Page 19 of Goldrage (The Chrysophilist Trilogy #3)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

AURELIA

T he chandeliers overhead fracture light into a thousand pieces, each crystal shard catching fire as I stand in the center of this damn ballroom at the Harrow estate.

I squirm beneath the cream silk that clings to my curves.

The gown’s high collar presses against my throat, right where Julian’s knife left its mark, and I fight the urge to claw at the fabric.

Here I am, being “presented” for the Consortium.

I’m on a small, circular platform that raises me a few feet in the air while Lady Harrow circles, giving a speech for the audience.

Animal heads watch from the walls, probably the only creatures who understand my pain.

A stag’s frozen snarl mirrors the expression I’m desperately holding back.

Every gaze in this ballroom feels like fingers tracing the outline of my flat stomach, already claiming ownership of something that only exists in forged documents.

Lady Harrow’s voice carries across the room. “The future of our family will be here in just a few short months. We’ll be looking toward the future and molding the next generation to take us all to new heights.”

I stop paying attention, dropping my gaze to the floor. My legs itch to run out of this madness, but I force them to remain still under the silk.

Play nice. Lorenzo’s words echo in my skull. Make them believe you want to stay, that you’ll do anything to remain with your child.

Lady Harrow says something that makes the crowd clap, so I touch my stomach like I’m soothing my baby.

I can play nice for now, but soon I’ll be releasing hell on all of them.

After a few more minutes, the spectacle ends and I’m helped off the platform. I flee into the crowd, ignoring anyone trying to talk to me. I don’t stop moving until I find Lorenzo.

He pulls me into a hug and I’m thankful for the warmth. “You were wonderful, cugina.” He holds my chin so I can look at him. “See? It was over quickly.”

I sigh and step back. With his midnight blue suit, he looks like he stepped out of a different world. One where people don’t display pregnant women like prize cattle at auction. His arm extends toward me, steady and sure, and I grip it.

“It wasn’t painless though,” I say, letting him guide me toward the edge of the ballroom.

We stroll next to the massive six foot tall vases with black flowers that line this space.

My side throbs where Julian’s bullet tore through me, but I keep my spine straight, my expression serene. “I’d rather be anywhere else. ”

Lorenzo’s mouth turns up and the unlit cigarette dangling from the corner bounces as he speaks. “Patience. I need more time to map the estate properly.” The words are barely audible, meant only for me. “It’s been slow with all the guards.”

My grip around his arm tightens. God, I know he’s right.

But knowing Adrian is somewhere in this mansion, chained and suffering while I play dress-up for his captors…

my entire body feels like it’s slowly dissolving in acid.

Every second we wait is another second they can use to break and reshape him into whatever weapon they need.

I glance over as Eleanora glides through the crowd.

She came as Lorenzo’s date—not sure how he convinced her to do that—and even in this nest of vipers, she commands the room.

Deep purple silk pours over her curves like liquid, the color so perfectly her that it makes me remember the days when choosing between two nail polish shades seemed to be her biggest concern.

It’s heartbreaking—how life used to be simpler.

I glance at her hip. No gun tonight because the security at the door was thorough.

But the way she moves, the subtle shift of fabric against her legs.

.. I bet there’s some weapon hidden on that body.

My friend has become someone I barely recognize, and yet, despite her secrets, I trust her more now than ever.

“My lovely fiancée,” Lorenzo says with a pride that seems too genuine to be entirely fake.

Eleanora’s eye roll could power half of Seattle, but she doesn’t pull away when he extends his hand. “ Someone has to make sure you don’t do anything stupid,” she mutters.

“Shall we show them how to really dance?”

Eleanora sighs dramatically. “I hate dancing.”

“And yet you’re already moving toward the floor.” Lorenzo’s grin spreads wider as he guides her into position. “Curious, no? You want to see how I move.”

“I absolutely do not. ” She glances at me. “But we’ll keep up appearances. You okay?”

I nod. “Yeah. Go have fun dancing.”

“It won’t be fun with him,” she spits out. But her body has softened and she’s letting Lorenzo take the lead.

They sweep into motion. Lorenzo moves with the natural grace of someone raised in this lifestyle, while Eleanora’s movements carry a different rhythm—controlled, alert, ready to shift from waltz to warfare in a heartbeat.

