Page 59 of Goldflame
How many other lies did he tell me? Was anything real? Was anyone in my life ever genuine?
I’ve been naive to think this world could offer me anything but pain.
Hours pass as the maids work their magic, transforming me from hollow shell to presentable doll. They slide me into a blush pink dress with delicate beading across the bodice. The skirt falls just below my knees, the fabric light enough that it doesn’t aggravate my burns too badly.
“You look beautiful, miss,” the older maid says as they finish, but her eyes don’t meet mine.
I stare at my reflection. I look like a Barbie doll—perfect, pristine, and completely empty inside. My green eyes gaze back at me, vacant as glass marbles.
The maids gather their things and leave. They don’t close the door.
It’s a twisted test, this open door. Another one of Julian’s mind games. I know I’m not free—there are guards and Consortium members just down the hallway,preparing for tonight’s dinner party. I could sit here and wait for Julian to come drag me out, kicking and screaming, in front of everyone.
Or I could walk out with what remains of my dignity.
I stare at the open doorway, feeling something stir. A spark. Not quite hope—something darker, more primal.
These people have taken everything from me—my mother, Adrian, my freedom, my vengeance. Lady Harrow twisted my life to serve her purposes. Valentine, the man who raised me, betrayed me from the start. Julian imprisoned me and reduced me to this hollow creature in a pretty dress.
But they haven’t taken my choice. Not completely. Not yet.
Fuck it.They want to see the Golden One? I’ll appear. But it doesn’t mean I’ll participate. I’ll be there, physically present but mentally absent, not giving them a single reaction to feed on.
Standing, I lift my chin. I smooth the pink fabric of my dress.
I walk out of the bedroom.
The pre-dinner party is in full swing when I enter the living room. Crystal glasses catch the light, diamonds glitter on throats and wrists, designer labels whisper their presence on every silhouette. The male and female servers, of course, are naked except for straps of black silk ropes tied in sensual knots around their bodies.
In one corner, a man is lost in his own world, his trousers crumpled at his feet as he takes a naked server against the wall. A few guests around him are casuallywatching without batting an eyelid, as if it’s just another Tuesday night.
“Oh, look at that helpless woman getting violated in the corner.”
“Yes, yes, but tell me about your trip to Paris last weekend.”
On the opposite end of the living room, an older woman lounges on a plush velvet sofa, sipping champagne from a fluted glass while her fingers trail idly down a male server’s bare chest. His face is impassive as he balances his tray, but there’s an edge to his gaze that shows he’d rather be anywhere else. The woman cups his balls, looking ready to devour the poor guy.
The icing on the cake: drugs are passed around like party favors—white lines on silver platters, pills popped like candy—all part of the twisted banquet laid out for tonight’s festivities.
My eyes find Julian, as if there’s a magnetic pull between us even now. He stands near the center of the room, Gregory Whitman hovering at his elbow like a vulture. Gregory notices me first, his gaze slithering over my body with such blatant lust that I can almost feel it leaving a trail of slime on my skin. He leans toward Julian, murmuring something that makes Julian glance in my direction.
Julian’s eyes meet mine for the briefest moment before sliding away, dismissing me with boredom as he returns to his conversation. The casual disregard stings more than it should.
He’s transforming—not slowly anymore, but with alarming speed. The way he stands, shoulders squaredand chin tilted slightly upward, mirrors Lucian so exactly it sends a chill down my spine. He’s even dressed like his father—the subtle pattern of his tie, the precise fold of his pocket square, the gold cufflinks.
But there’s something else, something that wasn’t there even at the Harvest of Wealth festival. A hardening, as if whatever remained of the Julian I knew has been carved away. The shadows beneath his eyes have deepened, his cheekbones jutting beneath taut skin. He’s being consumed by this world he always tried to escape, swallowed whole by the legacy he once despised.
I feel sick; this is the boy I once loved, vanishing as I watch helplessly.
A server materializes beside me, offering a tray of champagne. I take a glass and down it in one desperate gulp. Then I scan the room, looking for a corner to disappear into.
A warm voice slides over my shoulder.
“Ciao, bellissima.” Lorenzo appears at my side, his green eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles. “How are you this evening?”
I don’t return his smile. So far, Lorenzo hasn’t done anything explicitly harmful that I’ve witnessed, but his passivity in the face of Julian’s cruelty makes him complicit. And his persistent interest in me is concerning. I’ve seen enough men in this world to know that when they become obsessive, when that hunger takes over, their true nature emerges—and it’s never pretty.
I’m about to tell him exactly where he can shove his false concern when Julian is suddenly on my other side. I actually inch away from him and closer to Lorenzo.
