Page 47 of Goldflame
Lucy hesitates just a fraction too long before her hospitality training kicks in. “Of course,” she says, stepping aside. “Please.”
The interior of their home is nice—gold edges, thick wooden furniture. But there’s tension, thick enough to choke on. I catch the subtle signs—a half-empty glass of whiskey on an end table, smudged lipstick on its rim. A man’s jacket draped over the back of a chair. I haven’t actually met Carter, but Valentine confirmed that he’s out of town. And the jacket looks cheap.
Is little Mrs. Carter finding some good dick elsewhere?
“You here alone?” I ask casually, studying her face.
That flash of fear again, bright and unmistakable, before she composes herself. “No, my children are in their rooms upstairs,” she says, then quickly adds, “My husband will call to check on me any minute now. He’s very… attentive.” Her fingers twist the diamond-encrusted wedding band, a nervous tell.
I can smell the deception, taste it like smoke on my tongue. My guess is that her side piece ran off the minutethey knew the gates opened. Maybe she thought her husband was home early.
Still, seems she’s more fearful that it turned out to be me and my mother instead of her husband catching her cheating.
“He doesn’t leave you protection?” Mom asks, arching an eyebrow as we wander into the living room.
“Seems irresponsible,” I chime in. “Though I guess it makes sense, given how he makes sure each of his girlfriends has a bodyguard.” I pause, the lie hanging over Lucy. “He must value them more.”
The barb finds its mark. Lucy flinches, her composure cracking just enough to reveal the desperate woman beneath. She recovers quickly, but not before I see the flash of hatred in her eyes.
“Well,” she says, trying for lightness and missing by a mile, “I guess it’s good you’re both here then.”
I fall silent, observing. The way she can’t meet my eyes for more than a second. The way her hands shake as she clasps them in front of her. Is this nervousness only about the affair? Or is she hiding a secret about her husband too?
Mom and I exchange a knowing glance as we sit on the couch. Lucy sits on the loveseat across from us. All the possibilities and unknowns are starting to really piss me off. Why can’t people tell me the truth and get it over with?
I’m just so fucking tired of the constant game of lies and half-truths. Of never knowing who to trust and who will stab me in the back the moment it’s turned. Is thishow my father felt? This smothering paranoia that spikes my adrenaline all hours of the day?
Being leader means carrying the fate of hundreds on your shoulders. It means overseeing millions in revenue, thousands of moving parts, countless potential betrayals lurking in every corner. No wonder Lucian turned to brutal outlets for his rage. It wasn’t just cruelty for cruelty’s sake—it was self-preservation. A desperate attempt to keep the demands of leadership from driving him completely insane.
Understanding slides through me like a cold blade—my father’s behavior makes more sense now than it ever has before. The thought sickens me, but there’s truth in it I can’t deny.
I… understand him.
Mom touches my shoulder, probably sensing how tight I’m wound. To Lucy, she says, “Are you sure Lucas has been at your Vegas property? We’re here to help. If he’s involved in something you’re scared to talk about, rest assured we’ll keep you safe. But it’s important we know.”
Lucy folds her hands in her lap. “Honestly, I stay out of my husband’s affairs. You understand that, right?”
Mom smiles politely. “Yes, of course.”
I clench my fists against my thighs. We’re obviously getting nowhere and my frustration is building. “Get to the fucking truth,” I grit out. “Stop wasting our time.”
Lucy’s eyes widen at my outburst as mom touches my shoulder again, trying to calm me with a caring touch. “Julian,” Mom says. “She did tell us the truth. Thepoor woman doesn’t know anything. Isn’t that right, dear?”
Lucy nods.
“I completely understand,” Mom continues, a slight edge of amusement in her voice as she turns to speak only to me. “Wives in the Consortium prefer not to know how many women their husbands fucks. If Lucas is in Vegas, he’s merely spending time with hookers and forgot all about the meeting.”
Lucy twitches but she’s trained well and maintains her composure.
“We haven’t thrown as many parties as normal this year,” Mom continues, relishing every word. “Lucas must be bored.”
Lucy’s mask begins to slip and I see the raw humiliation on her face as Mom twists the knife deeper.
“I’m sure you didn’t hear about the last party your husband attended, did you?” Mom turns back to Lucy, not waiting for a response. “Lucas lined up five young women who were barely old enough to drink—had them all on their knees. He went down the line, fucking each from behind. Over and over. I think he played a game with himself to see which one he’d finally cum inside.”
The room shrinks around us, oppressive with silence and Lucy’s shame. What’s really disturbing, though, is Mom isn’t lying—I heard about that party.
“Of course,” Mom adds lightly, like sharing gossip over tea, “the winner got to spend the entire night in his room. He does like them young. How old are you, dear?”
