Page 40 of Goldrage (The Chrysophilist Trilogy #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY

AURELIA

T he day after finding the wig, I pace my room, back and forth, my mind spinning with an ever-growing list of catastrophes waiting to happen.

The conversation with Valentine had helped drain some of my murderous rage toward Bianca, but it didn’t ease the crushing anxiety about everything else hanging in the balance.

Ten days. That’s how long I have before the doctor returns to draw blood for another round of tests.

Lorenzo had managed to contact Gideon, who’d warned us that making the equipment “malfunction” twice might raise suspicions.

He’s working on creating some emergency that will force the doctor to leave the state, but if that fails, we’ll have to let the test happen and just manipulate the results.

Which brings me to an impossible choice. Gideon says I have to decide whose name should appear on those results. Because if the doctor ends up drawing my blood, Gideon will have to list the father. My heart screams Adrian’s name; I want the world to know that any child I carry would be his.

But I need to think strategically. If the results showed Adrian as the father, would Julian’s jealousy and rage make him even more unstable?

Would he lash out at Adrian, at me, at everyone around him in a fit of possessive fury?

And Lady Harrow would also prefer it to be Julian’s child…

though maybe she doesn’t want any child to threaten her position right now.

She knows I’ll fight, so maybe that’s why she’s trying to get Bianca pregnant, even if it’s with Adrian’s child.

She wants someone she can manipulate better.

And she could also lord Adrian’s child over him.

Ugh. I have no idea what’s going through Lady Harrow’s mind right now.

It all feels like a gamble. The woman was clearly unhinged enough to plan Adrian’s assault, so what other horrors might she unleash if she thought her plans were succeeding?

Every scenario leads to violence and chaos, and I feel trapped in a maze with no safe exit.

I stop pacing to check the time on my phone for the dozenth time in an hour, trying to decide whether enough time has passed to justify checking the library for any messages from Valentine. Adrian needs to know the truth about what Bianca did.

A sharp knock on my door interrupts my spiraling thoughts. “Ms. Draven?” The guard’s voice carries its usual disgust toward me. “You have a visitor.”

Weird.

Lorenzo never announces his visits. He simply shows up and charms his way past security. And Eleanora would never risk coming here because her presence would make Julian and Lady Harrow suspicious, even though she’s my friend.

“A visitor?” I ask, opening the door. “Who?”

“This way,” the guard replies.

My anxiety spikes as I follow his bulky frame.

A handful of minutes later, we approach what I heard Lady Harrow call “The Blue Parlor.” It lives up to its name with walls painted in deep navy and furnished with antique furniture that’s too ornate. There are less dead animals on the walls, but still some. Any amount is more than my taste.

As I enter and scan the room, I’m shocked at who I find sitting on a wingback chair. Olivia. She sits with perfect posture, her hands folded gracefully in her lap as she examines a landscape painting on the wall.

She’s dressed in a charcoal wool dress that skims her knees, paired with black heels and a string of pearls. Her dark hair is pulled back in a chignon that emphasizes the sharp intelligence in her eyes.

“Olivia,” I say, not hiding my shock. “This is… unexpected.”

She rises smoothly and offers a warm smile that transforms her serious features. “I hope you don’t mind. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d check on how you’re doing. Pregnancy can be such an overwhelming experience, especially when you’re adjusting to a new living situation.”

In the neighborhood? That’s a clear lie; the estate is outside Seattle and somewhere you would only drive to on purpose .

I glance at the corners of the room, knowing security cameras are recording every word and gesture. “Would you like to take a walk in the garden? It’s such a beautiful day.”

“That sounds lovely,” Olivia says, gathering her small purse.

She follows me silently through the mansion. Sunlight warms my face as we step out on the patio.

“It is a beautiful day,” she comments. “And what a lovely garden.”

There are guards positioned around the estate’s perimeter, but the open air and white noise of the fountains should provide some protection as we stroll through the rose bushes.

“How are you feeling?” Olivia asks, her tone carrying genuine concern. “You look a bit pale. Are you getting enough rest?”

