Page 53 of Goldflame

But even in my grief, I realize I need to hidethis. I can’t wear it because they’ll only take it away. I can’t lose this; it’s all I have left of Adrian.

I grab my diary and use the pen to very carefully dig out some of the blank pages in the back. I create a little hole and tuck the necklace in, along with the note. Then I find some tape in Adrian’s desk and tape the pages together to conceal the hole.

It’s sloppy, but not noticeable when the diary is closed. As long as Julian doesn’t open it, the necklace should be safe there.

I set the diary on the nightstand and return the empty velvet box to the back of the drawer. My fingers trace my collarbone, still feeling the weight of the emeralds.

Adrian, why?—

Behind me, the door opens with a soft click. I stiffen, not turning around, expecting to see Julian’s battered face in the dresser mirror facing the door. Instead, Lady Harrow’s reflection appears. The sight of her makes my blood freeze.

She radiates disgust as she looks at me and my tear-streaked face.

“What the hell do you want, murderer?” I spit, trying to gather my scattered dignity. My voice sounds raw and broken from crying.

Lady Harrow merely scoffs, her pale, thin lips curling into what could almost be a smile. “My son isn’t home right now,” she says.

I swallow, dread pooling in my stomach. “S-so?”

Something in her eyes shifts—a predator spotting weakness. She snaps herfingers.

Two guards enter, their massive frames filling the doorway.

No!

I jerk back, heart pounding. “Julian will find out about this. You can’t have his guards abuse me. They’ll tell him.”

Lady Harrow’s laughter is a chilling melody. “Oh, I love my son, but he’s a bit naive, isn’t he? All these guards are loyal to me, dear.”

Panic surges up my spine as the guards close in, each grasping an arm and dragging me through the room. My feet scramble against the carpet and I scream, trying to figure out any way to defend myself.

It’s useless. They’re much bigger than me. Stronger. And I know there are more of them outside. I’m completely outnumbered with no weapons to defend myself.

I fight anyway, just so they know I’m not giving in easily.

They haul me into the living room as Lady Harrow follows behind like mist. Nausea twists my stomach. The air is thick with cigar smoke and expensive cologne. Consortium members lounge with drinks and drugs, their privilege insulating them from consequence or morality. Everything feels surreal, like I’ve stepped into someone else’s nightmare.

My mother’s nightmare.

There are so many people. Most I don’t recognize, so they must be farther down the chain of command, but there is one big player in the room—Olivia Marlowe. Victoria’s sister.

She wasn’t at the top of my list, but she is now.

The guards shove me so I fall on the marble in the middle of these monsters. My knees hit the ground hard and I wince.

Don’t show fear. Don’t let them see you tremble. Face this with strength.

I lift my chin and wait, trying not to think about what they, what Lady Harrow wants with me.

A man with slicked-back hair takes a lazy sip of whiskey, his eyes sliding over me with detached interest. Another leans back on the plush sofa, the click of his lighter punctuating the tension.

Olivia smiles down at me. Her look isn’t lecherous like the men’s, but I can tell she has some hidden agenda.

The room shifts around me as Lady Harrow steps on my back and forces my face down. “Look at you,” she sneers. “Pathetic little girl playing at rebellion.” Her voice drips with contempt as she towers over me. Her heel digs in painfully. If she presses any harder, she might break skin and puncture my lung.

I struggle up on my hands and knees, humiliation burning hotter than rage. “You won’t get away with this,” I hiss through clenched teeth.

As soon as I get the chance, this bitch is dead.

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