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CHAPTER EIGHT

AURELIA

M y mind races, trying to make sense of what’s happened. Everything is moving too fast, spiraling beyond my control. One moment I was standing in an alcove with Julian kissing me, the next I was being hauled away like garbage.

The guards’ fingers dig into my arms as they drag me through the crowd. Each face I pass is a blank mask, eyes averted or—worse—glittering with poorly concealed satisfaction at seeing the Golden One humiliated.

My mother endured this. The thought crashes into me with such force that my knees nearly buckle.

This is how they treated her—like an object to be passed around, used, and discarded.

Something less than human. Something they could drag away while Consortium members sipped their expensive wines and pretended not to see.

For years, I read her diary entries describing how men would grab her by the arms just like this, how they’d force her into rooms, how no one would help her. But reading it and experiencing it are vastly different things.

My eyes sting with tears, but I blink them away. None of this filth will get the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Instead, I lift my chin and do my best to keep pace with the guards.

Valentine stands over Martinelli’s body, barking orders at other security personnel.

His eyes meet mine briefly, weariness etched into the lines of his face.

I know he can’t intervene—not without risking his own life.

Julian just demonstrated exactly what happens to anyone who dares defy him.

The new leader of the Inferno Consortium has officially emerged, and he’s more monster than I thought he’d ever become.

Like father, like son.

The realization pierces me like a blade between the ribs. Despite everything, I’d believed Julian was someone else. That beneath all his darkness and rage beat a heart capable of real love. Of understanding.

God, I’m such a fool.

Before I’m yanked from the reception area of the vineyard, my eyes find Lorenzo in the sea of faces. He watches, wine glass delicately balanced between his fingers, expression utterly impassive. No hint of the warmth from our earlier conversation remains. He looks cold and detached.

Great. He’s just like all the other bastards here—doesn’t lift a finger when a woman’s in trouble. I thought he was different, but I’m clearly a horrible judge of character; Julian is proof of that. When will I learn?

These fucking Harrows—they want to break me. They want to see how far they can push before I crack. That’s what they do best.

Now that it’s just me and the guards, my survival instinct kicks in. I flail my arms and let out a strangled scream. I struggle against their tight grip, even knee one in the balls. He grunts but doesn’t double over or release me.

As the other one mutters, “Bitch,” and raises his gun to whack me, I know that putting up a fight was stupid. But I had to try.

They haven’t broken me yet.

The butt of the gun hits me hard and I fall into blackness.

All I can focus on is the pounding in my skull. It feels like it’s being split open, right at the back. When I crack an eye, I’m greeted by a gray silk pillow in front of my face. I’m on a bed, but it’s not my bed, and it makes me wonder, How many times did my mother wake up like this?

In a bed that wasn’t hers, waiting with dread for the moment when Lucian or some other man would open the door and violate her body. Just an object for their entertainment and satisfaction.

She never knew exactly what to expect. Would it be a day where Lucian would tie her up, beat her bloody, and then rape her?

Or would a group of men enter, passing her around, each taking a turn ?

Did she scream? Or did she discover screaming was pointless, letting them do as they pleased while she remained silent and numb?

My mother lived this every day—trapped in a room at a man’s mercy. But it’s not supposed to be like this for me. I used to think I was too smart, too careful to end up like her. I thought I was setting the traps, but here I am, caught in one I never saw coming.

When I suck in air as a sob is about to tear from my throat, Adrian’s scent fills my lungs—leather with a hint of vanilla. An expensive scent, subtle but unmistakable. Just like him.

That’s right. Julian told the guards to lock me in Adrian’s room. I know this bed, and these pillows. This intoxicating smell.

Burying my face in everything Adrian, I finally let out the suffocating emotions.

Why did you have to die?

Everything would be different if I’d only realized the truth sooner. Maybe I could’ve saved Adrian. As much as I felt unsure of what he thought of me, I know in my heart he’d never imprison me like this. Never .

When my sobs finally subside, my head is pounding harder but I don’t even care. I finally sit up and look around.

Adrian’s room. I spent countless nights here during our decade together, yet it feels like entering a shrine now.

It’s always been methodically organized.

