Page 47 of Goldrage (The Chrysophilist Trilogy #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

JULIAN

I ’m sitting on the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees, staring out the window.

I’ve barely moved in hours. Days, maybe.

Time has become meaningless since everything shattered at dinner.

I think it was two or three nights ago. The mattress sags beneath me, molded to this exact position.

My feet have worn grooves in the carpet where they rest, twin depressions that match the ones eating through my chest.

From up here, the garden spreads below like some stage.

Everyone performs their little dramas down there, oblivious to who’s watching.

Weeks ago I commanded this entire estate, made decisions that affected hundreds of lives, wielded the kind of power men kill for.

Now I’m just a ghost haunting my own bedroom, watching life happen below me.

The sparrows are back. Small brown things darting between Mother’s rose bushes.

They know exactly what they’re meant to do—find food, build nests, survive another day.

No one lies to them. No one uses them for games meant to destroy everything they thought they knew.

Their existence has an honesty mine never had.

Bianca appears from the estate’s side entrance, that pink dress of hers bright against the green. She spots Adrian taking his daily walk and immediately changes her path to intercept. The determination in her stride reminds me of a heat-seeking missile locked onto its target.

I watch her latch onto his arm, mouth already moving in what I know is another desperate attempt to get his attention.

But something’s different today. Adrian stops walking.

Turns to face her fully. Even from here I can see the shift in his posture, the way his shoulders square and his spine straightens.

He looks pissed as he talks. Whatever he’s saying, Bianca is reacting like he’s hitting her, flinching from every work. Bianca’s face crumples, her hands flying to her mouth before she turns and flees back into the house.

I smirk, the first expression I’ve managed in days. So big brother finally grew tired of his little wife’s games? Maybe he discovered what she did to him. The drugging. The assault that happened right under my watch.

Guilt is a sharp sensation in my gut. I should have stopped it. Should have protected him from that, at least. The fact that it happened while I was in charge…

But, was that my responsibility? All those years Adrian watched my suffering and did nothing .

There were so many times he could have intervened, could have used his position as the golden heir to shield me in some fucking way.

He chose not to. He chose to maintain appearances over his brother’s sanity.

“Pathetic,” I mutter, though I’m not sure if I mean Bianca’s desperation or myself. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

Nothing matters anymore.

Hours crawl by. I need to piss but I can’t bring myself to move. What does it matter if I piss myself? Who’s left to care? I clench my muscles and endure it, eyes fixed on the garden as shadows lengthen and the scene shifts again.

Lorenzo appears, moving with that easy confidence of a man who knows exactly who he is. Cigarette dangling from his lips like he doesn’t have a care in the world. My eyes narrow as he approaches Aurelia, who’s been sitting alone on the stone bench near the fountain for the past hour.

Their reunion is warm. Familiar. The kind of easy affection that comes from genuine care rather than manipulation.

They talk for several minutes, heads bent close in conversation meant to be private.

I can’t hear the words of course, but their body language says everything.

There’s concern radiating from Lorenzo. Urgency in the way Aurelia gestures.

Frequent glances toward the estate like they’re checking for guards.

My mother appears next, pacing the garden’s perimeter with restless energy. Her phone is pressed to her ear and she gestures wildly. I’m sure she’s been calling Consortium families, trying to hold together bonds that are going to crumble the second everyone knows I’m not a Harrow .

What a dumb bitch.

She’s so focused on preserving her power, on salvaging things, that she’s completely blind to the real threat developing right under her nose.

While she schemes and manipulates and desperately tries to hold together a house of cards already mid-collapse, she hasn’t noticed what the others are doing.

Adrian and the others are plotting right here, in plain sight. The guard’s loyalty has shifted. Staff members who try to bring me food are now looking at me with contempt instead of fear.

Adrian and his little groupies all whispering to each other.

I’ve noticed, though. I’ve noticed everything from this window.

Adrian sits at the center of it all, as usual.

My golden brother, the true heir, the one everyone instinctively turns to for leadership even when he’s supposed to be recovering from near-fatal wounds.

I’ve watched him move through the estate with growing confidence, testing boundaries.

