Page 59

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

AURELIA

T he afternoon sun paints everything golden, casting long shadows across Lorenzo’s beautiful lawn. I’ve always dreamed of having a lawn like this, so green and thick.

I sit on a wrought iron garden chair, sipping my iced tea as I watch Adrian attempt to teach Roby how to throw a baseball. It’s both endearing and hilarious—this deadly, calculating man who can orchestrate the downfall of empires, completely baffled by a five year old’s energy.

“Throw it harder!” Roby yells, bouncing on his toes. “You’re not even trying!”

Adrian’s brows furrow in concentration. He holds the ball like it might explode, adjusting his grip three times before finally releasing it in an awkward, mechanical motion. The ball sails past Roby, landing in a flowerbed.

Lorenzo chuckles beside me. “He’s so bad at this.”

I can’t help but laugh too. “But he tries. That’s what’s important.”

“Why does he insist on wearing a three-piece suit, even when playing?” Lorenzo asks, gesturing toward Adrian, who’s now dusting invisible dirt from his sleeve.

I shrug, watching as Adrian removes his suit jacket and carefully lays it over a garden bench before rolling up his sleeves. “The world could be ending, but Adrian would face the apocalypse in a perfectly tailored Armani suit.”

We dissolve into laughter again as Roby runs circles around Adrian, who looks increasingly bewildered by this tiny human hurricane.

Something tightens in my chest as I watch them. This is what normal looks like, isn’t it? This is what we could have been—what my life might have been—without the Consortium’s toxic legacy tainting everything.

Maybe this could be our future.

“I’m going to grab something to eat,” I say, standing and stretching. “Want anything?”

Lorenzo shakes his head. “I’m good. But if you’re going to the kitchen, could you ask Maria to bring out some lemonade for Roby? He’ll be thirsty after all this… whatever this is.” He waves vaguely at Adrian’s attempt to explain baseball to an increasingly bored child.

Inside, the mansion is cool and quiet. I wander toward the kitchen, almost walking on a cloud.

These past weeks have been surreal—taking out two men from my hit list, falling even deeper in love with Adrian, finally having a family who actually cares about me.

It feels too good, like a dream I’ll wake from any moment.

Voices drift from the front of the house, pulling me from my thoughts. Someone sounds like they’re in an argument.

“You have to send her away,” the butler says, his normally proper tone edged with irritation. “Don’t tell Lorenzo, just make her leave.”

“I’m getting sick of her,” a guard responds. “This is the third time this week.”

My steps slow as I hover at a corner, just out of sight.

“Signore Lorenzo was clear. She’s not to be allowed in under any circumstances.”

Who are they talking about?

I round the corner, deciding to find out for myself. The butler and guard stand near the massive front doors, heads bent together in conversation. They both straighten when they see me.

“Miss Aurelia,” the butler says. “Do you need something?”

“Is something wrong?”

He waves a dismissive hand. “Nothing to concern yourself with. Please. Just a minor security issue.”

The guard mumbles something about checking the perimeter and slips out the front door before I can question him further.

I’m too curious to let this go. After years of being kept in the dark, of being treated like a prize to claim, I’m done with half-truths and evasions.

“Excuse me,” I tell the butler, brushing past him before he can stop me. I follow the guard across the circular driveway toward the imposing wrought iron gates.

As I approach, I see who they were arguing about .

A woman stands on the other side of the gate, gesturing wildly as she argues with a different guard. There’s something familiar about her.

As I get closer, it hits me—I met her at the Harvest of Wealth festival. I remember now. Eleanora introduced us briefly.

Bianca.

“Is everything okay?” I call out, closing the distance.

The guard turns, his expression tightening when he sees me. “Miss Aurelia, please return to the house. I’ll handle this.”

“It’s fine,” I say, waving him off. “I just want to make sure nothing’s wrong.”

I turn to Bianca, whose eyes widen at the sight of me. She’s pretty in a fragile, porcelain-doll way, with a dainty mouth that trembles slightly.

