Page 106 of Goldsin

I stumble at his words. The revelation slides out of his mouth with ease. I thought I knew enough about the Inferno Consortium, yet the deeper I dig into this sinister world, the more I want to run as far away from here as I can.

“Annual auction ... Are the girls participating of their free will?”

It doesn’t even seem like he heard me. He continues to walk straight ahead, reaching for the two guards outside the door.

“Valentine!” I hurry my steps to keep pace with him.

The guard doesn’t even look up from the clipboard in his hand as Valentine walks past him and inside.

“You won’t need one,” he tosses over his shoulder, answering my previous question about the mask, so gently spoken I would have missed his words if I weren’t trailing behind him.

My brows deepen at his sudden cold attitude and the way he just dodged my question about the girls.

I’m intending to ask what’s going on when an arm springs out, blocking my path. Looking down at it, I gape at the guard who isn’t even blessing me with his attention.

“Name?” he hisses.

I freeze at the question. After twenty-five years of being known as the golden one, of having every pair of eyes on me, hearing this question doesn’t make me feel good like I thought it would.

The guard knows who I am. They all know me as Valentine’s daughter—their boss’s daughter—so why is he asking me my name ... and why isn’t he looking me in the eye?

“Aurelia,” I reply, a bitter taste in my mouth. “Draven.”

He doesn’t react to the name. Nothing, not a blink of an eye or a slight glance in my direction. Instead he scans the clipboard with the tip of his pen before tapping on a specific spot. Then he grabs a pin and a white ribbon from the bowl next to him.

“Wear this around your neck.”

“Why do I need to?—?”

He waves a hand, dismissing me, before the guard next to him gives me a terse push, urging me inside.

I stumble in my heels, grabbing onto the wall for balance. I gape at how different the place looks. The Harrows’ penthouse has been stripped of its usual austere appearance. In its place is this mysterious, gloomy, pitch-black hole.

The floor-to-ceiling windows have been obscured. The only source of light comes from the dancing flames of the candles, which have been strategically placed to illuminate the adjoining pieces of art. Yet that’s not all they’re shining their light on.

The penthouse has been turned into something unrecognizable, as if stripped bare of all pretenses. The true Harrow family reflects off the polished surfaces, from the ominous portraits of Lucian now hanging on the corridor walls to the smell of cigar present in every corner of the house.

He isn’t locked in his studio anymore; he is now the sole presence in this home. Anyone walking through that door will feel his chilling eyes on them as they make their way to one of the living rooms. It’s an act of power. He’s showcasing his dominance, reminding everyone who the leader is.

Tying the ribbon around my neck, I make a bow with the extra material then delicately fix the pin to my dress without ruining it.

Glancing around me, I notice we’re in the same living room where I first spoke with Victoria, only now there is no white couch, just big rosebushes in black vases and long tables holding drinks at the far ends of the room, leaving a lot of space in the middle ...

Now that I think about it, almost all the furniture is gone.

I search for Valentine but can’t seem to find him. I thought he was going to be here somewhere waiting for me to enter.

A man with a badger mask walks past me, and I immediately call out to him.

“Valentine?”

The man turns, and when he does, I catch how his mask lacks the red half like Valentine’s.

“Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

Everyone seems to be wearing a mask. Well, mostly men. There are badger masks, but also piercing, deep red fox masks, and there are far more foxes in the room.

Chills erupt all over my body as I think back to what Valentine told me about this party. The Hunt. Are they wearing masks so we can’t identify them or to stoke thesick pleasure they feel from chasing down girls like predators?

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