Page 22 of Goldsin

Calculating intelligence mixed with ruthless determination.

It’s like looking in a mirror. My own self is reflected in her gaze.

“I’ve heard about you.”

I force a smile onto my face.The fakest of smiles.“Only good things, I hope.”

I hope I look more confident than I feel.

“Depends on who you ask.” She glances at her immaculate bloodred nails. Each one is filed into a sharp point. The nail polish is such a deep shade of red it’s almost black. The cut of Lady Marlowe’s dress emphasizes the sharpness of her collarbone and the thinness of her arms.

A cruel elegance radiates from her. Like heat from a flame.

“Tell me, what brings you to mingle among our kind?”

Our kind.I try to let it slide, yet it burns along my skin.

“Curiosity, mostly. Your name is quite popular in certain circles too.”

“Is that so?” She raises an eyebrow. “Well, curiosity can be a dangerous thing, especially around here.”

“Sometimes danger is half the fun.” I notice the corner of her lips twitching in an almost-smile. “Besides, who doesn’t like a little excitement now and then?”

She hums in agreement. “But too much excitement can lead to trouble.”

“Trouble can be . . . interesting.”

“Perhaps,” she concedes, sweeping her fingers in front of her, letting the brightness of the long drop ceiling light bounce off her diamond rings, “if you have your family’s name to deal with incoming threats.”

“How resourceful!”

“It is.” Her expression softens ever so slightly at my sweetened words. “In fact, I’d wager there isn’t a situation we couldn’t handle if need be.”

“Your confidence is inspiring.”

Someone please take me now and choke me to death.

I have a feeling she’s too preoccupied with basking in the compliment to catch the fakeness in my voice.

“Thank you, Aurelia,” she responds, finally calling me by my name. “You’re quite the enigma, aren’t you? But I think I like you.”

“Likewise, Lady Marlowe.”

“Please, call me Victoria,” she insists.

Bingo.

That was way easier than I anticipated.

Tilting her body, she turns to face me. “Tell me, how did you come to know Julian?”

The implication in her question is obvious: How does an orphan girl, daughter of a whore, befriend the prince of the Harrow family—of the Inferno Consortium?

“Ah, Julian,” I muse, thinking quickly about what to say. “We met through mutual friends. He’s quite the charmer, isn’t he?”

I leave out how we used to be childhood best friends before he decided to act like a dick and throw away years of friendship.

“He is,” she agrees, chuckling. Her eyes shine with mischief. “He always did know how to make an impression.”

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