Page 42 of Goldrage (The Chrysophilist Trilogy #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

DANTE

T he dining room feels oppressively formal.

Somehow, the crystal chandeliers overhead are brighter tonight.

I sit in my usual chair, my wound only protesting mildly as I slice through my steak.

Around me, the familiar symphony of our family dinners plays out—silverware against china, ice clinking in glasses, the soft shuffle of servants’ feet.

Valentine stands guard in the corner. More guards flank the doorways.

“—and then Margaret had the audacity to suggest we read something that has won awards.” Bianca’s voice cuts through my thoughts like nails on glass. “I told her that’s not what everyone voted on. And she said what we voted on was trash and would kill brain cells?—”

I keep my expression neutral, focusing instead on the meat in my mouth. My wretched “wife” continues her monologue and I grip my steak knife tighter, trying not to think about what she did to me. Or if my child is now growing in her womb .

Patience. They’ll all get justice.

Bianca stuffs broccoli in her mouth and then rambles around the food. “Of course, then Patricia, well, she sided with Margaret. She said something about ‘expanding our horizons.’ I swear, the woman reads one bestseller and suddenly thinks she’s a literary critic.”

Across the table, Julian pushes food around his plate like a child avoiding vegetables. His movements are jagged and uncertain. Fork scrapes against porcelain. A muscle jumps in his jaw.

Lady Harrow sits at the head of the table, spine straight.

But there’s a tremor in her fingers when she reaches for her wine glass.

The matriarch is rattled. I doubt she’s aware that I know what she and Bianca planned against me, so I’m curious what’s shaken her.

She glances at Julian and I wonder what transpired between them.

Is my brother finally seeing through her lies?

“—and I can’t believe Vivian said that. I nearly choked on my cappuccino.”

Valentine’s hands flex at his sides, curling into fists before releasing. The motion repeats like a nervous tic, betraying the storm beneath his stoic exterior. He’s been doing that a lot lately, like his secret has been weighing on him more and more.

I catch his gaze. Patience, Valentine.

“Aurelia, darling.” Mother’s voice slices through Bianca’s prattling. “How are you feeling? How is our precious heir?”

The temperature in the room drops several degrees. Aurelia’s spine straightens, her hand drifting to her stomach.

“Um, well, thank you.” Her voice remains steady, but I catch the slight tightening around her eyes. “The morning sickness has mostly passed, now I’m just getting strange cravings.”

“Well.” Lady Harrow smiles. “I received rather disappointing news today. Dr. Reynolds was called away on a family emergency. Something about his cousin taking a sudden turn for the worse in Portland.”

The shift in Aurelia’s posture is subtle—shoulders dropping perhaps a millimeter, the grip on her fork loosening just enough to matter. Relief. She’s relieved about the delay.

Why would she fear the results when I’ve already told her I’ll love that child regardless? Whether it carries my blood or Julian’s, it will be protected. It will be loved.

Unless there’s something else she’s not telling me.

“Quite convenient, isn’t it.” Mother’s words carry a dangerous edge. “It’ll be a few extra weeks before we can determine the father of your child. I do hope this delay won’t cause any… complications.”

“I’m sure everything will work out as it should,” Aurelia responds.

Julian’s fork clatters against his plate, the sound sharp in the suffocating quiet.

Lady Harrow’s expression hardens. “Yes, well, the baby had better be Julian’s.

Though either way, it’ll be Harrow blood.

Lucian’s blood. The child will be raised to embody the strength and leadership that has defined our family for generations.

” Her fingers drum against the table. “The Harrow lineage stretches back centuries, built on the foundation of men who understood that power requires sacrifice, that leadership demands ruthlessness. Lucian’s father was the same way—uncompromising, brilliant, willing to do whatever was necessary to protect the family empire. ”

Bile rises in my throat at her reverence for men who were glorified monsters, but I keep my expression blank. Around the table, the tension ratchets higher. Julian’s knuckles are white around his fork. Valentine’s complexion shifts from pink to crimson.

“The child will learn from the finest tutors. It will be shaped by the wisdom of generations of Harrow men. Julian’s child will understand from birth that they’re part of something greater than themselves, something that transcends ordinary morality or sentiment?—”

“Oh, shut up, Liora!”

Valentine’s roar detonates across the dining room. Bianca’s water glass tips over, liquid spreading across the white tablecloth. Aurelia flinches. Even the guards shift uneasily at their posts.

I don’t move. Don’t react. Just watch.

Keep your mouth shut, Valentine.

I clear my throat but he ignores me.

He points a finger at his chest and my stomach drops. “If it’s Julian’s child, it’ll be my blood, not Lucian’s!”

Forks freeze mid-air. The grandfather clock in the corner ticks once, twice, marking the seconds as decades of deception implode.

I close my eyes in defeat.

Oh, Valentine …

This wasn’t part of my plan. My mind races through contingencies, calculating how this revelation might ripple outward, disturbing my carefully laid strategies. But I remain still and observe. Neither Julian nor Lady Harrow can suspect that I already knew.

Lady Harrow’s face becomes a masterclass in emotional whiplash—shock bleeding into fury, fury into naked panic, panic into cold calculation. The transformation takes less than three seconds.

