I see it then—the slight tremor in his trigger finger that mirrors my own. We’re both caught in this twisted dance, each waiting for the other to make the fatal misstep. Yet neither of us wants to. I don’t want more bloodshed now, though I’ll sure as hell be coming for Lady Harrow soon.

Just lower the gun. Give me an opening to leave.

“What’s wrong?” I push harder. “Can’t shoot someone who’s looking you in the eye? Your father never had that problem. Or, wait. My mistake—do you need to rape me first while your mother watches? You can be Lucian’s true copy.”

That gets a reaction from Lady Harrow, her left eye twitching and the corners of her mouth pulling inward like someone stitched them with thread. It’s subtle but very satisfying.

Julian also reacts, his jaw clenching so hard I can almost hear his teeth crack. “Last chance,” he says. “Put the gun down.”

“Do it!” I shout. “Add me to the body count.” I gesture with my chin toward Adrian. “At least then I won’t have to live knowing how easily you believed that bitch’s lies.”

Something flickers across his face—doubt maybe, or pain. Vengeance.

His finger tenses on the trigger, squeezing slightly, and my heart stops.

I was wrong. He wasn’t bluffing.

Oh god. He’s actually going to do it. I’m about to join Adrian on this blood-soaked?—

The door bursts open with enough force to crack the wall.

“Stop!” Valentine’s voice thunders through the room, and for a moment, nobody moves. His dark eyes sweep over the scene like he’s cataloging evidence—Adrian’s body, the now-red carpet, Lady Harrow’s fake terror, Julian’s gun pointed at my heart, my own aimed at his mother.

The moment stretches like a razor’s edge, ready to draw blood. Then Julian and Lady Harrow both turn toward Valentine, their movements synchronized in that instinctive way predators share. The gun in Julian’s hand wavers, just a fraction, but it’s enough.

Enough for my muscles to recognize their chance before my mind catches up.

I shove my gun in the waistband of my sweats and launch myself forward, riding the surge of adrenaline like a wave of madness.

If I’m going to die tonight, it won’t be cowering before Lady Harrow or Julian.

It won’t be on my knees beside Adrian. No—if death wants me, it’ll have to wrestle me down fighting.

My shoulder connects with Julian’s chest, the impact jarring through my bones. His finger squeezes the trigger, but I’m already pushing his arm up. The shot cracks overhead, the bullet hitting the ceiling as we struggle.

His strength overwhelms mine—it always has—but I’m desperate in a savage kind of way, which gives me a little boost. My nails dig into his hand, seeking tendons, trying to force his fingers to release the gun. He grunts as his muscles strain against mine.

This close, I can smell his cologne mixing with gunpowder. I can feel his heart hammering against my chest through our clothes. Once, this closeness would’ve made me wet and aching. Now it only fuels my anger.

“Let the fuck go,” he snarls, but I just dig in harder.

We spin, locked together. My back hits the wall, knocking the breath from my lungs. Stars burst behind my eyes, but I don’t release my grip. I can’t. The moment I do, I’m dead.

Valentine’s presence fills the space between us, his tall frame moving with that military precision I know so well.

Even at this hour, he’s in his signature black pants and T-shirt, gun holstered at his hip.

The scent of coffee clings to him—he must’ve been in the middle of his fourth or fifth cup when he heard the shot.

His hands work to separate our death grip on the weapon. “Enough!”

His voice carries the weight of years of command, that familiar gruff tone that raised me, taught me to shoot, showed me how to survive in this world of wolves.

But I’m beyond hearing reason. Beyond caring about anything except making sure Julian can’t shoot me.

Is he really so eager to become the monster his father was ?

“Lucian dies and we all fall into chaos?” Valentine’s words cut through the red haze of my fury. “Aurelia, leave!”