She’s not happy about dancing, that much is clear from the set of her jaw, but she doesn’t fight him either.

Their heads tilt together as they turn, lips moving in what looks like lovers’ whispering.

But I know better. They’re talking about our plan, about anything they’ve discovered, ideas on how to get Adrian out.

Still, there’s something in the way Eleanora’s hand rests against Lorenzo’s shoulder, not quite pulling away, not quite leaning in.

She’s certainly a sea of contradictions when it concerns my cousin.

I’m happy for Lorenzo, because he seems to really like Eleanora, but I also feel bad for Emeric.

Somewhere across an ocean, Emeric is building his family’s empire, blissfully unaware that the woman he’s loved for years is engaged to another man.

The thought of his face when he learns the truth—God, it makes me want to turn back time to when our biggest problems were sneaking out past curfew.

How did we all become this ? How did we grow from angsty teenagers who just wanted to be adults and make our own decisions, to adults now fighting for our lives? Adults with complicated relationships and the power to destroy each other?

When Emeric returns, I really don’t want to be around when he learns the truth. I’d rather not witness that pain.

“Wine?” A server appears at my side, balancing a silver tray of glasses filled with blood red wine. He must recognize me because his eyes widen. “So sorry, miss. My apologies. Would you like some sparkling cider?”

I shake my head, touching my stomach in a gesture that’s become automatic.

The server bows and melts back into the crowd, but not before I catch the way his eyes linger on my midsection. Another believer in the myth of the Harrow heir.

My eyes wander as a song by Beethoven flows around me. These beasts look almost normal tonight. Everyone is dressed in fine clothing, and there’s no hint of the depravity and greed they show at other gatherings.

All lies.

I catch Olivia Marlowe staring at me from a group several feet away. She’s too far away for me to read her expression, but she’s definitely staring. Great. What could she want?

She was involved that night Lady Harrow humiliated me and had Consortium members burn me with a cigar.

Olivia only left one small mark on my breast, but she still participated.

I have no idea what she might be thinking right now as she glares at me.

I angle away and return to watching my cousin and best friend dance.

Lorenzo and Eleanora spin and they’re actually smiling. I think they’re actually enjoying this dance together. I’m happy for them but it also makes me sad. The graceful arc of their movements, the way two bodies can speak without words… it makes me miss Adrian.

Adrian .

The name burns through me like a fever. My skin remembers the weight of his arms, the careful way he held me. God, what I wouldn’t give to dance with him now and feel his heartbeat against mine.

Earlier, I had managed to catch the doctor and ask how Adrian was, desperate for any scrap of information.

“The bullet nicked his liver,” the doctor had said. “Extensive damage, significant blood loss. He’s healing, but slowly. I told his brother that the restraints aren’t helping bu?—”

A guard had appeared and the doctor hurried off.

I make fists against my thighs thinking of how Julian has chained Adrian. Julian keeps his own brother shackled to a bed or wheelchair like a rabid dog, and for what? Control? Punishment? Some twisted need to possess everything that matters ?

The fury is blinding, but I blink it away. Play nice, play nice, play nice.

A flash of pale hair catches my attention near the refreshment table—because of course that’s where he’d be. I actually giggle. God, when did Gideon become so predictable? Every Consortium gathering I’ve attended—the ones that aren’t orgies—there he is hovering by the food and drinks.

His brown eyes find mine across the room, and an understanding passes between us. He takes a step forward, and I can see the intention written across his face. He wants to approach me, to speak, maybe to?—

The collision happens fast. Gideon stumbles forward with all the grace of a newborn colt, his shoulder connecting with Bianca just as her fingers close around a champagne flute.

The glass goes flying, crystal shattering against marble.

Bianca follows, toppling to the floor as her burgundy dress pools around her.

I move closer as Gideon says, “Oh God, I’m so sorry!” He drops to his knees beside her. His hands flutter uselessly, not quite touching her, as if he’s afraid he’ll break her. “I’m always so clumsy. Are you hurt? Did I tear your dress?”

Bianca’s reaction surprises me. Instead of the tears or rage I expect, she accepts his offered hand with something almost like amusement.

“It’s okay,” she says quietly, letting him pull her to her feet.

Her usual mouse-like demeanor shifts as she studies his flushed face. “I don’t think we’ve met. Are you new?”