Page 26 of Goldrage
Adrian’s head snaps toward his brother and his eyes narrow. I can almost see the gears turning, the timeline spinning out in his mind. He’s trying to figure out when Julian and I might’ve been together. His eyes flash wide as he figures it out, then he turns back to me. His gaze is filled with hurt and fresh pain obscures everything else.
Tears gather in my throat because I hate causing him agony like this. He must’ve figured out that Julian and I could’ve been together shortly before Julian sold me to Lorenzo. Then I was with Adrian.
The math is simple, brutal. Three weeks. Two brothers. One possible child.
While the three of us are locked in a silent conversation, Lady Harrow’s mask doesn’t just slip—it shatters.
There’s a strangled sound in her throat before she says, “You lying little—” She lunges. Her palm swings toward my face with all the grace of a sledgehammer. I brace for impact, tensing my shoulders?—
Julian’s hand shoots out, catching her wrist inches from my cheek.
“No.” The word cracks like a whip. His grip tightens until she winces. “Calm the fuck down. Not when she could be carrying my child.”
Mother and son lock eyes in a battle of wills that makes the air crackle.
Lady Harrow wrenches free, rubbing her wrist. Her voice drops to a serpent’s hiss. “How convenient. A pregnancy just when you need sanctuary. Tell me, dear, how do we know that bullet didn’t shred your precious womb along with everything else?”
Instead of lifting the bottom of my dress and exposing all those cigar scars, I slip the dress straps off my shoulders. With my chin still lifted, I lower one side of the dress enough to show the bandage on my side below my ribs. “It missed everything vital. A doctor confirmed it.” I loop my arms back through the dress straps.
My hand dips into my purse, then I pull out the pregnancy test, which is sealed in plastic like evidence at a crime scene. Finally, I reveal Gideon’s forged medical documents, complete with an official letterhead and signatures that would fool God himself. “If you need more proof...”
Lady Harrow snatches both items with the hunger of a starving wolf. Her eyes devour every detail, searching for the lie she’s certain exists.
“This proves nothing.” She waves the papers like they personally offend her. “Tests and documents can be faked. Dr. Reynolds will run proper blood work andexpose whatever game you’re playing.” She pulls out her phone and starts dialing. “We’ll wait for him in the living room.”
Like a lap dog, Bianca immediately follows Lady Harrow’s perfume trail. Since Bianca is in control of Adrian’s wheelchair, he’s forced to leave too. His eyes remain on me until a wall finally comes between us.
I’m left in the foyer with Julian and Valentine.
“I’m going to be a grandfather?” Valentine says in a voice so tender it makes me want to weep. I’d been so focused on Adrian and how Julian and Lady Harrow would react, that I hadn’t even thought of how this lie would affect my father. And, as much as he’s hurt me, this moment proves that I do still care about him.
He’s still the man who raised me. I’m still lying to him. Maybe I should feel some justice, like I’m paying him back for his huge betrayal. But I don’t. I only feel more alone.
That’s all revenge creates, isn’t it?
Before I can respond, Julian shoves my shoulder. “Go.”
I grit my teeth and play along, walking down the hallway Lady Harrow disappeared into. Julian and Valentine trail behind.
We all file into the living room. We’re a funeral procession for whatever remained of the family these people once were. The décor assaults my senses: dark wood that seems to strangle light, marble cold enough to freeze blood, oil paintings with figures that follow me with dead eyes. Even the air tastes stale, recycled through all the horror this mansion has witnessed.
I sink into a leather chair to wait. Across the room, Adrian sits trapped in his wheelchair prison. Our eyes meet through the suffocating atmosphere. The hurt in his eyes makes me want to confess.
I mouth the words slowly, deliberately, so he can read them: “I love you.”
He watches my lips shape each syllable. A tiny nod, so small I might have imagined it. But he doesn’t say it back. He doesn’t mouth the words that would ease this ache in my chest.
Why? What’s he feeling right now? Is he thinking horrible thoughts about me?
The distance between us might as well be an ocean. Maybe they’ve already poisoned him against me and twisted his love into something else during his weeks of captivity. I wish we could have privacy so we could talk. It’s so unbearable not knowing what’s going through his head right now.
A theatrical sigh pulls my attention to the couch. Bianca has draped herself across the cushions like a Victorian lady with the vapors, one hand pressed to her forehead while the other fans her face. The performance would be laughable if it weren’t so desperate.
Valentine hovers near the doorway, a ghost of the man who raised me. His mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air—words he wants to say but doesn’t dare voice. Not here. Not now. Not with Lady Harrow’s rage still crackling through the room like electricity.
Julian has claimed the windows as his domain, pacing back and forth like a restless lion. But his eyes keep drifting to my stomach. Each glance feels likefingers probing for the truth, trying to see through my skin to the emptiness beneath.
We all remain in our assigned positions—pawns on a chessboard, waiting for the next move.
