Page 11 of Goldflame

There are rooms for that!I want to yell. I just want to watch people dance, yet they’re over there fucking and bending their bodies in ways that shouldn’t be possible.

I’m wilted over a sticky leather couch, not even sure how long I’ve been here. I drain my fourth—sixth?—glass of champagne and signal to the server for another. I eagerly grab one from his tray. The bubbly alcohol burns and tickles, numbing the active parts of my consciousness. That’s all I want tonight. Oblivion.

“Don’t drink,” Valentine warned before I left. “You’ll make yourself vulnerable.”

I know he worries about me, but vulnerable to what? What else could possibly happen to me at this point? My plan blew up in my face, and I’ve already lost everything.

I adjust my mask, which someone handed to me when I entered; it’s a simple black satin one that covers my eyes and the bridge of my nose. I heave a sigh like I’m about to vomit. Maybe coming here was stupid. I just wanted to feel something—anything—besides this hollowed-out agony that’s been carving me from the inside. I keep thinking about Adrian, my chest holding a constant ache.

We spent a decade as boyfriend and girlfriend, yet I never truly appreciated him until it was too late. I thought I knew who he was—the perfect son, calculating and cold. I thought he was just using me as a trophy, keeping tabs on me for the Harrows, and I broke it off with him because I thought he was just like his father—just another monster wearing a beautiful mask. I never imagined he would die trying to warn me about his mother’s deception.

God, I was so fucking blind.

Some Golden One I am. I can kill a man without blinking, but I couldn’t see what was right in front of me. I almost laugh at the cruel irony. Just when I discover Adrian might’ve been different than I thought, Lady Harrow puts a bullet in him.

And Julian—God, Julian. I can’t even think abouthimright now because I still love that man. I love him andwant to be in his arms even as he hates me and thinks I’m the scum of the earth.

“Another?” A server materializes beside me, a tray of champagne flutes balanced in his palm.

I glance at the now-empty flute in my hand. When did I even drink it? Exhaling, I shake my head and hand him the empty glass.

I sink lower into the couch, my hand absentmindedly moving to my throat like I’m searching for scars. The bruises have healed, but I can still feel Julian’s large hands wrapped around me.

If Valentine hadn’t stopped him, would he have ended my life?

My vision blurs as I try to focus on anything else besides phantom hands on my delicate skin. I can’t go there. Not tonight. Tonight I’m done feeling. Done caring. Done with all of it.

I shift my focus to the orgy, then the loud, obnoxious pop music. Maybe if I dance I can distract myself.

When I try to stand, the world tilts for a second and I fall back on the couch. My second attempt is more successful, and I slip deeper into the crowd, letting the bass of the music vibrate through my bones. A woman’s laugh cuts through the music—high and brittle. It makes my skin crawl.

How can they laugh? How can they dance? Adrian isdead. He’s dead and these vultures just… moved on. Like nothing happened. Like Lady Harrow didn’t murder her own son and the Inferno Consortium isn’t quickly crumbling beneath their expensive shoes.

The rage bubbles up, hot and potent. I’d promisedmyself I wouldn’t feel tonight, but this—this burning hatred—it feels better than the emptiness. At least it reminds me I’m alive.

What if I just set this whole place on fire? These people didn’t do anything to my mother, but I know they’ve all done fucked up shit to someone. I’ll get revenge for those innocents.

As I’m contemplating how to commit arson, my eyes drift across the sea of masks, landing on a face that isn’t covered. A man stands against the far wall, watching me. He’s not particularly remarkable—average height, fit build, brown hair—but there’s something about the intensity of his gaze that makes me pause. When our eyes meet, his lips curve into a lecherous smile.

I hold his gaze, a silent challenge. Why isn’t he wearing a mask? Is he new, or just arrogant enough to believe the rules don’t apply to him?

He pushes off the wall and makes his way through the crowd, moving with deliberate precision, like a panther sensing fresh meat. Each step brings him closer, and I find myself lingering, curious how this might play out.

“You look like you could use a dance,” he says when he reaches me. His voice is deep and dangerous. Up close, his eyes are dark—not blue like Julian’s or Adrian’s.

I want them to be blue. But blue like Adrian’s eyes? Or Julian’s?

I have no fucking clue.

I should say no. I should walk away. But the alcohol buzzes pleasantly through my veins, and the hollow space in my chest aches for a distraction.

I nod, which is as much as I can give him in my stupor.

He leads me to the middle of the dance floor as the music shifts to something slower. His hands settle on my hips, hooking slightly around the waistband of my panties. I press against him, letting the rhythm guide our movements. There’s a mechanical quality to it—my body moving while my mind floats somewhere above me, detached and foggy.

Then my treacherous mind shifts, and suddenly I’m no longer here, no longer with this stranger. I’m at another party, just a handful of weeks ago, after Victoria invited me there. It was my first ever Inferno Consortium party—clearly not my last. Julian was supposed to escort me, but of course the asshole bailed. I ended up going with Adrian.

I wish I hadn’t been so… unpleasant with Adrian. I can see now that he was trying to keep me safe, to be there in case some jerk tried to touch me without permission or I got in over my head. Just… to make sure I was okay.

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