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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

DANTE

“Yes?” I answer, keeping my tone measured.

“She’s ready,” Lorenzo’s voice comes through and he’s vibrating with excitement. “The maids are bringing her to you now.” There’s a childlike quality to his enthusiasm that I find both amusing and slightly concerning.

I allow myself a small smile, invisible to him through the phone. “Excellent. I appreciate your attention to detail in this matter.”

“Of course.” He laughs, the sound rich with anticipation. “After all our planning… to finally have the Golden One in our possession.”

“Indeed.” I clear my throat.

I end the call before he can respond with more unnecessary commentary.

Standing, I move to adjust the lighting, dimming it to a level that provides both atmosphere and strategic advantage.

The shadows lengthen across my office as I position myself at the open window, back to the door, hands clasped behind me.

The forest stretches before me, dense and ancient.

My reflection appears ghost-like against the glass, as if I’m a specter overseeing his domain.

Control, as always, remains the primary objective.

First impressions dictate the course of relationships, and I’ve orchestrated this one with particular care.

Three minutes and twenty seconds pass before I hear footsteps in the hallway. The door opens with a soft click, followed by a maid telling the Golden One, “Right in here, miss.”

The door closes. I remain motionless, my breathing deliberately controlled.

She’s here.

Finally.

I can sense her presence—a vibrant energy that shifts the atmosphere of the room. The air itself seems to recalibrate around her. After weeks of surveillance and planning, an eternity of waiting… Aurelia Draven stands merely feet away.

Mine.

“If this is some dramatic power play,” her voice cuts through the silence, sharp and defiant despite its slight tremor, “I’ve seen better theatrics at high school talent shows. Why is it so dark in here? Just cut the bullshit and tell me what you want.”

A smile threatens to break my composure. Even now—captive and uncertain—she refuses to cower. Admirable .

“Theatrics serve their purpose,” I respond, my voice deliberately deeper, rougher than my usual tone. Each word measured, precise. “Though I find them generally unnecessary.”

“Then turn around and face me,” she challenges. “Unless you’re afraid.”

“Fear is rarely productive,” I observe. “And not needed in this circumstance.”

I hear her move deeper into my office, heels against hardwood. Calculated steps—neither rushing forward in aggression nor retreating. The mirror to my left captures her approach, and I study her reflection.

The Golden One… but what’s happened to her?

Her dress falls wide where hips once were.

Bags under her eyes deflate the green speckles illuminated by the bright sky outside the window.

The chill Seattle air breezes through her tousled hair and her lips quiver as she stares at my back, likely fearing what hell I might unleash on her.

She goes to lick her parched lips but it’s useless.

I have a feeling they’ve been perpetually dry for weeks.

My chest tightens. Julian Harrow has much to answer for. The state of her is… disappointing. Unexpected. One doesn’t damage valuable assets—that is simply poor business practice.

“Who are you?” she demands. “Another Consortium lapdog?”

“I find labels restrictive,” I reply. “And I have no affiliation with the Consortium that would necessitate the term ‘lapdog.’”

“Then what am I doing here? Why did Julian sell me to you? ”

“Assumptions are dangerous territory. Julian Harrow didn’t sell you. My associate merely facilitated a necessary extraction.”

She laughs, the sound bitter and hollow. “Extraction? Is that what we’re calling kidnapping these days?”

Our banter has gone on long enough. I can’t bear to only study such a glorious woman through mere reflection, so I finally turn.

The movement is deliberate, unhurried.

I watch her lips part in a gasp. They quiver as they speak my name. Not Dante but my real one.