Page 9 of Goldrage (The Chrysophilist Trilogy #3)

CHAPTER SEVEN

AURELIA

T he laptop screen glows bright in Lorenzo’s dimly lit study as we’re all huddled around it. It’s been three days of planning, three more days of healing, and three days of my soul screaming for Adrian while my body betrays me with every painful breath.

Gideon’s exhausted face fills the screen.

His light blond hair sticks up at odd angles like he never brushes it.

Dark circles ring his brown eyes, but there’s a sharpness there that reminds me why Valentine trusted him with my life.

The background behind him is cluttered with multiple monitors with stuff on them, stuff I can’t even begin to understand.

But honestly, does he need twenty monitors?

I touch my stomach without thinking. I’m not pregnant, but we’ve been talking about our plan so much that I’m starting to convince myself that I am. I keep catching myself smiling from picturing what features my baby might get from Adrian. Then I remember there’s no baby and my heart sinks.

The lie sits heavier than the constant throb of my wounds, but it’s a necessity. This is weaponizing the one thing Lady Harrow values above all else: bloodline.

“Once I announce the pregnancy,” I tell Gideon, “Lady Harrow won’t risk harming me—at least not until she verifies it’s true.”

Lorenzo shifts beside me in his leather chair, and I catch the wince he tries to hide.

The lamplight from the ornate desk lamp casts shadows across his face, highlighting the pain he refuses to acknowledge.

“But Lady Harrow won’t just take Aurelia’s word for it, yes?

She’ll demand proof. Can you help with medical documents? ”

Gideon isn’t looking at the screen and his glasses reflect the blue light he’s focused on.

The sound of typing floats through the laptop speakers like rainfall against the study’s heavy curtains.

Gideon’s lips curve into something that’s not quite a smile but carries the same satisfaction I felt watching Vincent DeMarco choke on his own blood.

I think we share a common interest in watching powerful people fall.

“I can do better than just give you documents,” he says, his pride threading through the nasal quality of his Dutch accent. But he falls silent.

Me, Eleanora, and Lorenzo exchange glances. The mahogany bookshelves behind us seem to lean in, as if the very walls of Lorenzo’s study are conspiring with us.

The typing intensifies for several heartbeats before Gideon nods, more to himself than to us. He finally looks at the camera. “I’ve identified the doctor they’ll likely call: Dr. Reynolds. He’s the Harrow family physician and has treated Adrian and Julian for years.”

The mention of Adrian’s name sends an ache through my chest that has nothing to do with my physical injuries. Dr. Reynolds. Has he treated Adrian’s fresh gunshot wound? Is he monitoring whatever torture they’re subjecting Adrian to in that fortress?

I swallow the rage before it can show on my face, though the movement aggravates my throat stitches. “You think he’ll lie for us? He sounds loyal.”

Gideon’s laugh is soft but carries an edge that makes the hair on my arms rise.

He doesn’t answer directly, just continues typing while we exchange glances across Lorenzo’s antique oak desk.

My cousin’s expression mirrors my own mix of awe and unease.

Even Eleanora, who’s been full of surprises lately, looks impressed as she stands near the door, one hand unconsciously resting near her weapon.

The silence stretches until Lorenzo clears his throat. “So instead of Aurelia bringing documents, are you suggesting something else?”

“Precisely.” Gideon’s fingers never stop moving across his keyboard.

Clack-clack-clack. “Just tell them you’re pregnant.

I’ll give you some fake documents that I’m sure Lady Harrow won’t accept.

Then she’ll bring in Dr. Reynolds for blood work.

I’ll get into his system and change the results to show you’re knocked up. Lady Harrow will believe it.”

The plan is elegant in its simplicity, but I still feel nauseous at the thought of needles and getting my blood drawn while I’m still weakened. The room sways slightly but I grip the edge of Lorenzo’s desk to steady myself. I’ll do anything as long as it gets me to Adrian.

“There’s one more thing.” Gideon’s eyes finally focus on me through the screen, and I see something there that makes my spine straighten despite the protest from my wounds.

Warning. “You’ll need to maintain the deception completely.

Don’t make any of them doubt the pregnancy.

Lady Harrow will be watching for any slip up.

Morning sickness, food aversions, mood swings… you’ll need to perform all of it.”

My hand presses harder against my stomach, as if I can pop a child into existence through sheer determination.

I’ve performed for the Consortium before; I’ve played their games.

But this is different. This is me claiming to carry the next generation of Harrows, a lie so profound it could either save us all or sign my death warrant in blood.

“I can help,” Eleanora offers, crossing the room to move closer. The gun at her hip catches the light from the desk lamp as she moves, metal gleaming against the shadows of Lorenzo’s study. She looks at me. “I’ll send you information on typical first-trimester symptoms. Study it before you go in.”

My mind reels with the complexity of maintaining such an intricate lie, but before I can fully process the weight of what I’m going to do, Gideon speaks up.

“Well, if that’s all, talk to you later.” The screen goes black before any of us can respond, leaving us staring at our own reflections in the darkened laptop.

He’s a man of few words, I guess.

The silence that follows feels like the aftermath of an explosion—everything has changed and nothing is certain.

