Page 39 of Goldflame

When I reach him, his arms envelop me with surprising tenderness, the embrace brief but grounding. For a moment, I allow myself to sink into the closest thing to fatherly comfort I’ve known, inhaling that coffee scent I’ve missed so much. I didn’t realize just how much I’ve needed to see him until tears start pooling in my eyes.

“How are you?” he asks softly. His gaze sweeps over me, trying to discern my condition with the precision of someone used to evaluating things for damage.

While dabbing at my eyes, I consider my answer. How much does Valentine know? Julian has likely beenkeeping him occupied with Consortium business, preventing any opportunity for rescue or even communication. He probably doesn’t know how much Julian and Lady Harrow are tormenting me. And the circles beneath Valentine’s eyes show he’s probably exhausted from working long hours.

I won’t add to his burden with the full weight of my suffering. “I’m… surviving,” I say, the words hollow but true enough.

I glance over my shoulder, confirming Julian’s attention is momentarily diverted before lowering my voice. “Any chance you might get me out?” I sound more desperate than I intended.

Valentine’s expression tightens, lines deepening around his mouth. “It’s tricky,” he murmurs, leaning closer and pretending to adjust the diamond necklace the maids put on me earlier. “Julian has guards posted. They’re loyal to him now. And he hasn’t let me in the penthouse since capturing you. I was allowed to meet him in his office one time, but that’s it. He’s not stupid and knows I want to get you out, so he’s being careful.” A pause, heavy with implication. “But I’m working on it.”

The confirmation relieves some of the tension in my body, but it sounds like Valentine wouldn’t have been able to access Adrian’s room enough to open the door. So who did it? I don’t like this mystery. Someone else is moving pieces in this game—someone with access to the penthouse and the courage to undermine Julian’s authority.

“There’s someone you need to meet,” Valentine continues. “Do it casually. Julian’s watching.”

His eyes flick meaningfully toward the caviar table, where a man stands awkwardly apart from the elegant predators circling the food. Everything about him screams outsider—from his oversized suit that bunches at the shoulders to the way he clutches his champagne flute like it might shatter in his grip. His light blond hair is messy, like a nest, from hours of nervous fingers running through it. He’s handsome, though, in an understated way.

“Gideon,” Valentine says, voice barely audible. “My contact. The hacker who’s helped with your… projects. He knows who you are.”

My pulse quickens. The invisible man who has been erasing security footage and removing all traces of my presence at DeMarco’s, Whitman’s, and Victoria’s deaths.

“Why now?” I ask.

“I have work to attend to,” Valentine says instead of answering, already beginning to move away. “Just do as I ask. Don’t look suspicious.”

I grab his wrist, fingers digging into the fabric of his sleeve. “Wait—” He can’t go yet. He can’t leave me with Julian.

He pauses just long enough to press his lips to my forehead, the gesture achingly paternal. “Have patience,” he whispers against my skin. “It’ll all work out. I promise.”

Then he’s gone, swallowed by the glittering crowd, leaving me with questions that multiply like cancer cells.

Patience? I don’t have that.

In resignation, I spend the next twenty minutesperforming an elaborate ‘dance’—accepting a glass of champagne I have no intention of drinking, exchanging empty pleasantries with people I recognize but can’t name, drifting through the room as though I belong here instead of feeling like an exhibit in a particularly twisted museum. I even find Eleanora again and we talk more, though the conversation flows easier between her and Bianca.

While all of this is going on, I inch closer to the caviar table, circling inward like water down a drain until I find myself beside Gideon. Our shoulders almost touch as we both pretend to examine the fishy black pearls on silver platters.

“This shit is gross,” I grumble to no one in particular.

Gideon smiles. “I agree,” he responds, his voice softer than I expected. “I hate fish and never eat it. I’m Gideon Vossenberg, by the way.”

“Aurelia Draven.” I offer my hand, the gesture formal and distant, as though we’re truly strangers and not expecting to meet.

His palm is surprisingly calloused for a man who spends his life hacking into things, and his handshake is firm despite the nervous energy radiating from him. “The pleasure is mine,” he says, and there’s a weight to the words. “I’ve been… eager to meet you.”

I lean closer, reaching for a napkin I don’t need. I whisper, “Valentine said you’ve helped me.”

“It was an honor,” he says, gaze fixed on the caviar to avoid drawing attention. His foot taps a rapid rhythm against the marble floor. “Your secrets are safe. Always.”

Before I can respond, his hand moves with surprisingquickness, pressing something into my palm—small, light, almost insubstantial. “For luck,” he whispers, then steps away to examine a display of fruits, our interaction done in under a minute.

I close my fingers around the object, careful to keep it concealed as I move toward a less populated corner of the ballroom. Only when I’m certain no eyes are on me, I uncurl my hand to reveal a raven’s feather.

My breath catches, a memory slamming into me. Theodore Martinelli, sprawled on the floor of Emeric’s family vineyard, poison turning his lips blue. The raven’s feather in his breast pocket, a detail I’d noticed but dismissed as unimportant in the chaos.

What does this mean? Did Gideon kill Theodore? Why would Valentine’s hacker take matters into his own hands? And why give me this… token, this confession disguised as a gift?

Confusion twists through me, threading deeper between my veins with each heartbeat. Why is Valentine introducing me to Gideon now, when the most pressing concern should be helping me escape Julian’s grasp?

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