Page 23 of Goldrage (The Chrysophilist Trilogy #3)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

AURELIA

I ’m in the dining room, with light filtering through the tall windows. I pick at my breakfast, not really wanting to eat. I know I should be eating and trying to gain some weight so my stomach is more padded but… I just can’t.

Silver forks scrape against fine china, the sound making me flinch.

Breakfast is an elaborate spread of fresh fruit, pastries that smell of butter and sugar, and eggs Benedict drowning in hollandaise.

It all looks delicious but my stomach churns from too much stress and exhaustion.

Too many… regrets. It’s been two days since I was “presented” and I can’t stop thinking about Olivia.

Lorenzo sits next to me, cutting into his eggs cheerfully. He’s performing his role as the dutiful, excited cousin, but I can tell how the stress of our lie and situation is weighing on him. His shoulders have a perpetual hunch now.

“The bushes of yellow roses are blooming,” he says. “We could take a walk in the garden later. ”

I catch the undercurrent in his words— we need to talk privately —and nod.

We’re physically alone in the dining room, but there are cameras everywhere.

They’re always watching, always recording.

In the garden, there are a few spaces where it doesn’t seem the cameras can hear, only observe.

So Lorenzo and I go to those spots and hide our faces so we can whisper to each other.

Olivia’s sharp yet kind gaze flashes in my mind again and my stomach lurches.

“If you ever need someone to talk to…”

I rub at my temples, willing the thoughts of Olivia to go away. How messed up would I be to seek support from the sister of the woman I killed in cold blood?

“Cugina?” Lorenzo asks, touching my arm.

“Um, walk. Yes. I could use a walk.”

He returns to eating and I return to staring at my untouched food. I push a strawberry around my plate, watching the juice bleed across the white porcelain like?—

No. I won’t think about blood. Or vodka. Fire. Victoria’s screams…

I hurl the remaining liquid at her, drenching her in vodka. I let the first candle fall to the floor.

“Fuck! What’re you doing?” Victoria screams. “Are you insane?”

“Maybe.” I walk to the next candle and tap it with my finger. One by one, they fall. “But now it’s time for you to feel the heat.” I lift a candle in my hand. “Your mother made the mistake of using mine as her personal ashtray. I’d like to repay the favor.”

Her eyes round. A mixture of confusion and fear clouds her vision. But she doesn’t plead for her life. Doesn’t bat an eye as I hurl the candle at her vodka-soaked body.

Flames erupt on her skin.

She screams.

And screams.

She gets to her feet and runs toward the door.

I close the door behind me, locking her inside.

It’s too late.

Too late.

Too late.

“Cugina?”

Lorenzo’s hand on my shoulder makes me gasp.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “You’re shaking?—”

“Fine, um.” I lay my shaking hands on my lap, hiding them under the table. “Um, any word about Adrian’s recovery?” The question is mindless—my mind trying to think of anything besides Victoria—and I immediately regret asking. I already know the answer will be another disappointment.

Lorenzo’s shoulders tense and his dark eyes flick to the camera in the corner, then back to me. He lowers his voice until it’s barely more than a breath. “No specifics. But he’s stable. That’s something.”

Something but not enough. Not when guards stand outside Adrian’s door every hour of every day.

Not when Bianca clings to him like a parasite whenever he’s allowed out.

And not when Julian himself sometimes keeps watch, those hollow eyes tracking every movement like he’s afraid Adrian might vanish if he looks away.

I’ve been here over a week already and haven’t been able to meet with Adrian once. The separation is killing me slowly. He’s healing from deep wounds while believing I might be carrying his brother’s child. What must he think of me? Does he hate me now?

He should hate me for what I did to Victoria.

Heels click on the marble and my entire body seizes up. That particular rhythm—a powerful beat getting closer—belongs to only one person.

Lady Harrow sweeps into the dining room, and the temperature seems to drop ten degrees. Her powder blue suit fits like expensive armor and the smile stretching across her face barely moves her porcelain cheeks. My emerald necklace glitters along her neck.

“Good morning, children.”

