Page 57 of Goldflame

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

Valentine doesn’t reply, so Lady Harrow finally sighs. She starts to speak, but her footsteps move away from the door, her voice fading. Doesn’t matter; I’ve heard enough.

My body moves on autopilot, propelling me down the hallway despite the searing pain. My mind fragments into a thousand jagged pieces, each one reflecting the same horrific truth: Valentine betrayed me. Not recently. Not reluctantly. From the very beginning.

The one person I trusted—my father in every way that matters—orchestrated my entire revenge mission. Fed me to the wolves. Used me as a pawn in a twisted game of power orchestrated by that maniacal witch.

I barely make it back to Adrian’s room before the nausea hits. The world spins violently, and I collapse on the bathroom floor, vomit spewing across the pristine tiles before I can reach the toilet. The acid burns my throat, mimicking the cigar burns on my skin. Physical pain merging with something deeper, more devastating.

It finally happens; I break. I’m utterly and completely shattered.

My entire life, Valentine has been my anchor. The one person I could count on when the entire world turned its back on me. He taught me how to shoot, how to fight, and how to survive. He dried my tears when Julian broke my heart. He comforted me when Adrian grew distant. He sat with me to peel onions so I could let it all out when everything became too much to bear.

Yet all this time, he was using me. Molding me into a weapon for Lady Harrow’s schemes.

I crawl to the bed, my body a hollow vessel housing nothing but pain and betrayal. The diary sits where I left it. I clutch it to my heart, holding Adrian’s necklace close, and I curl into myself as sobs shake my body. This necklace is the last pure thing. The only reminder that someone might have genuinely cared for me, even if I realized it too late.

In this moment, my revenge plans crumble to dust. The names on my list dissolve into nothingness. What’s the point of vengeance when there’s nothing left to fight for?

My only wish, as darkness creeps in at the edges of my vision, is to join Adrian in whatever comes after this life. To escape this endless cycle of betrayal and pain. To find peace in the same oblivion that claimed him.

Because without Valentine, without that last tether to trust and family, I’m truly alone. Adrift in a world of monsters wearing human faces, each one more cruel than the last.

I press my face into Adrian’s pillow, inhalingwhatever trace of him still lingers, and surrender to a grief so profound it feels like drowning.

Maybe this is how my mother felt in those final moments. Maybe she, too, realized that in a world this corrupt, the only escape is to simply stop existing.

And in that terrible connection with a woman I never knew, I find my darkest truth: I am my mother’s daughter after all—broken by the same cruel hands, betrayed by the same cold hearts, lost in the same inescapable hell of the Inferno Consortium.

Adrian, please let me join you.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

DANTE

The last dregs of coffee cool in my cup as I stare out the window at the trees beyond. Small pleasures are worth noting—the warmth of oak beneath my fingertips, the diffused afternoon light casting gentle shadows across the minimalist office, the silence that allows for uninterrupted thought. In my experience, external order breeds internal clarity.

I’ve been pushing myself too hard lately. The weight of fatigue presses against my eyes, making them burn despite the softened lighting. Three consecutive nights with less than four hours of sleep tends to have that effect, even on the most disciplined minds. My body demands rest, but I simply can’t when so many puzzle pieces require my constant attention.

My phone vibrates against the desk. I take a measured breath, answering on the third ring. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me,” I say, keeping my tone neutral while leaning back in my leather office chair.

A deep, masculine voice filters through the speaker. “Forgive the delay. Getting close to the Harrow heir isn’t as simple as one might hope.”

“And yet you managed an invitation to his gathering.” I take a sip of coffee. “Quite resourceful.”

“Yes, but his dinner party tomorrow will be a power play—Julian asserting dominance.” There’s a pause, then his voice lightens. “You could attend yourself.”

I laugh. “Hardly. Too much work to do. Your presence serves our purpose better.”

He sighs. “The new leader is… volatile. Unpredictable. I’m not convinced he’ll maintain control for long.”

“Don’t underestimate him,” I say. I trace the rim of my cup with one finger, thinking. “Will the Harrow pet be let out of her cage to attend?”

“Yes. I believe the Golden One will make an appearance.”

I drain the last of my cold, bitter coffee and follow a line of orange in the darkening sky. “Any updates about her?”

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