Page 39 of Goldrage
What had Olivia wanted to tell me? Was it going to be a threat?
I’m so fucking tired of the games, the hidden meanings, the careful dances around the truth. I hate this world of mirrors where nothing is ever what it seems and everyone speaks in code.
My mouth opens to tell Lady Harrow exactly where she can shove her introductions when I notice my cousin. Lorenzo, still turning Eleanora across the floor, meets my gaze. The slight shake of his head is barely perceptible, but the message is clear.
Play nice. Hold the line. Remember why you’re here.
Goddamnit.
I force my attention to the emerald necklace circling Lady Harrow’s throat. Each stone seems to reflect a different shade of everything I’ve lost, everything I’m still fighting for.
Through teeth clenched tight enough to crack, I manage, “How lovely. Lead the way.”
She preens at my apparent submission, already moving toward her next targets. I follow, letting her parade me through the room, all while my mind catches the important details. Gideon still hovers near Bianca, their conversation flowing. Olivia watches, those shadowed eyes tracking my movements.
Lorenzo and Eleanora continue their dance, a push and pull of resistance and attraction that mirrors everything else in this poisoned paradise. Everyone playing their parts, everyone hiding their true faces behind masks of civility.
I’m drowning in enemies and uncertain allies,surrounded by people who would sell me for the right price. But I’m not the same girl who walked into her first Consortium party, wide-eyed and believing in justice.
I’m something else now. Something forged by betrayal, shaped by loss and sharpened by purpose.
They have no idea who they’ve really invited into their house.
Every empire falls eventually. And when theirs crumbles, I’ll be standing in the rubble with Adrian’s hand in mine, watching it all burn.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JULIAN
The grand ballroom swallows sound like a starved beast. But tonight, I barely notice the Consortium’s usual depravity. My focus narrows to a single point of gravity in the room.
Aurelia.
My mother guides her to a group of men. Aurelia gives a polite smile but the air around her is untouchable. Her skin glows pale as moonlight, and something twists behind my ribs at how thin she’s become. The dress hangs where it should cling, shadows pooling in the hollows beneath her collarbones.
She needs to eat more; I won’t have her starving my child.
Her hand drifts to her stomach, fingers pressing protectively across the silk. It’s unconscious and instinctive. The way pregnant women touch themselves when they think no one’s watching, cradling life that hasn’t yet begun to show.
The whiskey in my glass trembles. I set it down before I shatter the crystal.
Mine. My child grows inside her while she plays these games, while she feeds me lies about not knowing whose it is.
She knows it’s mine and doesn’t want to hurt Adrian with the truth.
A man from the Smith family approaches her and my mother. My muscles tense when he leans too close. He says something that makes her step back. Her hand returns to her stomach and the man’s eyes lower. The speculation in his gaze makes me want to tear his throat out with my bare hands.
It’s clear he wants his “turn” with Aurelia.
Mother leaves Aurelia’s side, letting her manage the man alone. Mother walks to me.
“Magnificent party, isn’t it?”
I don’t respond because I’m stuck on Aurelia again.
“The Carter’s send their regrets,” she continues, watching me watch Aurelia. “Something about a family emergency. Convenient.”
I grunt an acknowledgment, tracking Aurelia as she moves away from Gregory. The crowd parts for her, not out of respect but from the draw of scandal. Everyone knows she carries Harrow blood in her womb. Everyone wonders which brother planted it there. I’ve heard them all whispering.