“That guy needs to work on his social skills,” Lorenzo mutters, closing the laptop with his good hand. “Brilliant hacker, terrible at goodbyes.”

Eleanora actually laughs. The genuine, joyful sound momentarily breaks through her new soldier persona, and it’s so unexpected that both Lorenzo and I turn to stare at her.

A grin splits Lorenzo’s face. “See? I’m softening you already, my beautiful wife-to-be.”

“Shut the hell up,” Eleanora snaps, but there’s less venom in it than usual. The pink creeping up her neck betrays her even in the dim light.

I really have no idea what’s going to happen between these two, especially when Emeric comes back.

He’s definitely not going to be happy when he learns Eleanora is engaged.

And I wonder if she’ll stay engaged or break it off.

She never seemed like the kind of woman to settle down; God knows Emeric tried his best to make her monogamous.

Anyway… that future drama isn’t anything I can focus on right now.

My fingers drum against my thigh, aggravating the bruises there, and I feel sick from the thought of walking directly into the lion’s den.

The plan is brilliant and might be the only thing standing between Adrian and whatever psychological torture his family has designed for him. But the plan is also insane .

“Hey,” I say, getting Lorenzo and Eleanor to stop bickering with each other and look at me.

“Yes, cugina?” Lorenzo asks.

“I just had a thought. Once I’m inside, I don’t think I should tell Adrian the pregnancy is fake.”

Lorenzo shifts in his chair, the movement too quick. He winces and touches his side. “Why not? He should know the truth.”

“I agree,” Eleanora says. “He might be able to help and make your performance more believable. You need an ally inside that horror house.”

I shake my head even as my heart twists at the thought of lying to Adrian about something so big.

“If Lady Harrow suspects anything, she might torture him. If he genuinely believes I’m pregnant, his reactions will be authentic.

It’s better he doesn’t know, for his own safety.

” I hate lying to him but this is important.

Adrian’s poker face is legendary when he’s prepared, but when caught off guard?

Even he has tells that his mother would recognize.

Eleanora’s amber eyes bore into me with that new intensity she’s developed. “You sure that’s the only reason?” Her head tilts slightly, a predator scenting weakness. “It won’t be easy lying to him about something this significant.”

I can’t hold her gaze. Instead, I focus on the oil painting behind Lorenzo’s desk. It shows a beautiful vineyard crawling across the countryside. “It’s the safest option for everyone. I’ll tell him once we’re out.”

The deeper truth lodges in my throat like barbed wire, cutting deeper than Julian’s knife.

The truth is Adrian would never let me walk into that viper’s nest if he knew I was gambling everything on a lie.

He’d find another way—probably one that involved sacrificing himself.

That’s who he is beneath that controlled exterior: a man who steps in front of bullets meant for me.

But I won’t let him do that again. This time, I’m his protector.

Lorenzo pushes himself to his feet and grunts when the movement pulls at his wound. We’re quite the pair, aren’t we? Two injured souls plotting against an empire. “We should set this in motion,” he says. “The longer Adrian remains there, the more danger he’s in.”

I nod. “Tomorrow.” It feels like too soon and yet not soon enough. My body screams for more time to heal, but my heart can’t wait another moment. “I’ll go there tomorrow. This has to work. There’s no other option.”

Because there isn’t. We’ve run through every scenario, every possibility. This is our only shot at getting inside without an army we don’t have.

Eleanora glances at her smart watch, and I already know what’s coming. The mysterious evening departures that she still won’t explain. “I should go,” she says. “I’ll be back first thing tomorrow to help you prepare.”

She squeezes my shoulder as she passes. I try to catch her hand to give her a squeeze back, but she’s already walking away. Just weeks ago, we would’ve hugged goodbye, even despite my wounds. Now she treats me like she’s afraid too much contact will reveal secrets, whatever those secrets might be.

Even though she’s involved in all of this and comes over every day to see me and help with my healing, why does it feel like she’s slipping away?

Lorenzo follows her out, probably so he can walk her to the door even though Eleanora hates that. I’m left alone, staring at the closed laptop.

After a few minutes, I make my way back to my room, each step a reminder of how far I am from being healed. The stairs feel like mountains, my hand gripping the banister like I’m trying to break it. By the time I reach my door, sweat beads on my forehead from the effort.

Somehow, I’ll need to muster more physical strength by tomorrow.

I walk into my room and the mirror across from my bed shows a stranger—hollow cheeks, dark circles, a neck decorated with Julian’s handiwork. Fresh bandages peek out from beneath my shirt. This is the woman who will walk into the Harrow estate claiming to carry their heir.

God help me.

I press both palms against my stomach, trying to imagine the weight of life that isn’t there. What would it feel like? Adrian’s child growing inside me. The fantasy is so vivid it steals what little breath my injured ribs allow. Is it a future we might never have?

My reflection stares back, and I see my mother in my green eyes, in the determined set of my jaw. She played their games too and performed for their entertainment. But she never got to write her own ending.

I will.

“I’m carrying the Harrow heir,” I whisper to the woman in the mirror. The words are like a foreign language, but I’ll make them true through sheer grit. “And I’m coming to claim my place.”

The ghost of my mother seems to nod her approval from somewhere just beyond the glass.

Tomorrow, I walk back into hell.

But this time, I’m bringing the fire with me.