Page 17 of Goldrage (The Chrysophilist Trilogy #3)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

AURELIA

T he guard leads me through the winding corridors.

We reach the dining room and it takes me a second to adjust. It’s less a room for eating than it is a shrine to slaughter.

Dark wood panels climb toward the ceiling while mounted heads leer down from every wall.

There’s even a bear frozen in perpetual rage.

The message is clear: everything that enters a Harrow’s domain becomes a trophy eventually.

Julian commands the head of the table like a king holding court.

He’s dressed in black—of course he is. He’s wearing suits now, just like his father.

The fabric is so perfectly tailored it looks painted on.

His hollow eyes dart to mine, holding an intensity that makes my skin prickle.

Adrian sits in the wheelchair to Julian’s right and my heart beats faster as we gaze at each other.

He’s wearing a gray button-down that emphasizes how much weight he’s lost. The fabric hangs loose where it once stretched across muscle.

His face has too many sharp angles now. He lowers his gaze to stare at his plate.

I really wish I could know what he’s thinking. Has his love for me dimmed while he’s been locked away? He has the focus of someone trying very hard not to exist.

Beside him, Bianca perches like a tropical bird that’s wandered into a funeral.

Her coral dress seems to glow against all the darkness, and the possessive way she angles her body toward Adrian makes me want to strangle her.

When she notices me looking, her pretty features twist with an animosity so pure it’s almost refreshing.

At least someone in this room isn’t hiding behind masks.

I take my seat across from them. The empty chairs on either side of me make me feel like an island in hostile waters.

“Yellow suits you,” Julian says, his voice carrying that particular flatness that makes my spine straighten.

Before I can respond, the click of heels announces another arrival. Lady Harrow sweeps in wearing black silk that makes her look like death’s favorite mistress. But it’s not her dress that stops my breath—it’s what glitters at her throat.

My necklace. Adrian’s gift. The emerald stones catch the light, mocking me from around that bitch’s neck.

Behind her, Valentine takes his position by the door.

Our eyes meet for a heartbeat. There’s a tenderness there.

But it vanishes as he assumes his stance as a guard, reduced to furniture.

Part of me wishes he could join us at the table.

Despite everything, he tried to save me from Lady Harrow. Maybe…

I sigh. I don’t know. Can I forgive what he did?

It was such a deep betrayal .

My attention snaps back to that necklace and rage floods my veins. Adrian gave that to me . It represents one of the few pure things in this cesspool of manipulation, and she’s wearing it like a fucking prize.

My mouth opens, the confrontation already forming on my tongue?—

Adrian clears his throat. Loud. Deliberate.

When I look at him, he gives the slightest shake of his head. His eyes hold mine for a moment, and I read the message clearly: Not now. Not here. Don’t give them ammunition.

The words die in my throat, so I swallow them. He’s right. I know he’s right. But seeing her flaunt my necklace while sitting at this table where my mother once served as entertainment makes me want to tear her apart with my bare hands.

Later. I’ll get it back later. Preferably while prying it from her corpse.

“Shall we eat?” Lady Harrow settles into her chair. Servants appear from hidden doorways, placing plates in front of everyone.

The steaks look perfect, but my stomach rebels. I force myself to cut a piece, to chew, to swallow. Every movement feels like a performance, and maybe it is. But I really can’t eat something so heavy, so I ignore the steak and start nibbling at the broccolini instead.

Lady Harrow stuffs a dainty piece of meat into her mouth, then dabs away the blood that drips from the corner of her mouth.

“We need to discuss your presentation, dear,” she announces.

“The Consortium must be informed properly. You’re no longer just the Golden One, after all.

You’re carrying the heir. You have status now that we must present. ”

I set down my fork. Now I can’t eat anything. I gulp down my water before saying, “I won’t be paraded around like a prized breeding mare. I’m not some trophy to be displayed.” I glance up at the bear head on the wall.

Her smile could cut glass. “My dear, you ceased being in control of your image the moment you announced that pregnancy. The Consortium has protocols. Traditions. The bloodline must be acknowledged and celebrated?—”

A commotion at the entrance cuts her off. Guards’ voices rise in sharp protest, followed by a laugh I recognize immediately. My heart leaps even as I force my expression to remain neutral.

He didn’t.

