Page 110 of Goldflame

She’s happy, but for how much longer? The guilt from yesterday’s outburst still has me drowning. I yelled at her, grabbed her arm, made her cower like Lucian used to.

I’m off my chair, circling the desk and pulling her into an embrace that I know is necessary.

“I’m sorry,” I say into her hair. “For yesterday. For everything. I never want to make you afraid of me.”

Her body stiffens for a heartbeat before melting into the embrace, her arms coming up to circle my waist. “I know you didn’t mean it,” she whispers. “You’re under so much pressure. I understand. That’s why I’m here to help you.”

I pull back just enough to look into her eyes, needing her to really understand my remorse. “You’re the only one I can trust, the only one who’s always stood by me. You’re not just important to this business—you’re everything to this family.” The words pour out of me like blood from a wound. “I need you. Your advice, your strength, your guidance. I can’t do this alone.”

Her hand comes up to cup my cheek, a gesture so maternal it makes my chest ache. “You’re not alone, Julian. You’ll never be alone as long as I’m here. I promise.”

The moment stretches between us, fragile as spun glass, until a sharp knock shatters it. I let her go and frown at the door.

“What?” I bark, irritation burning through my momentary vulnerability.

The door opens to reveal Valentine, his expression carefully blank. He’s perfected that look over the years—the loyal soldier, face giving nothing away. But there’s a tension in his shoulders that puts me on edge.

“Someone is demanding to meet with you,” he says, standing at attention. “They’re quite insistent.”

“If they didn’t make an appointment, then no,” I snap. I move back behind the desk where I feel safer, more in control. “I have too much shit to handle.”

How did my father do this? How did he manage the weight of the Consortium while still finding time for his pleasures—his women, his parties, his cruelties? I can barely keep my head above water, and I haven’t been to The Den in weeks. I haven’t felt the release of a goodfight or the willing presence of the only woman I’ve ever loved.

Everything that makes me who I am has been stripped away, leaving only this shell of a man drowning in paperwork and expectations. If I could have just one thing back, one thing to make me sane again, I’d choose Adrian.

Valentine shifts his weight, and I notice the slight furrow between his brows—the only sign that what he’s about to say is important. “They said it’s about Aurelia.”

Air is knocked from my lungs. Aurelia. The Golden One. My obsession. My downfall.

It’s been half a month since I handed her over to Lorenzo, and still no proof that she’s alive, no evidence that she’s being punished as I demanded. The silence from Lorenzo grows more suspicious each day, and the fear that she might be dead—that I might have sent her to her death—gnaws at me like a rabid wolf.

I’d never forgive myself, so I’ll have to see what this is about.

“Fine,” I sigh, trying to sound indifferent as my pulse hammers against my ribs. “Show them in.”

Valentine nods once before retreating. The door closes with a soft click behind him.

“Do you know what this is about?” I ask Mom.

She settles back into her chair, crossing her legs and smoothing her dress. “No, but I have a feeling it will be interesting. Things in the Harrow house often are.”

I take another sip of whiskey. Aurelia. What could this possibly be about?

The minutes stretch into an eternity until Valentinereturns, this time with a woman trailing behind him. She’s petite with an olive complexion and dirty blonde waves that flow past her shoulders. Her brown eyes scan the room nervously as she clutches a small white purse in front of her like it will protect her. Despite her obvious anxiety, there’s a determined set to her jaw that catches my attention.

“Who the fuck are you?” I demand, cutting straight to the point. I have no patience for games, not when Aurelia’s name has been mentioned.

She startles at my tone, her knuckles whitening around her purse. “Um, Bianca,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. Then, as if gathering her courage, she straightens her spine and repeats, “My name is Bianca.”

“Why are you disturbing me?” The question comes out as a growl, frustration simmering just behind my teeth.

Her eyes dart to my mother, then back to me. “I know where Aurelia is.”

I laugh. “No shit. I know where she is too.”

Confusion flickers across her face before she clears her throat. “Sorry. I meant, I knowwhoshe’s with.” She takes a small step forward, something hardening in her gaze. “He’s been ignoring me, so he needs to learn that he can’t do that.” Her voice grows firmer with each word. “I need you to… to take yourthingback and get her away from him.”

Heat floods my system, rage rising like a tide at her casual dismissal of Aurelia—myAurelia—as a “thing.” I push away from the desk, advancing toward thisstranger who dares to speak of what’s mine with such contempt.

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