“As much as I can. The, uh, baby seems to be doing well. Though the stress of everything isn’t good for either of us.”

We walk in comfortable silence for several minutes, admiring the flowerbeds and ornamental trees.

There’s something soothing about Olivia’s presence.

She doesn’t demand conversation or performance.

She simply exists in the space with the kind of self-possession that comes from years of navigating dangerous social waters.

“I attended a Consortium gathering a few nights ago,” Olivia says casually as we round a bend in the pathway. “Julian provided some… dramatic entertainment for everyone. ”

My stomach clenches with a familiar dread. “What kind of entertainment?”

“Bloody. He killed two men in front of everyone. Maybe killed is putting it too lightly. He slaughtered them. It was meant to be a demonstration of power, but honestly, it felt more like watching someone have a psychotic break in public.”

The confirmation of Julian’s continued descent into madness should shock me, but instead I feel only a bone-deep sadness for the boy he once was, who might be lost forever. Adrian thinks he can be saved, but I’m not convinced.

“He wasn’t always like that. There was good in him once.”

“I’m sure there was,” Olivia says as she stops to smell a rose. “But power and manipulation have a way of corrupting even saints. And Lady Harrow…” She trails off, shaking her head with what might be disgust. We continue walking.

The mention of Lady Harrow combined with the stress of everything else—Adrian’s assault, the looming paternity test, the weight of my own secrets—suddenly becomes too much.

I feel tears pricking at my eyes as guilt crashes over me in suffocating waves.

I think of how I might be just like them, becoming them.

It’s too much finally and I don’t want to be that person anymore. I don’t want this nightmare, this life.

“Olivia,” I say abruptly, stopping beside a marble bench overlooking a fountain. “I need to tell you something. Please, can we sit down? ”

Olivia’s eyebrows rise slightly, but her expression remains calm and attentive. “Alright.”

We sit together and I think that this is probably a mistake. That I’m completely insane. She might kill me, and who knows if the guards will notice and get to me in time.

But I can’t live another day with this secret. I don’t want this life anymore.

I spill my guts, driven by guilt and stress and the desperate need to confess if for the simple fact to prove I’m not like Julian and Lady Harrow, that I’m not a monster. Or at least trying not to be one. “Victoria… her death was my fault.”

Olivia goes very still, her face showing no immediate reaction beyond a slight tightening around her eyes. I brace myself for violence, for screaming, for the kind of explosive retaliation that defines Consortium justice.

Instead, Olivia simply says, “Continue.”

Continue? I’d rather not relive it, and I don’t want to tell Olivia the gory details of Victoria’s death, so I just say, “I did it. I set her… apartment on fire. I killed her. I had a plan to kill her.”

She folds her hands and lowers her gaze to my stomach. “Why?”

The quiet question catches me off guard. I’d expected rage, threats, immediate demands for vengeance. Maybe she’s holding back because she thinks I’m pregnant. I don’t know. But her rational response is so unexpected that I answer honestly.

“Revenge.” My voice cracks. “For what your mother did to mine. I had a list—have a list—of everyone who participated in my mother’s torture and murder. Victoria was on it because of your mother’s actions.”

Olivia nods slowly, processing this information with unsettling calm. She stands and starts walking again, confusing me, and I’m forced to follow. We continue walking in heavy silence, the only sounds our footsteps on the gravel path and the distant splash of fountains.

Finally, Olivia speaks. “I’d always suspected what happened to Victoria wasn’t an accident.

That someone close to her decided…” She sighs.

“Well, it’s a surprise to learn it was you, but it makes sense in hindsight.

I know what my mother did to yours. It was before I was born, but I’ve heard the stories.

I understood the grudges that shaped our family’s reputation.

” She pauses, choosing her words carefully.

“In that context, your actions make a certain twisted sense, though Victoria herself was innocent of our mother’s crimes. ”

“I know,” I say, tears flowing freely down my cheeks.

“I’m sorry. It was wrong. I was a different person then.

I was angry and I needed to make someone pay for my mother’s suffering.

But Victoria didn’t deserve what I did to her.