I shudder. We’re not children. We’re pawns on her chessboard, pieces to be moved and sacrificed according to her plans.

She glides to the side table and pours herself a mug of dark coffee.

The steam curls up like smoke from a funeral pyre.

“I can’t stop thinking about the festivities a few days ago.

” She settles into a chair, stirring sugar into her coffee with maddening slowness.

“Such a successful introduction to society, don’t you think, Aurelia? ”

I play with my fork instead of answering. She can interpret my silence however she wants. My throat still aches where Julian’s knife kissed it. Every word costs me, so I’ve learned to ration them like water in a desert.

“I noticed you spent quite a bit of time with Olivia.” Lady Harrow’s tone shifts, sweetness curdling into sharpness. “Have you two become friends?” The spoon continues its lazy circle around her cup. Clink. Clink. Clink.

I clear my throat. “Well, they do say victims can imprint on their abusers.”

Lorenzo stiffens next to me. His eyes find mine, questions burning behind them that I can’t answer. Not here. Not with her watching, always watching, observing our reactions like a scientist studying lab rats.

The cigar burns on my skin throb, as if responding to the woman who caused them. My stomach turns violently.

Lady Harrow doesn’t respond and I don’t want to give her my power, so I say evenly, “She was pleasant enough. So yes, I think we’re becoming friends.”

“Oh, she is a lovely woman.” Lady Harrow gives a hollow smile before sipping her coffee.

“The Marlowe women have always excelled at playing their roles. Victoria possessed that same gift. She had mastered the art of warmth and understanding until the moment she sank her claws in.” She sets her coffee mug down with theatrical delicacy.

“Though I suppose we both know how that ended for her. Poor dear.”

The casual reference to Victoria’s death drives a new spike of guilt straight through my lungs. Victoria’s screams rattle my brain again. But I keep my expression neutral, channeling every lesson in control Adrian ever taught me. “What exactly are you implying?”

Lady Harrow’s laugh flutters through the room.

“Nothing specific, dear. Simply that women in your delicate condition should exercise more discretion in their associations. You’re carrying precious cargo now.

” She stirs her coffee, letting the silence press in before adding, “Assuming the child survives.”

I set my fork down and it clatters on the plate. “Meaning?” My tone is low and lethal enough to make Lorenzo shift and clear his throat in warning.

What is this bitch going on about?

I’d assumed Lady Harrow would want this baby—another Harrow heir to mold and corrupt. Another innocent life to twist into her image. But what if I miscalculated? What if she sees this pregnancy as a threat to her control?

What if she would…

My gaze drops to my untouched breakfast and I swallow. I reflect on every bite I’ve taken since arriving here. Has she already begun? Some subtle poison slipped into my food, meant to?—

“Well,” Lady Harrow says, “pregnancies can be so fragile, particularly for women under duress. Miscarriages happen with tragic frequency in the first trimester. One day you’re radiant with new life, the next.

..” Her shoulder lifts in an elegant shrug.

“Nature has such efficient ways of eliminating complications.”

I grip the edge of the table, the tablecloth twisting in my fingers. “Is that a threat?”

Lorenzo’s muscles coil beside me, ready to spring. Even here, surrounded by cameras and guards, my cousin would fight for me. The knowledge steadies my rage.

“Threaten?” Lady Harrow’s eyes go wide with practiced innocence.

“Dear, I’m merely voicing maternal concern.

After all, if tragedy were to befall that baby— particularly if Julian proves to be the father—well.

” Her lips curve into something too sharp to be a smile.

“I shudder to imagine how severely my son might react. He might take his rage out on you and your family.” Her eyes shift to Lorenzo and she dips her chin.

Something snaps. I am so done with this bitch.

But it’s not only her. It’s everything. Every indignity.

Every manipulation. Every scar on my body.

The weight of Valentine’s betrayal, Adrian’s wounds, Julian’s transformation into something monstrous—it all compresses into a single point of incandescent fury.

I dab at my lips with a cloth napkin. “You know what I find fascinating, Liora?”

Her name lands like a slap, and I savor the tiny flinch that cracks her perfect mask.