Suddenly, Lorenzo strolls through the archway like he owns the place, perfectly at ease despite the two guards flanking him with hands on their weapons.

His golden hair catches the light, and a cigarette dangles from his lips like an accessory.

He’s wearing a dove-gray suit that makes him look like an invitation to sin.

“What the fuck—” Julian shoots to his feet with his fists ready to make contact.

Lorenzo raises one elegant hand, his smile never wavering.

He puffs his cigarette and then puts it out on an ashtray sitting on a side table.

“Forgive the intrusion. I was hoping to discuss some matters, but I see you’re dining.

” His green eyes sweep the table, pausing on me for a fraction of a second before moving on.

“Perhaps I could join you? I’d hate to interrupt such a lovely family gathering. ”

Julian’s face darkens to something truly dangerous, but Lady Harrow leans forward with the interest of a snake spotting prey.

“I know you’re a Consortium member, but I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced,” she purrs. “Liora Harrow.” She holds out her hand.

“Lorenzo Mancini.” He kisses her fingers and gives a slight bow. “I recently had the pleasure of hosting some of your family at my estate.” His gaze flicks to Julian, eyes dancing with mischief. “Though the visit ended rather abruptly.”

Adrian’s knuckles go white around his fork. Julian looks ready to leap across the table and tear Lorenzo’s throat out with his teeth.

But Bianca—sweet, oblivious Bianca—lights up like someone just brought in a puppy for her to play with.

“Oh, please join us! I’m Bianca. It would be lovely to have some pleasant conversation.

” She actually claps her hands together, apparently missing the murderous tension crackling through the room.

Julian’s jaw works like he’s chewing glass, but Lady Harrow gestures to an empty chair with a graceful hand sweep. “By all means, Mr. Mancini. I’m curious what brings you to our door. It takes considerable courage to walk into the den of those you’ve wronged.”

Lorenzo chuckles and then claims the offered seat, settling between me and where Lady Harrow presides like a malevolent queen.

Up close, I catch the subtle signs of his recent injury—the careful way he holds his left side, the slight pallor beneath his tan skin.

But his smile never falters. He’s so good at playing this game that I’m wary of him for a split-second before reminding myself that he’s family.

“Wronged?” He pulls out a lighter, flicking it open and closed in a nervous gesture that I know is pure theater. “I merely provided hospitality to your son. Surely that’s not a crime, even in your world.”

A servant appears at his elbow with a plate of food, and Lorenzo accepts it with the same ease he accepts everything—as if the universe exists solely to accommodate him. The servant pours him some wine and then he takes a sip.

“Actually, I’ve come to congratulate you all on the wonderful news.” He raises the wine glass in a toast, the gesture somehow both sincere and mocking. “I understand we’re to be family now.”

Oh no. Did he really just say that?

It’s so quiet I hear a guard sneeze somewhere down the hallway. I hold myself perfectly still, wondering what game Lorenzo thinks he’s playing. He’s putting himself directly in the crosshairs of people who kill for far less than uninvited dinner guests.

“Family?” Lady Harrow’s voice could freeze a wildfire.

Lorenzo’s smile stretches wider, showing his perfect teeth.

He turns to me and says, “Stai nascondendo dei segreti?” as if I know what that means.

He tsks and then turns back to Lady Harrow.

“I’m sorry Aurelia didn’t tell you. We’re cousins.

Her mother and mine were twin sisters.” He puts his arm around my shoulders and the warmth actually soothes me.

I’ve had a perpetual chill since coming here.

“Which makes us all one big happy family now, doesn’t it, cugina? ”

The fork in Julian’s hand bends. He actually bends it, the metal groaning under the pressure of his silent fury.

I watch the realization dawn in his eyes—another piece of evidence in whatever twisted narrative he’s constructed.

Adrian and I planning everything together, using Lorenzo as our accomplice.

The conspiracy grows deeper with each revelation.

This is making everything worse!

I want to shake my cousin and ask what he was thinking by coming here.

“How fascinating.” Lady Harrow draws out each syllable like she’s tasting them. Her gaze slides between Lorenzo and me. “And you’ve only recently discovered this connection?”

“Oh, I’ve known for years,” Lorenzo says. “But Aurelia and I only recently had the chance to connect. Family bonds, you understand. They call to us across time and distance.”