Everything in its proper place, nothing without purpose.

The king-sized four-poster bed is centered against the far wall, the sheets that are always spotless only wrinkled because of me.

Bookshelves line one wall, each volume arranged by subject and then alphabetically by author. Business, economics, military strategy, political theory—the collected knowledge of a man who spent his life preparing to lead.

His desk remains immaculate—a leather-bound planner closed and centered precisely, a pen placed parallel to its edge. Even now, with him gone, the room radiates control. Order amidst chaos.

It’s the complete opposite of my space. I was always more mess than he could handle.

We used to joke about it. Adrian always said my room gave him anxiety.

I always told him his room felt like a museum—beautiful, but untouchable.

The colors are muted here, soft blues and grays.

When we were dating, the monotony and blandness of this room bled into me until they turned me empty.

I was a different person then, and I wanted nothing more than to escape.

Now, this same room I once hated feels like home. I guess that’s good since I’m stuck here for now.

I move to the edge of the bed, swinging my legs over and holding my head. I don’t see any water pitcher anywhere, and my throat is so dry. I also need some aspirin.

I walk to the adjoining bathroom and open the medicine cabinet. Empty. I laugh, despite myself. I know for a fact that Adrian kept some pills in here, especially aspirin, so I’m wondering if Julian told the guards to remove it all .

God, I’d really like to punch him.

I turn on the faucet, cupping my hands to gather some water to drink. Once my throat is less dry, I return to the bed and fall on the edge.

I glance at the door. I know it’s locked, so I won’t waste my time trying the handle.

I’m just still trying to process everything.

Is this who Julian truly is—cruel enough to torment me with Adrian’s ghost?

Were his feelings for me ever real, or was I just another game?

A way to compete with his brother, to take what wasn’t his?

I grip the edge of the mattress, trying to anchor myself as panic threatens to overwhelm me. Think, Aurelia. Think . There has to be a way out. But my head is pounding so much it’s hard to piece my thoughts together.

Right now, I can’t see a way out. This penthouse is several stories up, so the window and balcony are useless, unless I decide to jump and end my misery. I’m sure Julian posted guards outside the door, so even if I could pick the lock I’d get captured again instantly.

Trapped.

No, there has to be a way. I just need this headache to pass, and some sleep, then I can?—

The bedroom door slams open and I yelp, my hand reaching for any kind of weapon and only finding a feather pillow.

Julian stands in the doorway. With a hard expression, he closes the door behind him with a deliberate click, his presence suffocating the room. He stares me down, eyes stormy and unreadable, and something inside me snaps .

I launch at him, my whole body trembling from repressed anger. “You asshole! How dare you!” My fists pound against his chest, each hit punctuated by a frustrated scream. “This is how you treat me?”

He doesn’t flinch. My blows do nothing to him as I slam my hands against pure muscle. He’s as immovable as he is cold.

“You think you can lock me up like this?” I’m shaking so hard it’s difficult to form words. “You’re just… just like every other man in your s-sick family!”

My voice cracks, but I refuse to let up. I aim a fist for his face, desperate to get any reaction, to cause him pain.

That’s when he finally moves.

He catches my wrist mid-swing and pulls me toward the bed with an effortless yank.

I kick and struggle, trying to fight back, trying not to let him drag me anywhere, but he’s too strong. I’m gasping for breath as he spins me around and forces me against one of the wooden posts.

My back hits it hard and I cry out from the sharp pain. “Let go of me!”

But he doesn’t. Instead, I watch him pull zip ties from his pocket and loop them around my wrists. The sharp plastic bites into my skin as he secures me to the post—my arms wrenched behind my back.

Panic crashes over me in waves as I tug against the restraints. They’re so tight, they’re already cutting off circulation to my hands, making them cold.

He steps back, his crisp black suit now wrinkled, and watches while I struggle; blue eyes are fixed on mine, intense and unyielding.

Adrian’s room feels icy. Like it’s closing in around me.

“Let me go!” I try again because there’s nothing else I can do. “Damn it, Julian!”

“You don’t deserve your freedom.” His words are daggers. “Not after lying to me. Not after trying to fuck with me on the day of my brother’s funeral.”