Page 16 of Goldrage
It was so subtle anyone else would’ve missed it. A mere tightening of his shoulders, a slight pulling away from her touch before he caught himself. But I know my brothers tells better than my own reflection. Adrian has always been good at holding in emotion and horrible at faking it. We’re opposites in that way. It was always easier for Adrian to remain detached and neutral than to try to fake something he didn’t feel.
That’s why the flinch is bothering me.
Why did he flinch? What real emotion broke through in that second?
Why isn’t he grateful to be reunited with the only parent who ever showed us kindness?
Maybe he’s worried about how he hurt Mother; he did let himself get manipulated by a whore and then faked his own death. Then he let Aurelia try to pin it on Mom. I still don’t understandhowAurelia got into his head so deeply, but our mother is forgiving and just happy to have her sons reunited. Adrian doesn’t need to fear any wrath.
I return to the monitors. Adrian has shifted on the bed, his face now turned toward the wall. At first, I thinkhe’s still asleep, until I notice the slight shake in his shoulders. I reach for the volume control.
The sound that fills the office is more disturbing than anything else that’s been happening.
Sobs. Deep, body-shaking sobs that tear from my brother’s chest like something clawing its way free. The chains rattle with each shudder, and he sounds like a pathetic child whimpering in the dark. This isn’t Adrian. Thiscan’tbe Adrian. My brother doesn’t break—he endures. He strategizes. He maintains that fucking perfect composure even when the world burns around him.
But there he is, coming apart at the seams over?—
My hand finds the whiskey decanter before I realize I’ve moved. I don’t bother with a glass; I drink it straight from the container. It burns but it can’t wash away the wrongness of what I’m seeing. I’ve watched Adrian take beatings that would’ve killed lesser men. Seen him stitch his own wounds with steady hands while blood pooled at his feet. Not once—not fuckingonce—has he ever cried like this.
She’s not worth your tears, brother.
I try to summon the hatred that’s kept me upright these past weeks. Aurelia was a manipulator who destroyed everything, a liar who played us both for fools. But the image of her that surfaces is like an ambush. I remember Aurelia at sixteen, the sunlight caught in those wild curls as she laughed at something I’d said. Then her nose crinkled when her smile grew too wide. She’d looked at me like I hung the fucking moon, like I was more than just Lucian Harrow’s spare son.
My chest constricts as grief threatens to force its way up my throat. For one treacherous moment, I feel her absence like I lost a limb, and I worry I might cry like a fucking child, just like my brother.
No.
I slam the decanter down hard enough to make liquid slosh out the top. Rage is easier than grief, safer than admitting I might have—that maybe I didn’t need to?—
No! Fucking whore.
She deserved what she got. The thought feels like a lie, but I cling to it. She conspired with Adrian behind my back. Manipulated him. She would’ve put a bullet in Mother’s head given half a chance. She lied with every breath, every touch, every whispered promise in the dark. She betrayed everything we?—
She looked at me like I was worth something.
Fuck this. I can’t breathe. I can’t think past the confusion that tangles everything into knots. She was a woman who killed in cold blood. And she held me when the pain of being Lucian’s son leaked out. She was the enemy who threatened my family. And the only person who ever saw past the Harrow name to find something human underneath.
I return to the desk and smash my finger on the intercom button. “Send my mother to the office.”
I pound my chest, forcing all emotions down. These emotions are lies.
While I wait, I guzzle more whiskey until my hands stop shaking. The monitor draws my gaze like a magnet. Adrian’s grief plays out in high definition, every shudder andbroken breath captured by the camera, documenting his destruction. His pain reverberates through me, resonating with spots of weakness I’m desperately trying to drown.
I’ll never see her again.
I hate myself for the way my chest caves in from the truth of it. No more fire in those green eyes. No more defiant lift of her chin when the world tried to break her. No more?—
“You wanted to see me, dear?”
My back is to the door, so I quickly wipe away a fucking tear before turning around.
Mother glides into the office like she owns the air, her black silk dress somehow killing more light than this creepy office. The rugs silence her footsteps as she approaches, and my gaze snags on the emerald necklace circling her throat. The stones throw green sparks on the floor that remind me of?—
Fuck. That’s Aurelia’s necklace. I don’t know where Aurelia got it, but I remember her wearing it the day I attacked Lorenzo’s estate.
My heart clenches so violently I have to look away. Shit, why am I so weak? I’m Julian fucking Harrow. I don’t mourn traitors. I don’t grieve for women who chose my brother over me.
I clear my throat and straighten my spine until it’s as rigid as steel. “How did you do it?” The question comes out flat, stripped of everything I’m feeling. “How did you kill her?”