He issues quiet commands that security follows without question now, without even thinking to come to me for confirmation.

Valentine has been another key player, his movements synchronized with Adrian’s in a way that easily shows they’re working together.

The man who spent my entire life pretending to be a loyal soldier while hiding the truth about his son’s parentage.

Now he scurries around like Adrian’s personal secretary.

And of course, Adrian has his Golden One. Aurelia floats through it all, her hand constantly moving to her stomach to remind everyone the power she carries in her womb.

Well, the baby won’t hold any power if it’s mine.

It’s mine.

And I won’t let Adrian or Aurelia have that baby.

They have each other, so they can at least give me this, my child.

All I need is my child to give my life purpose.

I finally stand and walk close enough to press my palm against the window. They all think they’re being so fucking sneaky, that their grief-stricken, isolated leader is too broken to notice. They’ve written me off as irrelevant, a broken toy. No longer worthy to even use in their games.

So, brother, what’re you plotting?

It must be something massive, something that requires careful timing and coordination. Will it happen at the birthday party, maybe? One of my still-loyal guards mentioned Antonio Castellano’s eightieth celebration was being moved here, to this estate. Perfect cover.

See, brother? I’m not the blind idiot you think I am.

They’re definitely plotting something for the party.

Lorenzo, Aurelia, Adrian, Valentine… I’ve been noticing it more and more, even before I found out about my father, but I’ve felt less and less motivation to intervene or care.

They’re always going to be plotting, planning. Always whispering behind my back.

If Adrian loved me so much, wanted to “rescue” me so desperately, why not tell me about his obvious plans?

The answer sits like a boulder on my heart.

Because he doesn’t truly trust me anymore, no matter what bullshit spills from his mouth about brotherhood and redemption.

He doesn’t really want me as part of his life.

He just wants me to be like some pet who will follow him around and do whatever he commands.

I want to see the Consortium burn now as much as they probably do.

The whole corrupt empire could turn to ash and I’d toast marshmallows over the flames.

Yet, do any of them think for a second to let me in on their schemes?

No. Because I’m forever the pawn, the piece to be moved around the board while the real players make decisions.

That’s how it’s been my entire fucking life.

Even when Aurelia told me about her revenge and hit list, she deceived me. Said she’d let me help, let me be part of it. More lies. She went against my advice not to kill Victoria, and it unleashed hell that nearly destroyed us all.

She didn’t actually want my help, she only wanted someone to shut up and listen to her rants about justice.

They all say they want me in their lives, but their actions reveal the truth.

The realization that they’re plotting behind my back should probably anger me.

Should send me into a murderous rage. But I find I feel nothing beyond a kind of distant admiration of whatever Adrian has been working on.

If my brother wants to destroy what’s left of our world, I won’t stand in his way this time.

I’m done with all this shit. I’m done trying to play leader or command respect when he’s always going to be better at it.

It’s no longer my empire to fight for or care about.

I only want out.

But…

One thing I’ve always been better at than Adrian is fighting.

He can unleash hell or whatever he wants to at that party, but I’m not going to be completely passive. If everyone else is playing games, if everyone else is positioning pieces on boards I can’t see, then I’ll ensure I have options.

And in the end, Aurelia and that baby are coming with me.

I press the intercom button beside my bed, my voice hoarse from disuse when I speak. “Send Tony up. I need to speak with him.”

Minutes later, one of the few guards who still acknowledges my authority knocks on my door.

Tony is a mid-level guard who’s been with the family for years.

He and I have always gotten along, and that bond is still intact.

He told me yesterday that he’s with me no matter what.

That he always hated Adrian. Along with Tony, I have at least five men who are still loyal.

Not really an army, but better than nothing.

“Sir?” Tony stands at attention in the doorway.

I don’t turn from the window, my gaze still fixed on the garden below where everyone is playing their version of Risk. “That birthday party is tonight?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I need you to go to the Mancini estate as soon as it starts.”

“Sir? ”

“I need you to retrieve something,” I continue, my reflection ghostlike in the window glass. “Can I count on you? I’ll pay you whatever you want.”

“Of course, sir. What am I retrieving?”

For the first time in days, I grin. “Insurance.”