Page 22 of Goldrage (The Chrysophilist Trilogy #3)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

AURELIA

L ady Harrow’s fingernails dig into my arm like talons, steering me through the crowd toward a heavyset man whose very presence makes my skin want to crawl off my bones.

Thinning gray hair frames a face that belongs in nightmares—cold, predatory eyes that strip away dignity with a glance. My stomach lurches.

Gregory Whitman.

I flash back to Lady Harrow’s party that one night.

Gregory’s thick fingers held that cigar steady while Lady Harrow encouraged him to participate.

He pressed it against my skin only once, not wanting to “damage the goods.” The smell of burning flesh mixed with his excited breathing.

He was hard. He enjoyed seeing me on all fours getting tortured.

He rubbed his hand along his bulge, watching me.

“Gregory, darling,” Lady Harrow purrs beside me and exchanges air kisses. “Here she is, carrying our future.” She glances at me. “Gregory has been quite eager to congratulate you personally.”

I’m sure he has.

His smile stretches across his face like an oil slick, black and suffocating. Those slimy eyes travel down my body slowly, pausing at the subtle curve of my supposedly pregnant belly. This thin dress isn’t enough protection from his gaze.

“Indeed I have,” he says, and God, that voice, carrying the same nauseating charm I remember from that night. “Such wonderful news.”

I’ve been feeling uncertain about the remaining names on my hit list. Is this revenge scheme really so important compared to everything else? But in this moment, it’s the only thing on my mind.

Gregory is on my list, and I want him gone. Not for my mother.

For me.

“Gregory has always been such a supportive member of our community.” Lady Harrow’s grip tightens on my arm, a warning. She must notice how tense with rage I’ve become. “He’s particularly interested in the family’s… future endeavors.”

He steps closer, invading my space. Expensive cologne and stale cigars assault my nostrils, but underneath lurks something worse: desperation, the scent of a man who takes what he wants because money says he can.

“I was just telling Lady Harrow how much I’m looking forward to the baby’s arrival,” he says.

“I do hope you’ll be more… available for social gatherings afterward.

” Hi s tongue darts out to wet his lips.

He leans even closer, dropping his voice so only I can hear.

“I’ve always wondered what a woman feels like right after birth.

All soft and stretched and leaking. Must be quite the experience. ”

My hands curl into fists at my sides and I swallow down puke.

He turns to Lady Harrow, continuing as if I’m not even there.

“Will she still be available while she’s nursing?

You made quite a lot of promises, and I’ve been waiting so patiently.

Nothing quite like breaking in a new mother, I imagine.

All those hormones must make them wonderfully…

responsive.” His eyes lower to my breasts. “And I wonder how her milk will taste.”

Lady Harrow’s laugh is sharp and delighted. “Oh, Gregory! You’re absolutely terrible.” But her eyes shine with the kind of malicious approval that makes my skin prickle with fresh horror. “Though I’m sure Aurelia appreciates your enthusiasm.”

They both laugh, the sound wrapping around me like barbed wire.

My stomach rebels violently, and I’m not sure if it’s pure disgust or if my body has decided to add its own dramatic flair to this performance.

Either way, the nausea works in my favor.

I press a hand to my stomach, letting my face drain of color.

“Excuse me,” I manage, making my voice weak.

Before either parasite can protest, I dart into the crowd and walk toward the refreshment table.

My gaze finds Lorenzo across the room. He’s engaged in what looks like casual conversation with some Consortium members, but his eyes find mine.

The subtle nod he gives me might as well be a shrug.

Just play nice and tolerate the bullshit a little longer.

But does he really understand what bullshit I’m tolerating?

He doesn’t know how Lady Harrow humiliated me with that cigar.

No one except Adrian knows. And Lorenzo isn’t the one being discussed like a cut of meat at the butcher’s, evaluated for how well he’ll satisfy their sick appetites after being properly tenderized.

I leave my water glass on the table, using the moment to steady myself before slipping through the French doors to the patio. I escape into the cool evening air. My lungs expand gratefully, pulling in the scent of roses.

The patio overlooks the massive rose garden, and my eyes automatically search for Adrian’s window.

Somewhere up there, he’s locked away, probably staring at these same roses.

The distance between us might as well be an ocean.

Guards posted outside his room, Bianca trailing after him like a lovesick shadow whenever Julian allows visits…

How can I get to him?

God, just a few days ago I was in that living room, watching tears streak down his face when he realized I was alive. The way his whole body had trembled with relief, how he’d looked at me like I was his salvation walking through the door. My chest constricts at the memory.

I miss him so much.

“Terribly suffocating inside, isn’t it?”

The soft voice behind me doesn’t startle me because I’d heard the whisper of expensive fabric coming through the doors. I turn to find Olivia approaching. Out here in the moonlight, away from the harsh chandeliers, her features seem almost human. Softer, maybe.

“The whole spectacle is suffocating,” she clarifies, one elegant hand gesturing toward the ballroom where laughter and conversation spill through the open doors.

I’m so drained that, if she’s playing some game, I’m too tired to participate. I sag against the patio railing. “I hate this life.”

Olivia joins me, her gaze drifting over the moonlit roses like she’s searching for answers among the thorns.

“The Consortium has a special talent for dehumanizing women. I’ve watched it happen to countless others over the years.

My sister used to say the trick was to remember who you really are underneath all their expectations. ”

Victoria.

