Page 121 of Goldflame
The world comes back to me in bits and pieces: distant voices, the scent of leather, pain throbbing along my neck and right hand. My eyelids are heavy but I force them open.
I know this place. I know these shadows well.
I’m sprawled across the living room couch in the Harrow penthouse. I touch my neck, finding a neat line of stitches beneath a bandage. Then a sharp pain shoots up my arm from my broken finger.
Julian really…?
I squeeze my eyes shut as the tears come. I really thought he’d kill me.
Terror rattles in my lungs with each breath as my wounds pulse with each heartbeat, like a countdown to something inevitable. But what? What does he want with me?
I check my hands and feet. He didn’t tie me down. I’m not locked up.
So what’s happening?
The Julian I know would have chained me. This casual disregard—leaving me unbound in his living room—suggests something far more terrifying. It suggests he doesn’t believe I can escape. Or worse, that he doesn’t care if I try.
My eyes dart around the room, searching for the guards that must be here, the traps he must have set. There’s nothing. Just a silent penthouse and the distant hum of Seattle below.
I struggle to sit up because my body betrays me with sudden vertigo. The room spins for a moment, and in that sickening sensation, I see visions of my cousin.
Lorenzo, crumpling to the ground, blood soaking his shirt like a blooming rose.
I choke back a sob, pressing my knuckles against my mouth. I didn’t get to check on him because of Julian.
Is Lorenzo dead? Did he die trying to save me? And Adrian—God, Adrian—did Julian’s men capture him too? Is he even alive?
I touch the emerald necklace I’m thankfully still wearing as my heart hammers against my ribs. I can only feel my own regret. I should’ve opened my bedroom door. I should’ve given myself those precious last minutes with Adrian.
Even though I didn’t make a sound, I was listening. He kept knocking, trying to explain. He told me everything through the door, not even sure I was there. God help me, I was sitting against that door, absorbing every word he spoke. About how the marriage was strategic—a way to secure resources for his plan to dismantle the Consortium. How he never loved Bianca, never consummated the marriage. How he’d intended to divorce her once his plans were complete.
I want to believe him. Despite everything, despite all the lies and manipulations, I want to trust in the vulnerability I heard in his voice. I just need to see him again.Please God, let him be alive.I need to look into his eyes as he explains. I need to understand how someone who claims to love me could keep such a secret.
Because I do still love him. I love Adrian—Dante—whatever name he chooses. I love the quiet strength beneath his careful control, the fierce protectiveness behind his calculating exterior. I love the man who finally showed me his true self, scars and all.
My throat constricts. God, this wasn’t how it was supposed to end. All my revenge, all those names crossed off my list… it was supposed to lead to justice. Not this. Not more bloodshed and more lives destroyed.
I was supposed to escape with Adrian and my cousin. Start a new life in Italy.
“Finally awake, I see.”
Lady Harrow’s voice slithers into the room before she appears, her body silhouetted in the archway. She’s dressed perfectly as always, a midnight blue dress clinging to her thin figure, pearls gleaming at her throat like teeth.
“Where’s Julian?” I croak out.
She smiles. “Taking care of business. He’ll be disappointed he missed your awakening. He’s been so looking forward to your reunion.”
I struggle to my feet, defiance straightening my spine despite the weakness in my limbs. Dizziness hits, so I grab the back of the couch. I refuse to cower when facing this bitch. “What have you done to Adrian?”
“Adrian?” She cackles. “My dear, Adrian is the least of your concerns right now.”
She glides toward me. Up close, I can see the fine lines around her eyes, the hollow cheeks carefully contoured to appear youthful. She’s a beautiful shell housing nothing but rot.
“It’s almost sad, really,” she continues, circling me like a shark smelling blood. “Two men at your feet, and you couldn’t keep either one. Adrian found a proper wife. And Julian…” She pauses, savoring whatever she’s about to say. “Julian finally realized he’s too good for a woman who spreads her legs for whomever has the most power. He doesn’t even want you as a whore now.”
Her words are like missiles, designed to find every insecurity and every wound. Once, they might have destroyed me. But I’ve been remade through pain; I’m no longer the girl who breaks.
“At least I had two,” I spit back. “At least I was a girlfriend. You were always just a whore your husband passed around.”