“How someone who spent years on her back, taking whatever degradation Lucian felt like serving, somehow believes she’s earned the right to threaten stronger women.”

Lady Harrow’s coffee mug freezes halfway to her lips and she blinks.

“You were nothing,” I continue. “A victim who learned to victimize because you lacked the spine to face your demons. You’re pathetic.

And now you think manipulating one son makes you powerful?

Shooting the other makes you formidable?

” I lean forward, letting her see every ounce of contempt burning in my eyes.

“You’re still that same terrified woman who used to beg Lucian not to hurt you.

No matter how many people you manipulate, no matter how much blood you spill, you will always be that scared little girl who was never enough. ”

Lady Harrow’s face drains of color, rage bleaching her features white as bone. “How dare you?—”

“But here’s what really eats at you.” I rise from my chair slowly, deliberately, letting her see I’m not running anymore.

“Despite everything you’ve done, despite all your manipulation and scheming, your sons still love each other more than they’ll ever love you.

Julian chose Adrian over your lies. Adrian chose to protect Julian even when it meant sacrificing everything else.

” I lean closer, watching her pupils dilate with fury.

“And deep down, you know that no matter how much poison you pour in their ears, that bond will always be stronger than your influence. In the end, you’ll be left alone, abandoned, to rot. ”

Lady Harrow explodes from her seat, the monster finally shedding its human disguise.

“You stupid little whore! You think you understand anything about my family? About what I’ve sacrificed?

” Spittle flies from her lips as decades of suppressed venom erupts.

“When that bastard baby is born dead, when Julian realizes what a manipulative cunt you really are, when Adrian bleeds out from his wounds because Julian finally stops playing nurse?—”

The words about Adrian barely leave her mouth before a primal rage takes control of my body.

My hand shoots forward, fingers tangling in her coiffed hair.

Years of suppressed anguish, weeks of torture, days of fear—it all melts into one moment of pure, perfect violence.

With every ounce of strength born from fury and desperation, I slam her face down onto the breakfast table, cracking a plate .

The impact reverberates through the room like thunder.

The crunch of cartilage meeting porcelain, then mahogany.

Crimson sprays across white china. There’s the wet, choking sound of Lady Harrow’s scream drowning in her own blood.

The elaborate breakfast spread transforms into abstract art painted in justice.

Lorenzo launches from his chair, but I barely notice through the roaring in my ears and my heavy breathing. He touches my forearm gently, warning me to release Lady Harrow’s hair.

I do, and Lady Harrow slumps against the table. Her nose is a mess of blood and bone. Scarlet streams down her face, staining her powder blue suit. The guards just outside the doorway are frozen, too shocked by the sight of their untouchable mistress.

Lorenzo’s hands find my shoulders, whether to shield me or guide me away, I don’t know or care.

I stand over Liora’s broken form, glaring down at her. My chest is heaving, but for the first time in weeks, I can breathe. Real air fills my lungs. Real power courses through my veins. Not the helpless rage I’ve carried like shackles, but something with purpose and strength.

The Golden One is dead. What stands in her place is something they should have learned to fear.

“Threaten what’s mine again,” I say, “and I’ll do worse than this.”

Without waiting for a response, I shrug off Lorenzo’s protective touch and move around the table.

Lady Harrow’s head is still bent forward as she presses napkins to her gushing nose.

I undo the necklace clasp and reclaim the emeralds that have always been mine.

Then I turn on my heel and stride from the dining room.

Behind me, Lady Harrow’s gasping sobs create a symphony I’ll treasure forever.

Lorenzo catches up in the hallway. “Cugina, I told you to play nice.” I can tell he’s annoyed, but there’s admiration too.

I only shrug. “Why? They never have.”

His chuckle is a low and approving rumble.

For the first time since walking through the estate gates, I feel truly alive. The Consortium needs to know what happens when they mistake patience for weakness, when they threaten the people I love.

I’m done being afraid. Done playing the helpless girl. Done letting anyone—anyone—believe they hold power over me.

And God help anyone who stands in my way.