Page 15 of Goldsin

I guess the scent of vanilla can’t soothe everything.

“God, I need a drink.” I sigh, massaging my temples with my fingers.

“Rough night?”

I head into the kitchen to find Valentine sitting at the table sipping a cup of black coffee—his nightly ritual.

“Is it that obvious?” I collapse onto the chair next to his.

He doesn’t even need to study me up close to know there’s something wrong. He’s the right hand of the Harrow family; he already did that the moment I walked through the door.

“Your cheeks are flushed, and you look like you’ve been through hell.” His shaved dark hair, peppered with strands of gray, is all I can see due to the size of his mug.

Collecting large mugs has been Valentine’s hobby for the past two years. Half of the kitchen cabinets are full of them, along with different coffee beans.

Valentine is in command of day-to-day operations in the Harrow business.Bothof the Harrow businesses, the Inferno Consortium being one of them. He’s an intimidating, solid wall of muscle, clad in his usual attire: a black T-shirt and black pants. But underneath it all, there’s a warmth he reserves only for me. It’s in the wayhis eyes narrow the slightest amount, or how the corner of his mouth jerks up when he looks at me.

He doesn’t see the orphan girl, but someone he raised as his own.

He’s never told me much about my mother, only that he was working for the Harrows when she was alive. Now I know about her past, it makes complete sense he decided not to tell a little girl her dead mother was a sex slave. However, he does like to remind me—always—how he didn’t really have a choice in adopting me, because the moment he saw my big, round eyes he was forced to take me in.

Without going into detail, I mutter, “Julian Harrow,” before asking, “Is this your first cup of the night?”

“Third,” Valentine states bluntly. “Ah, so it’s Julian this time, not Adrian.” He gives a knowing smirk.

“Adrian is a whole other issue.” I sigh, massaging my temples again. “But yeah, tonight was all about Julian. Wait—did you say ‘third’? You know what the doctor said. No more than three a day!”

Valentine suffers from mild hypertension, and the doctor advised him not to be excessive with his coffee intake, but Valentine is stubborn. If he wants his coffee, he’ll have it. I like to think my resilience comes from his stubbornness.

His forehead crinkles. Resting his elbow on the table, he gives me his full attention. “You need to be careful around them, especially Julian. He’s dangerous and unpredictable. Stay as far away from them as possible.”

I don’t even have the opportunity to answer, because he adds, “You know how dangerous the Harrows can be.”

He’s completely ignoring my comment about his well-being. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s doing it on purpose, steering the conversation in another direction.

“I’m aware. I won’t let them stand in my way.”

Valentine arches a brow, waiting.

“And I’ll be careful. I promise,” I huff.

Satisfied, he nods before returning to his coffee.

We stay there for a moment, silence between us, as I stare at the man who gave me a chance.

My thoughts drift back to my mother’s diary. I’ve had it for a few months, since the day Valentine decided to give it to me, yet the details of the horrors she went through still eat at my insides every time I read them. The way her handwriting changes depending on her emotions, on what she went through each night at the hands of powerful families. Families like the Harrows.

“Thanks for always being there for me, Valentine. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I whisper, breaking the silence with my wavering voice.

His eyes twinkle with warmth as he looks up at me. “Anything for you, kid.”

Then, like any other time when things get a little emotional, he asks, “Do we need to go cut some onions?”

I can’t help but chuckle, and the faintest smile stretches his lips.

We haven’t cut onions since I was ten. We always used to, whenever my little heart couldn’t handle the emotions storming inside of me. Since Valentine is the worst person to go to for comfort, he’d make us cut onions in the kitchen. He said this way, I could cry my emotions out without having to talk about them.

“No need. Save them for another time.”

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