Page 73 of Goldflame
Adrian.
Alive.
My knees threaten to buckle but the determination to make sure he’s real keeps me standing. “Adrian?” I say again and he gives a simple nod.
Tears spring to my eyes, blurring his image as if my body is terrified that looking at him too clearly might make him disappear.
“How…” The rest of the question dies on my tongue.
He looks different yet achingly familiar. His presencefills the room like it always did—that quiet, controlled energy that seems to evaluate everything all at once. But there’s something new about him. Soft yet sharp at the same time.
“Cugina,” comes a voice from behind me, warm and tinged with an Italian accent I recognize.
I whirl around, my brain struggling to process too many impossible things at once. Lorenzo stands in the doorway, a gentle smile playing at his lips. His presence makes no sense—nothing makes sense. I grab the edge of a nearby leather chair to steady myself.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper.
I turn back to Adrian, unable to keep my eyes off him for more than a second. He watches me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. His gaze is so tender, so gentle that I want to break into a thousand pieces right here.
“Are… are you my new owner?” I ask, the word bitter on my tongue. What if he’s become corrupted just like Julian? It’s been over a month since I’ve seen him. Since his blood soaked my clothes…
I swallow a sob that tries to escape from the memory.
Adrian only chuckles. “No one could ever own you, Aurelia.” The way he says my name—like it’s something precious—makes my heart flutter and blossom with a new hope.
Lorenzo moves further into the room, speaking words that barely register through the roaring in my head. “Technically, we had to pay Julian to get you here, but this is my house and you aren’t a prize, you’re my guest, cugina. You are family.”
Family?
The word floats past me, unprocessed. I can’t take my eyes off Adrian, can’t believe he’s standing here, breathing. Alive. Some distant part of my brain knows that I should be questioning this and demanding explanations, but all I can do right now is stare.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” I finally manage, the words scraping against my throat.
“Adrian Harrow is dead,” he says, his voice deeper than I remember. “I’m Dante.”
A laugh creeps up from deep inside —a sound bordering on hysteria. This is insane. All of it. The laughter quickly morphs into something else, something broken as the first sob tears from my chest. Then another. And another.
My body convulses with them, releasing weeks—no, months—of grief and rage and hopelessness. I press my hands against my mouth, trying to contain the sounds, but they spill out around my fingers like water through a broken dam.
Adrian—Dante—tenses and takes a step forward. But he quickly stops his advance when I back away. I don’t think I can be held right now. I just need to sob.
Lorenzo and Adrian stand nearby awkwardly while I turn away from both of them and try to get a handle on myself. When I can finally see through my tears, I wipe my face with the back of my hands and try to study Adrian more carefully. His hair is lighter now, a softer shade of brown than the near-black I remember. His eyes seem darker, a more intense blue that reminds me ofdeep water. And there’s a small scar cutting through his right eyebrow that wasn’t there before.
“Is that from her?” I ask, my voice still thick with stubborn tears. “Did your mother do that when she…”
Adrian—Dante—laughs, the sound rich and unfamiliar. He’s never laughed so freely around me before. Has he changed so much in a matter of weeks?
Julian has, so I guess it’s not unreasonable that Adrian has too. Especially after what he suffered.
“No.” He points toward Lorenzo. “That’s from that fucker’s right hook.”
It sounds like it’s an interesting story, but not one I care to hear right now. I press my lips together and remain silent.
Yes, something about him has fundamentally changed. It’s not just the hair or the scar. There’s a quality to him that feels… grown up. Not that he wasn’t mature and responsible before—God knows Adrian was always the responsible one, the serious one, the perfect Harrow heir. But this is different. He carries himself with an assurance that feels deeper and more grounded. His energy is steadier, more controlled than Julian’s volatile darkness that always threatens to consume everything around it.
I’m drawn to the new gravity around Adrian, wanting to step into its pull. But I hold myself back as I try to give my overloaded emotions time to settle and process the impossible reality that he’s standing alive before me.
“I need answers,” I finally demand, finding my voice. “All of it. Now.”
