Page 21 of Goldrage
For one brief moment, I see it all in his eyes—recognition of what he’s become, shame at the comparison, rage at being called out. The emotions flicker across his face like a film reel before he locks them away behind walls I taught him to build.
“You don’t know me anymore, brother. But you will in time.”
He turns and then pauses at the threshold without looking back. “You have ten minutes,” he informs Bianca.
Then he’s gone, though the violence he displayed still lingers in the room.
The moment the door closes, Bianca transforms. Fear evaporates from her features like morning mist, replaced by an adoration that nauseates me. She hurries back to my bedside.
“Thank you for defending me, hubby,” she whispers, reaching out to stroke my face with fingers that feel like invasive insects against my skin. “I’m so thankful to have such a strong, protective husband.”
I turn my head away from her touch. My neck is stiff, but I force the movement.Husband. How can she speak it so easily when we both know the truth of what we are? Business partners at best. Strangers bound by contract and necessity.
“What agreement did you have with Julian?” I finally ask.
Her hand falls away, and she busies herself with straightening the pristine sheets. “Oh, well that doesn’t matter now. We’re together. That’s what’s important.”The words tumble out too quickly as if she rehearsed them. “We can finally start our life as it’s meant to be, have the family we talked about.”
I turn my head back to stare at her, trying to reconcile this delusion with the woman who’d signed our marriage contract with clear eyes. We’d never discussed children. Never discussedanythingbeyond the finances and careful boundaries of our arrangement. She had understood—or I’d thought she understood—exactly what she was agreeing to.
“Bianca.” I inject steel into my voice, the same tone I use when negotiations require absolute clarity. “We need to be clear. Nothing has changed between us. This isn’t a real marriage. It never was.”
Her face crumples like tissue paper in rain. “You don’t mean that. You’re just confused and hurt.” She reaches for my hand, but I tuck it under my hip to prevent the touch. “Julian said you might be different after what happened, but you’ll remember how things were.”
Julian said.The words echo in my skull, and I wonder what poison my brother has been feeding her. What lies has he crafted to bring her here and use her as another weapon in whatever game he’s playing?
Or… is this Lady Harrow’s doing?
There are too many unanswered questions. I need to regain my strength quickly so I can get the answers I need.
“Bianca, did you tell Julian that I was at Lorenzo’s estate?”
Her cheeks pale and she starts straightening the sheets again.
“Bianca. I need the truth.”
She dips her chin and shakes her head. It isn’t clear if she’s saying “no, I didn’t tell him” or “no, I won’t tell you the truth.”
I’m about to demand the truth more harshly when she leans closer, desperation bleeding through her expertly applied makeup. “We’re really perfect for each other, you know? And I’ll do anything you want. Anything to make you happy.” Her voice drops to what she probably thinks is a seductive tone. “Remember when I said you can bring in other women? We can have threesomes. Or I’ll just watch. I want you to feel good. Anything. I’ll be the exact wife you want. I’ll be perfect for you.”
My patience, already worn thin by pain and drugs and the weight of everything I’ve lost, snaps. “Leave. Now.”
She recoils as if I’ve struck her, tears pooling in her eyes. “You’re just tired. You need rest. I understand.” She snatches her purse off the floor and then backs up toward the door. “I’ll come back tomorrow. You’ll feel better then. I love you.”
The door clicks shut behind her, and I’m alone again with the chains and the monitors and the suffocating weight of this room. I won’t give up until I get the answers I need.
I shift on the bed, working within my limited range of motion until I can see out the window. The afternoon light has begun its slow death, painting the sky in shadesof orange and red that remind me of Aurelia’s hair. I want to witness more of those colors, but just that small interaction with Bianca has exhausted me too much and my eyes droop.
Hours blur together as I alternate between short bouts of sleep and watching darkness claim the estate grounds. My hazy thoughts circle like vultures, always returning to the same impossibility. If Aurelia were truly dead, wouldn’t I feel it? Wouldn’t I feel some fundamental absence in the world, some shift in the very air I breathe? Instead, there’s only this hollow ache that feels more like separation than loss.
Are you still out there, my love?
The door whispers open so quietly I almost miss it. Every muscle tenses, preparing for another round with Julian or worse, Lady Harrow. But the figure that slips inside moves with a different purpose and with military precision
Valentine.
He closes the door with the same silence he entered with, then turns to face me. Even in the dim moonlight, I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand hovers near where his weapon usually rests.
“I looped the security feed,” he says, whispering. “We have fifteen minutes at most before someone might notice.”