“Are you here to see Lorenzo?” I ask gently. She seems nervous. “You attended the Harvest festival, right? I remember meeting you.”

“Yes, I… I remember,” she says, her voice soft and hesitant. Her fingers twist the strap of her purse. “I’m here for my husband,” she says, lifting her chin slightly. The movement seems practiced, like she’s trying to show a confidence she doesn’t actually feel. “I need to speak with him.”

I blink at her. Is Lorenzo married? Why wouldn’t he have mentioned a wife? He’s engaged to Eleanora—or at least, he claims to be. Could he be keeping a wife secret while promising himself to my best friend?

That would really piss me off; he never came across as that kind of bastard .

“Your husband,” I repeat, struggling to keep my expression neutral. “You mean Lorenzo?”

A surprising laugh bursts from her. “No, no. I’m married to Dante.” She pauses, then clarifies. “Well, he used to be called Adrian.”

The world stops. Just… stops. Everything narrows to a single point—her face, her words echoing in my head like gunshots.

Adrian. Married.

“That’s not possible,” I say. The words are so thin I’m surprised Bianca hears me.

She extends her hand through the bars of the gate, a giant diamond on her wedding finger catching the light. “Nice to meet you again,” she says with surprising formality. “I’m Mrs. Harrow.”

Mrs.

Harrow.

Nausea floods my stomach and I take a step back, worried I might vomit on her. I stare at the ring on her finger, my mind desperately trying to construct explanations. She’s lying. She’s delusional. This is a sick joke orchestrated by Julian or Lady Harrow.

But as I look into her eyes, I see the truth. There’s hurt behind those dark pupils. The genuine confusion and pain of a woman who doesn’t understand why her husband has abandoned her.

She turns suddenly toward the house and starts shouting, her voice carrying across the distance. “Adrian! You can’t keep ignoring me! I know you’re here!”

I take a stumbling step backward, then another, unable to process the revelation that’s shattering everything I thought I knew.

Adrian is married.

Married.

Adrian is…

A liar.

All his declarations of love, all his explanations for the distance he kept for ten years, all the moments we’ve shared since his “resurrection”—all lies.

Was I just another chess piece being moved around the board for his convenience?

I turn and run, my bare feet slapping against the pavement as I flee back toward the garden. My vision blurs, tears or shock or both making the world swim.

When I reach the backyard, Adrian is crouched at Roby’s eye level, showing him how to position his fingers on the baseball’s seams. He looks up as I approach, his smile fading instantly when he sees my face.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, rising in one fluid motion.

I try to speak, but my throat has closed. All I can manage is a single, damning word: “Bianca.”

His entire body goes rigid. I see it then—the truth written in the sudden tightness around his eyes, the way his hands clench at his sides, the almost imperceptible step backward he takes.

It’s all true.

He’s married. He’s been married this whole time.

I don’t wait for explanations or excuses. I can’t bear to hear his voice or to watch him try to justify one more betrayal in a lifetime of them. I turn and run toward the house, pushing past a confused Lorenzo, ignoring Adrian calling my name behind me.

Up the stairs, down the hall, into my room. I slam the door behind me and turn the lock with shaking fingers. Then I collapse onto the bed, my body curling in on itself as if it can somehow protect me from this new wound.

The tears come in violent waves, wracking my body with sobs that feel like they might break me in half. Every part of me aches with betrayal.

Adrian said he loved me. Adrian said he wanted me. Adrian said he kept his distance to protect me from Lucian’s cruelty.

And I believed him. After everything, after Julian’s betrayal, after Valentine’s manipulation, I still found the capacity to trust.

Stupid, stupid girl.

A sob tears from my throat—raw, animalistic pain that burns its way up from some primal place inside me. I bury my face in a pillow to muffle the sound, afraid that if I start screaming, I might never stop.

My mother had tried to warn me in her diary. Men in this world take what they want and discard the rest. They use women like objects—things to be owned and displayed and discarded when no longer convenient.

Why didn’t I listen to her?

How many times can a heart be torn apart before it stops trying to put itself back together?