Page 10 of Goldrage
A ghost of something—a memory, perhaps—flickers across his features.
“You always won,” I add, meaning more than just childhood games.
His shoulders relax and I glimpse the boy who used to trust me to chase away the monsters under his bed. The brother who looked to me for guidance when our world felt too dark and complicated to navigate alone.
But I only get a glimpse before he rebuilds his walls, brick by brick, until only the hollow-eyed stranger remains.
“Don’t,” he says, his voice threatening to wound me. “Don’t pretend any of this matters now.”
There’s pain underneath the anger. It’s not indifference that drives him—it’s a hurt so deep it’s carved permanent channels through his soul.
“I’m proud of the man you’ve become,” I tell him, and I mean every word. “Even now. Especially now.”
His laugh is bitter. “Proud? Of what, exactly? Of how I was forced to take control? Of how I’ve finally learned to be what this family requires? Everything I hate?”
“Proud of your strength. Your determination. The way you’ve refused to let anyone break you.”
“Don’t.” The word comes out strangled this time. “Stop pretending you care after what you and that bitch did to me.”
The anguish in his voice creates a fissure in my chest. This is the wound I’ve been looking for—the source of his transformation. Not just our father’s legacy or Lady Harrow’s manipulation, but something more personal. Something I’ve done.
He thinks I abandoned him. I want to explain everything, to bring up how it was really Lady Harrow who abandoned us—who shot me—and that Aurelia was innocent in all of it.
Yet, I don’t think Julian is ready to hear the truth. He needs more time.
Instead, I focus on what he might be willing to hear. I pour every ounce of sincerity I possess into my words. “I’ve always cared. Everything I did was to protect you.”
He scoffs, but there’s no real conviction behind it.
“I know I failed,” I continue. “I should have done more to shield you from Lucian. From Lady Harrow. I should have seen what was happening and?—”
“Stop.” Julian’s composure finally cracks, his voice rising. “Just stop with your fucking lies!” His hands ball into fists at his sides. “You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t know what you and Aurelia were really doing?”
“Julian, whatever you think happened?—”
“I know what happened!” He spins to face me fully, and the pain in his eyes is devastating—it cracks my heart. “You two planned it all. The fake death, makingme believe she killed you so I’d take power and then what—fail spectacularly while you two laughed at how easily you’d played me?”
My heart shatters. He truly believes this. The paranoia, the isolation, the manipulation—his heavy burden and Lady Harrow have convinced him that the two people who love him most are his greatest enemies.
“You’ve been planning our mother’s downfall behind my back,” he continues, his voice gaining momentum like a gathering storm. “Plotting against the woman who gave us life, who’s done nothing but try to protect this family from people like your precious Aurelia!”
The sound of heels clicking against stone interrupts Julian’s tirade. We both turn toward the terrace entrance as Lady Harrow emerges from the shadows of the house. She’s dressed in cream silk, not a hair out of place, looking every inch the grieving mother reunited with her sons.
“There you are,” she says, her voice holding a false warmth. “My boys.”
I can hear the emptiness so clearly in her voice, I canseehow she’s acting. Why is Julian so blind to it? Truly, she’s not the greatest actress. How can he not know?
Julian’s posture straightens as she approaches, but I see the subtle tension that creeps into his shoulders. Even now, even after everything, some part of him remains wary of her presence.
Good.All is not lost.
She reaches us and immediately moves to embrace me, her arms wrapping around my shoulders despite the awkward angle of the hospital bed. Her touch sendsrevulsion crawling up my spine. I try to inch away, but the chains limit my movement, trapping me in her theatrical display of maternal affection.
“You’re looking well, Adrian,” she says against my ear, her breath warm and nauseating. When she pulls back, her smile is perfectly crafted—the picture of a relieved mother. “I’m so sorry about the woman you tried to run off with. Such a mess she made in the end. Blood everywhere.”
I don’t try to mask my emotion and a gasp parts my lips. Then my lungs constrict, cutting off my breath as her words dig into me.
No. No, she can’t mean?—