My knees threaten to buckle as Olivia speaks, her hands moving through the air with that same elegance Victoria once had.

The way she tilts her head when a thought strikes her, that slight smile that hovers at the edge of her lips without ever fully blooming—God, it’s like watching her sister’s ghost.

The resemblance isn’t just physical. It’s in the rhythm of her speech, and the careful way she chooses each word.

Guilt crashes over me in waves so violent I have to grip the railing to stay upright. Victoria hadn’t even been born when my mother was at this estate suffering in silence. And she didn’t choose this life. She was born in this wasteland through no fault of her own .

And I killed her for that. I killed her for—what? A sick satisfaction?

It wasn’t for revenge, I simply thought she deserved it.

But did she? What gives me the right to decide if someone lives or dies?

I’d made myself a judge and executioner over a woman whose greatest crime was her last name.

“Are you feeling alright?” Olivia’s voice floats through the haze in my mind. “You look pale. Do you need to sit down?”

“Just tired.” The words scrape past the lump in my throat. “It’s been a long evening.”

She studies me for a moment, then her expression shifts to something more serious. “Well… about that night with Lady Harrow.”

My body tenses, bracing for the threat.

Olivia’s gaze drops to my cleavage, where the half-moon scar she left is tucked under the silk. “I’m really sorry.”

I gape at her. Sorry ?

“I tried not to leave a mark,” she continues. “Did I?”

I fold my hands over the railing, unable to respond because I’m too stunned.

Olivia tips her head back to gaze at the full moon.

“I’ve seen cruelty in the Consortium, but that night was particularly vile.

Truthfully, I only went because I’d hoped Julian would be there.

I had a few things I wanted to say to him.

But… well, it’s not particularly easy to tell the leader’s mother ‘no.’ I didn’t have much choice about what happened.

And, if I’m being honest, I took out so me of my frustrations on you.

I was blind with rage from something Julian did, and you were an easy target.

I’m not proud of that moment, and I’m sorry.

I only want you to know I have no grudge against you.

My sister was into similar ‘entertainment’, but I’ve never cared for it. You didn’t deserve such treatment.”

I blink at the roses because I just don’t know what to say. Yes, that night was humiliating, but in comparison, I did something far worse. Olivia is apologizing for a three-second burn, something she was apparently pressured to do, while I killed her sister.

Olivia sips her drink and then tsks, like she’s chastising herself. “I should have done more. Maybe tried to get Lady Harrow interested in a different ‘game.’ But in this world, showing too much compassion is seen as weakness, and weakness…” She doesn’t finish, but she doesn’t need to.

Weakness gets you killed.

I killed Victoria because of her weakness towards me. She’d thought we were going to fool around and have sex. And I exploited that vulnerability.

Have I only become the monsters I’ve been chasing?

Olivia turns those intelligent dark eyes on me—God, they’re so much like Victoria’s I have to look away. “I know we don’t know each other well, but if you ever need someone to talk to… someone who understands what it’s like to navigate this world as a woman… I’m available.”

Tears prick my eyes. The kindness in her voice is devastating.

Is this some elaborate game? But no. What I see in Olivia’s expression is achingly genuine.

Here stands a woman offering real human connection, and I have her name on my hit list, simply because of association.

I had been ready to end her life for the crime of existing in the wrong family.

Just like I did to her sister.

“That’s… kind of you,” I manage, my throat so tight the words barely escape. “I… Um…” I dip my chin. “Thanks.”

She smiles, and it transforms her face. I see past the burdens of this world, past the horrors I’m sure she’s witnessed over the years, and I see someone younger, more vulnerable, more human.

“My sister always said the Consortium was full of sharks,” she says, “but that didn’t mean we couldn’t form our own schools of fish for protection.

” Wistfulness softens her features. “It’s a bit of a simplistic analogy, but I miss her wisdom so much. ”

The blade of guilt twists deeper, finding new places to cut. I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood, using the pain to keep myself anchored. I’m on the verge of confessing what I’ve done just to relieve the regret, but I know that would compromise Adrian’s plan.

And Olivia might go after her own revenge. It’s not like I wouldn’t deserve it.

“She was complicated,” Olivia continues, lost in memory now.

“The Consortium demanded certain behaviors and compromises. But underneath all that, Victoria had a good heart. She protected people when she could, even if the world never saw it.” She turns to face me fully, and I see the grief she carries in the fine lines around her eyes.

“You two were sort of friends, right? I think she liked you. ”

Friends.

I close my eyes and hold my stomach. Oh God…

I see Victoria sprawled on that floor, flames consuming her while I watched. Her final moments were spent in agony because I’d decided she deserved to suffer.

Can’t breathe.

“I should get back inside,” I say, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. If I stay here for another moment, I’ll shatter completely. “Thank you for… for being so kind.”

I flee into the ballroom, hiding myself in the crowd. How could I tell that grieving sister that I murdered Victoria in cold blood? Not for justice, but for a vengeance so twisted it had nothing to do with the woman Victoria actually was?

I’ve become the monster I set out to destroy. I wanted justice for my mother. But somewhere along the way, I started creating more innocents to mourn, more sisters to grieve, more daughters lost to senseless violence.

The weight of my crimes has never felt heavier. For the first time, I truly understand that my quest for revenge hasn’t made me righteous.

It’s made me one of them.