“How dare you!” Her words come out strangled. “Guards! Seize this man for spreading such vicious lies!”

“No,” Julian says. His gaze locks onto Valentine. “Explain yourself. Now.”

Valentine draws himself up as he faces the devastation he’s just unleashed.

“Your mother and I had an affair after Adrian was born. You’re my biological son, Julian.

Not Lucian’s. Mine. I’m… I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you like I should’ve been.

” He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing as he fights to maintain composure.

“Lies!” Lady Harrow’s shriek pierces the air like a wounded animal’s cry. The word echoes off crystal and china, but even she must hear how thin it sounds. “Vicious, desperate lies! Don’t listen to him, Julian. He’s trying to destroy our family?—”

Julian erupts from his chair. His hands clamp onto his mother’s shoulders, fingers sinking deep. “Tell me the truth!” The roar tears from his throat as he shakes her. “For once in your goddamn life, tell me the fucking truth!”

I stay seated, spine straight, hands folded.

This explosion was inevitable, a pressure cooker finally blowing its lid.

My irritation simmers beneath careful control.

Valentine’s timing couldn’t be worse. We need Julian to be stable and focused.

Not drowning in identity crises when my plan demands precision.

“Julian, please?—”

“The truth! Now!” Something fractures in my brother’s voice, a sound that pulls at something deep in my chest. Even monsters can inspire sympathy when they break.

The dam bursts. Tears carve channels through Lady Harrow’s makeup as she nods. “Yes.” The whisper barely reaches my ears. “Yes, it’s true. Valentine is your biological father.”

Julian releases her like she’s turned to acid. She sways, catching herself on the table edge while he stands there, his face a war zone of emotions.

“Why?” he says weakly. “Why keep this from me all this time?”

“To protect you!” Mother’s finger stabs toward Valentine in accusation. “He was nobody! A common soldier with no prospects, no power, no ability to give you the life you deserved. Lucian gave you everything—status, wealth, a legacy to inherit! Power! Look at all this power you now wield.”

“Lucian tortured me!” The words detonate from Julian’s chest. “He beat me and turned me into a weapon! And you let him because it served your fucking purpose ?”

My gaze sweeps the table, cataloging damage. Aurelia sits frozen, a beautiful statue carved from shock, her eyes tracking Julian with something softer than fear. And Bianca continues spooning crème br?lée into her mouth, frowning at her dessert as if the screaming is merely bad background music.

I fucking hate that woman.

Julian’s eyes find mine across the battlefield of our family dinner. For a heartbeat, his armor drops completely. Raw need bleeds through, the need for something solid in a world suddenly built on lies.

“You’re still my brother,” I tell him. “That will never change.”

His vulnerability sharpens instantly. The scoff that follows cuts deep.

“You bastard!” Mother launches herself at Valentine, hands clawing for his face. “How dare you destroy everything I’ve built!” Her palm cracks against his cheek before he can react. “All these years of careful planning, and you ruin it with your pathetic conscience!”

Valentine catches her wrists as she swings again. “Someone had to tell him! He deserves to know?—”

“He deserved a father who could give him power! Not some lovesick fool who?—”

The situation unravels like a spool of barbed wire, catching everyone in its path. Crystal trembles on the table. Guards shift nervously, unsure whether to intervene. This chaos threatens everything I’ve worked toward.

I rise from my chair slowly and the movement alone shifts the room’s tension.

“Enough.” I don’t raise my voice. Don’t need to.

The quiet command carries the weight of every order I’ve given, every man I’ve broken, every empire I’ve toppled.

“ This news stays here. No one, and I mean no one, breathes a word of this to anyone outside this estate.” My gaze finds Bianca, who finally glances up from her plate like a child caught daydreaming during a funeral.

“Especially you. I need your word that you’ll keep this secret. ”

She wilts under my stare. “Yes, of course, whatever my husband wants. I’m just here to please you, Adrian. I won’t tell anyone.”

The submission in her voice should satisfy me. It doesn’t.

“If this information reaches the Consortium,” I continue, “it will throw everything into chaos. Julian’s legitimacy as leader will be questioned, and we’ll have civil war on our hands.”

Though that’s exactly what I want. Just not yet.

Julian stumbles backward like I’ve struck him. I watch the precise moment his internal architecture collapses—jaw slackening, eyes going vacant, hands trembling. Twenty-eight years of certainty, of identity, of purpose, crumble in real time.

Without a word, he turns and bolts. His footsteps pound down the hallway, each one taking him further from the wreckage of his life.

My chest constricts with an ache I rarely allow myself to feel. He’s discovering what I’ve always known: love in the Harrow family comes with strings.

Aurelia’s eyes find mine across the carnage. In that glance, I read understanding deeper than words. She knows where I need to be. Her subtle nod grants permission I don’t need but appreciate anyway .

Without looking back, I leave the dining room. Valentine and Lady Harrow’s shouting fades behind me.

Somewhere down this length of hallway, my brother is drowning in truth. I move toward him, though I’m not sure what I’ll say. How do you comfort someone whose entire identity just revealed itself as fiction?

He’s broken, but somehow, I must gather the pieces before they scatter beyond recovery.