Page 99 of Goldflame

His tongue dances with mine, and it’s different from every kiss we’ve shared before. Those were brief and part of the performance we maintained for a decade. This kiss holds nothing back. It’s raw and honest and devastating.

My knees weaken, and I cling to him like he’s the only solid thing in a world spinning out of control. Because he is. In this nightmare of betrayal and violence, Adrian has emerged as my constant—the one impossible truth I never saw coming.

But…

Something catches in my chest. I pull back, my breathing ragged, my lips still tingling from his kiss.

“Wait,” I whisper, pressing my hand against his chest. His heart hammers beneath my palm, strong and steady and alive. “If you loved me all this time, why did you cheat on me?”

Adrian stiffens, his body becoming the statue I’m too familiar with. For a terrifying moment, I think he’s going to retreat behind his mask and become the cold, controlled Adrian I knew instead of this new man who’s just confessed his love.

“I never cheated on you,” he says, his voice so low I have to strain to hear it.

I step back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Don’t lie to me. Not now. Not after everything.” The memory of lipstick on his collar, the perfume that wasn’t mineclinging to his skin, the late nights when he wouldn’t answer his phone. “I saw the evidence myself.”

Adrian runs a hand through his hair, messing it up. It’s a gesture so uncharacteristic it reminds me how much he’s changed. Or maybe he’s just finally showing me who he always was beneath the perfect son.

“It wasn’t cheating.” His jaw tightens. “It was… survival.”

“What the hell does that mean?” The hurt and confusion must be evident in my voice because he flinches.

He moves to the poker table, leaning against it heavily as if the weight of his memories might crush him. “My father,” he begins, then stops, swallowing hard.

The atmosphere in the room darkens. I feel it like a physical pressure against my skin.

“What about your father?” I ask when the silence stretches too long.

Adrian’s eyes meet mine, and I see something there that makes my heart ache. Shame. Pain.

“I was my father’s favorite,” he says, the words dropping like stones into still water.

I wait, sensing that whatever comes next will change everything.

“Do you know what that meant in the Harrow household? Being the favorite wasn’t a privilege. It was a sentence.”

“What are you saying?”

“Those nights I disappeared…” His voice catches, so he clears it and starts again. “When I was away, I often had to attend Consortium parties. The women you thought I was with willingly…” He straightens, steeling himself. “My father forced me. Made me his entertainment. Made me perform for him.”

My lungs seize. “Perform?”

“Sex was a spectacle to my father. A demonstration of power.” Adrian’s eyes go distant, like he’s seeing ghosts instead of me. “He would arrange these private gatherings. Important men from the Consortium would be there. And women—so many women. Trapped. And he would make me… participate.”

I cover my mouth with my hand, bile rising in my throat. “Oh my God.”

“The first time I refused,” he continues, his voice flat and emotionless now, “he beat my mother so badly she couldn’t get out of bed for days. The second time, he threatened to kill Julian in his sleep. He said he’d make it look like an accident. He even threatened to hurt you—rape you in front of me. To protect everyone, I stopped fighting what father wanted.”

My mind races back through our years together. All those nights he came home with haunted eyes, blood on his knuckles, locking himself in the bathroom for hours. I’d thought he was out fighting, like taking care of men for Consortium business. But it was from those parties?

“Those nights I came back bloody…” he says, reading my thoughts. “Father would make me have sex with those women in front of him, often in front of a crowd. Then… I’d be forced to humiliate them further. I had to… hurt those innocent women so Lucian didn’t hurt my family. Or you.” His eyes are misty and I can tell he’s fighting his emotions; I’ve never once seen Adrianso close to tears. “For the rest of my life, I’ll be haunted by what father made me do at those fucking parties.”

“The blood…” I whisper. “That night you came back and your knuckles were raw. You wouldn’t let me touch you…”

“He made me hurt a girl who reminded me of you,” Adrian says, his voice breaking. “She had red hair. Not as beautiful as yours, but… close enough. He knew. He always knew exactly how to cause the most pain.”

I move toward him without thinking, my anger dissolving under the weight of this new understanding. My hand reaches for his, and he flinches before letting me take it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, my voice thick with unshed tears.

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