Page 2 of Goldsin

There’s no going back now. My plan is set in motion. The poison is coursing through his body right now, so close to reaching the first vital organ.

This is all for you, Mother.

One less monster in the world. Many more to go.

Vincent’s grip on the glass weakens as he tries to keep up the façade. His hand shakes a little, and he clears his throat, brushing off whatever is happening to him.

The loathing I feel for him slips between the cracks in my mask as I watch him struggle.

His role in the Inferno Consortium wasn’t what made me want to draw his fate for him. He’s done something far more personal.

Vincent took his role in the Inferno Consortium, and the power that came with it, and used it against my mother. He humiliated her, alongside other members, at Lucian Harrow’s exclusive parties.

Lucian is the leader of the Inferno Consortium, and his gatherings allow powerful men to indulge in their darkest fantasies while talking business, with no regard for the women they use and abuse.

My mother was one of those women.

“Tell me, Aurelia.” His words are barely coherent as he slurs, his eyes fluttering closed as he struggles to maintain eye contact. “Is this the first time you’ve attended the Harrows’ fundraiser? Have you ever been to one of Lucian’s parties? They’re quite the experience.” He chuckles.

I clench my fist behind my back to keep my boilinganger under control. “Oh, I’ve heard stories,” I reply. The images of those events that ultimately led my mother to her death blind me for a second. “What exactly goes on at these ... parties?”

Vincent smirks, unaware of his life slipping away by the second. “Let’s just say, the men in attendance have ... particular tastes.” He glances down at my cleavage, and I swear, if the poison takes any longer to kill him, I’ll do it with my bare hands. “Beautiful women like yourself are put on display for our amusement. We drink, get high, and enjoy the pleasures of the flesh without consequence.”

Beautiful women like yourself.He means like my mother.

Something flickers in his eyes. It lasts seconds, but I see the way they round slightly as he looks me over.

I remind him of her.

Of course I do.

I don’t remember my mother, but Valentine, the one who adopted me after her death, does. And he always says I’m a carbon copy of her. Same red hair, and green eyes with the right number of brown flecks.

My identical twin.

If you don’t count her lack of a sense of justice, and her lack of hunger to live.

“Sounds like quite the spectacle.” My throat constricts with the force I use to fake my admiration. Images of my mother surrounded by men like Vincent clog my vision. “I can see why they’re so popular with men like you.”

He scoffs. “Men like me?” Shaking his head, he adds, “You mean powerful men who know how to enjoy themselves? Damn right, sweetheart.”

Nausea crawls up my throat.

“Powerful men who exploit others for their own gain,” I correct him, letting the cracks in my mask slowly show as what I really think of him seeps into my words. “But I suppose that’s just the way the world works, isn’t it?”

“Exactly.” He coughs so abruptly some of his drink spills onto the floor. His hand trembles slightly as he tries to hide what he doesn’t know are the effects of the poison. “And if you play your cards right, you might find yourself enjoying the finer things in life too.”

God, how oblivious is he?

“Or perhaps,” I muse as I catch the first signs of his body convulsing, “the tables will turn, and those who thought they held all the power will find themselves at the mercy of someone else.”

He coughs again, this time harshly, as he bends down. “Wh-what is happening?”

“Karma, Vincent.” I lean closer to him as his breathing becomes labored. “It always finds a way of catching up with us in the end.”

His face contorts, freezing like the elegant statue on the table in the center of the room. I wonder if his body will make the perfect complement to the creamy furniture. The drawn curtains and the soft ceiling are soothing to watch while Vincent’s gurgling noises fill the air.

His hand clutches at his chest, wrinkling his white shirt. “Wh-what did you do to me?” he gasps.

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