Page 65 of Goldflame

Adrian.

It was all a nightmare, wasn’t it? He’s here. He’s alive.

I sigh, pressing back against the solid chest behind me, my fingers instinctively finding the hand on my stomach. I trace the knuckles, the veins, memorizing the texture of skin I thought I’d never touch again.

“You’re here,” I murmur, still half-lost in the haze of sleep.

The body behind me stiffens, and something in that tension cuts through my delirium.

Adrian is dead.

I suck in a sharp breath. If Adrian is dead, thenwho?—

A familiar scent hits me. Sweat. Whiskey. My body recognizes it before my mind can process what it means.

Julian.

Julian is in my bed.

I freeze, every muscle locking into place as my brain scrambles to make sense of this. Is this another twisted game? Another humiliation?

I should scream. Should fight. Should claw his eyes out for everything he’s done. But I remain still, pulse racing, waiting.

“Why are you here?” I finally whisper into the darkness.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, his arms tighten around me, pulling me closer until there’s not even air between us. I can feel every inch of him pressed against my back, his breath warm along my neck.

“Julian.” This time my voice is firmer, demanding an explanation even as my treacherous body softens against his.

What is he planning to do?

“Julian, why?—”

“I’m sorry.”

The words feel impossible and fragile. Two simple words that stop my heart and steal my breath.

I turn slowly in his arms, needing to see his face and figure out if this is real or just another cruel trick. The moonlight filtering through the curtains casts his features in silver and shadow, but I can still make out the bruised hollows beneath his eyes, the tension in his jaw.

“What did you say?” I whisper.

His eyes—those eyes that have looked at me witheverything from desire to hatred—are different tonight. They’re vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen.

“I’m sorry, Aurelia.” His voice cracks on my name. “For all of it.”

My heart crashes against my ribs, hope and suspicion fighting for dominance. Has it finally been enough time? Has he finally seen through his mother’s lies? Has he come back to me?

But even if he has… how can I possibly forgive what he’s done? How do you forgive someone for breaking you so completely?

And yet, that stubborn piece of my heart that has always belonged to him—the piece I couldn’t kill no matter how hard I tried—flares to life, insistent.

Before I can even try to respond, his lips find mine in the darkness. The kiss is nothing like the brutal claiming from nights ago in this same bed. This is gentle, almost reverent. Like he’s seeking absolution.

I should shove him away. I should want him to suffer like I’ve suffered.

“You believe me?” I ask against his mouth.

“Yes.”

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