She was guilty of other things probably, but not the crimes I was avenging. I’m so sorry.”

I wait for justice, my muscles tense, but Olivia only nods. Finally, I ask, “You’re not… upset?”

“I’ve already grieved for my sister. And, inside, yes, I’m quite pissed. But…” she looks at me. “What would killing you in retaliation accomplish? Only more death. And I’ve grown to like you, even if this news leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. ”

I start crying, not feeling like I deserve such a compassionate response.

To my amazement, Olivia stops walking and pulls me into a gentle embrace. “You poor thing,” she murmurs. “You’ve been carrying this guilt while dealing with everything else—the pregnancy, the politics, the constant surveillance. It’s no wonder you’re falling apart.”

I sob against her shoulder, weeks of suppressed emotion pouring out in a torrent. Who is this woman? I’d expected judgment, violence, retribution. Instead, I found understanding from the one person who had every right to hate me.

“I’ve broken down many times myself,” Olivia continues, stroking my hair and smoothing the strands. “The stress of this life, business, of trying to maintain appearances, the cruelty of men… it’s okay to cry. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed.”

When I finally regain my composure, I pull back to study her face. “It would feel better if you’d just hate me.”

Olivia’s smile is tired but genuine. “And lose an opportunity for an ally? No no. I’m exhausted.

I’m exhausted by the endless cycle of violence and revenge that defines our world.

Victoria and I… we talked about it sometimes, late at night.

We wondered what life might be like outside this world.

Who we might be if we were born into a different family.

But wishing is a stupid thing to do. Because that’s not our reality. ”

I nod, understanding settling into my bones.

“Our generation didn’t choose this life,” she continues.

“ We were born into it, shaped by it, trapped by it. Victoria tried to find ways to protect people when she could, to use her position for good rather than evil. But in the end, this life consumed her anyway. She became more twisted, much like Julian has become. This life is slowly consuming all of us. Some quicker than others.”

We sit on a marble bench, two women finding unexpected common ground in our shared exhaustion with a world that demands violence as the price of survival.

“There’s still hope,” I say, surprising myself with the conviction in my voice. “It doesn’t have to be this way forever.”

Olivia laughs, but there’s no mockery, only weary disbelief.

“You have more faith than I do. But I admire it, even if I can’t share it.

” She opens her purse and tucks her hand inside.

“While I don’t have the hope you do, maybe I can help.

I’ve been watching Lady Harrow for years. She kills everything she touches.”

My attention sharpens. “You’ve noticed?”

“I started paying attention while Lucian was still alive,” Olivia explains.

“I’d see her whispering with certain people at gatherings, planting seeds, creating alliances and enemies behind Lucian’s back.

After Lucian died, I watched her work on Julian.

I didn’t always hear what she was saying, but she’s been like a devil whispering in his ear. ”

“No one else seemed to see it.”

“They see what they want to see. Julian’s erratic behavior, his descent into violence and paranoia—most people blame the stress of leadership or his father’s influence.

They don’t recognize his mother’s hand in his destruction.

” She withdraws a small piece of paper from her purse, pressing it into my palm.

“My private number. Call me if you need anything. Information, assistance, or just someone to talk to who understands what you’re dealing with. ”

“Thank you.”

After Olivia leaves, I retreat to my room with my head spinning from the unexpected encounter. I grab my diary from its hiding place and turn to the page with my hit list.

I cross out Olivia’s name. Then I tear out the page and rip it up.

My quest for revenge had been more about my own pain than honoring my mother’s memory.

The killings hadn’t brought peace or healing, only more emptiness and guilt.

But after being shown such immense compassion from someone who had every right to hate me, I’m done with it.

No more revenge. Even against Lady Harrow.

I have faith she’ll get what she deserves one way or another.

My new focus is simply freedom.

Hope.

I look out my window at the garden where I’d found an unexpected ally in the most unlikely person.

Olivia Marlowe—sister of my victim, member of the Consortium elite, survivor of a world that crushes everything beautiful—had chosen compassion over vengeance.

It gives me hope that redemption might be possible for all of us, even in the darkest corners of our twisted world.