Maybe this is what my father felt. This detached and all-consuming drive. Maybe this is what it means to truly be a Harrow.
Finally, I’m embracing it.
We push forward through beautiful gardens and elegant patios now marred with blood and bodies. The house grows closer, its windows like eyes watching our approach. Somewhere inside, Adrian is hiding. Somewhere inside, Aurelia waits.
The thought of her—her red hair, her green eyes, her traitorous fucking heart—sends a fresh surge of rage through my veins. But I don’t let it consume me. Not yet. First, I need to findthem.
“Secure the perimeter,” I order as we reach the main entrance. “No one gets out.”
My men spread out, taking positions around the house while a select few follow me inside. The foyer gleams under chandelier light, pristine and untouched by the violence outside. Not for long.
A maid screams when she sees us, dropping her duffle bag as she cowers in a corner. I’m not here for innocent bystanders, so I ignore her. My men do the same and we move deeper into the house. My instincts tell me where to go—up the grand staircase, toward the private rooms where a coward and his whore would hide.
“Find them,” I snap at my men. “Check every room.”
They disperse like shadows, efficient and silent now that we’re inside enemy territory. I advance up the stairs, each step deliberate, giving my prey time to realize what’s coming. Time to taste their fear.
I know Adrian well enough to predict his moves. He won’t show himself immediately. He’ll calculate, observe, look for an advantage. He’ll try to be three steps ahead like always.
Not this time. This time, I’m writing the script.
At the top of the stairs, the hallway stretches in both directions. A flicker of movement catches my eye—guards ushering someone toward a side exit. A flash of red hair.
Aurelia.
My blood sings with vindication.Found you.
“There!” I shout, and my men push forward, cutting off their escape route.
Gunfire erupts again, more contained in the narrow hallway. Lorenzo’s guards fall back, trying to shield her, but they’re outmatched and outgunned. They drop one by one until there’s just her, pressed against the wall, eyes wide with terror as she realizes what’s happening.
Our eyes lock across the carnage between us, and I see the moment she recognizes me. The way her throat works as she swallows. The slight tremor in her hands. The beautiful, perfect fear that blooms across her face.
It’s fucking glorious.
“Hello, Golden One,” I say, casually stepping forward. “Miss me?”
She doesn’t answer, her gaze darting around as she looks for any escape.
“There’s nowhere to go,” I tell her. “No one left to protect you.”
I step over a fallen guard, closing the distance between us. Each step feels like reclaiming something that was stolen from me. With every inch, I feel more powerful, more in control. This is who I am now—not Julian the inadequate younger son, not Julian the lovesick fool. Julian Fucking Harrow, leader of the Consortium. Julian Harrow, the man who takes what he wants and destroys what he can’t have.
“Did you enjoy your time with my brother?” I ask, my voice dangerously soft as I advance. “Was it worth it? Playing me for all those years, pretending you cared when you were plotting with him the whole time?”
“Julian, it’s not—” she starts, but I cut her off with a laugh that sounds nothing like me.
“Not what? Not what it looks like?” I’m close enoughnow to see the trembling in her chin as she tries to hold it high and defiant. “Jesus, save your lies for someone who still believes them.”
“Please,” she whispers, and the sound of her begging should satisfy me. It should feel like victory. Instead, it just fuels the inferno burning in my core, consuming everything but the need to make her hurt like I hurt.
To destroy her completely this time.
“Where is he? Where’s my dear brother hiding while you face me alone? Typical Adrian—always letting others take the fall.”
A flash at the end of the hallway grabs my attention—Lorenzo, armed and desperate. He fires wildly in our direction, forcing me and my men to take cover.
“Get her out of here!” he shouts to someone I can’t see.