Page 58 of Goldflame

“None.” A moment of hesitation. “But I’ve been keeping an eye on her as best I can.”

“And the new Harrow leader still thinks she killed Theodore?”

“As far as I know, yes.”

“Good.” I stand, unable to remain still as the pieces of our game rearrange themselves in my mind. “I need her for my plans.”

“Mine, too.”

I smirk. “Yes, well, focus on the dinner party. Getclose to Julian, assess his weaknesses. Determine how much Lady Harrow is pulling his strings.”

“And the Golden One? What if I have an opportunity to speak with her?”

“Don’t. Keep your distance tomorrow.”

“Understood.”

The call ends and I sigh. My moment of peace is gone, along with my coffee, so I swivel back to my desk and open a folder.

So much to prepare and yet only so many hours in the day.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

AURELIA

Ilie on the bed like a discarded rag doll, limbs splayed uselessly across Adrian’s sheets. The cigar burns on my skin have formed crusts overnight. My body aches, but it’s nothing compared to the emptiness that’s replaced my heart.

Two maids hover over me. One is older, gray streaking her dark hair. The other is younger, maybe my age, with delicate features that remind me of a sparrow—small, nervous, ready to take flight at the first sign of danger.

“Miss, please,” the older one says, her fingers plucking at my shirt. “We need to get you ready for tonight’s dinner.”

I stare past her at the ceiling and don’t respond.

They try to undress me while I remain completely limp. I won’t resist, but I won’t help either. If Julian wants to parade me around tonight like his broken toy, fine, but I’m not lifting a finger to aid in my own humiliation.

“Please, miss. We need to bathe you.” The younger maid’s voice cracks. I catch the desperation underneath her words.

I turn my head slightly, seeing her face clearly for the first time. Fear swims in her brown eyes, and my gaze drifts to her forearm where a bruise spreads like spilled ink. The shape resembles fingers—someone grabbed her. Hard. Lady Harrow probably. Or maybe Julian. I don’t put anything past him now.

The sight cracks through my apathy. I remember my mother writing about the staff in her diary—how they were just as trapped as she was, punished for other people’s failures.

None of this is their fault. They’re just trying to survive, same as me.

God, I’m becoming part of the problem. These women could suffer if I don’t cooperate.

“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll get up.”

Relief washes over both their faces as I pull myself upright, wincing as each burn screams in protest. The younger maid’s eyes widen at the sight of my injuries, but she quickly fixes her expression back to neutral. She’s been trained well.

I trudge to the bathroom, letting them follow. The bathtub is already filled, steam rising from scented water.

The water stings my raw wounds, but I don’t flinch. Physical pain is almost welcome now—a distraction from the deeper agony of Valentine’s betrayal. I close my eyes as they wash my hair, scrub my skin, preparing the Golden One for her appearance.

Valentine.Thinking of him makes my pulse beat heavier.

I remember a night years ago, when I was maybe fifteen. I’d been out with Valentine at a restaurant. He went to the bathroom and some businessman had cornered me, his breath reeking of whiskey as he placed his sweaty hand on my lower back. Valentine appeared out of nowhere, removing the man’s hand with such force I heard something crack. Later, as we drove home, he’d promised me, “I’ll never let anyone hurt you.”

And I’d believed him.

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