Page 32 of Goldrage
It feels like I’ve been here before, but I know I haven’t.
Why?
A line from my mother’s diary hits me:The animal heads were silent witnesses during the day and shadow demons at night.
Oh my God…
I stumble backward, my hip catching the edge of a leather armchair. This room. These specific animals. The way they’re mounted, the order, even the fucking zebra—it’s all exactly as she described.
Thisis where she lived.
But she was never supposed to be here. I’d alwayspictured her trapped in the penthouse, that sleek prison above Seattle’s skyline. I had looked for traces of her there, but this entire time I’ve been wrong.
This is where Lucian kept her.
My mother didn’t even live in his primary residence where his wife and sons were. He locked her away in this hidden estate where her screams wouldn’t disturb the neighbors. Here, he could indulge in his darkest appetites without the inconvenience of witnesses. Even as his captive, my mother wasn’t deemed worthy of the main house. She was moved to this place, visited only when he craved entertainment.
I wish he’d come back from the dead so I could make him suffer death all over again.
I have to get out of this awful room, so I turn and run. The guards struggle to keep up with me, but I run all the way back to my bedroom. I dart in and lock the door, breathless.
More lines from my mother’s diaries assault me. That’s when I realize this was her room. I stare at the furniture in disbelief. God, did Julian know? Did he specifically choose this room because of that?
No. He couldn’t have known. Julian never read the diaries. He wouldn’t know the significance. I’m not sure he even knows my mother was kept here.
But Lady Harrow does.
I make fists and swallow back a scream. That bitch could’ve whispered instructions to the guards and told them to arrange this room for me. She put me in the same cage where my mother withered away.
Is this the room she died in, too?
Now that I know what I’m looking for, the details smack me in the face. The window placement—northwest corner, overlooking what my mother called “the devil’s garden.” The carved wooden headboard with its pattern of thorny roses. The way light spills across the floor in a perfect rectangle.
Every detail matches. Every fucking detail.
My knees give out. I sink onto the bed—this bed where my mother once lay—and the weight of history feels heavy enough to kill me. How many nights did she stare at this same ceiling while I was growing inside her? How many times did she trace these same bedposts, counting the hours until Lucian’s next visit?
Tears burn hot trails down my cheeks. I can almost feel her beside me, a ghost made of memory and shared pain. Young Serafina, barely older than I am now, carrying me while carrying the weight of all Lucian’s cruelty. Did she know she was creating her own avenger? Did she hope I’d survive to do what she couldn’t?
“I’m here, Mama,” I whisper to the empty room. “I found you.”
But I can’t lose myself in grief. I have my own child to protect, even if it’s only a phantom. There’s only one month until the doctor returns for another test. I have four weeks to maintain this deception and find a way to free Adrian.
I turn over onto my side and bury my head under a pillow. I see Adrian’s face again, his expression twisting as I announce the pregnancy. There was a flash of hurt before his expression went carefully blank. He must be tormenting himself, knowing I was with Julian justweeks ago. Knowing there’s a possibility—however false—that I carry his brother’s child.
I’m sorry, my love. I’m so fucking sorry.
I hope he can someday forgive this awful lie. But this was the only way. The only currency the Harrows understand is blood and legacy. So I gave them both.
Fear coils in my belly as I consider everything that could go wrong. Julian seems suspicious. I can feel him scrutinizing me every time he’s near. One slip, one inconsistency, and this whole thing crumbles. And if they discover the truth before we can escape…
I can’t think about that.
Instead, I focus on the performance. If they’re watching—and they’re always watching in places like this—then I need to give them a show. I’m sure there’s a camera in this room, but I’m not going to search for it. I don’t want Julian to see the moment I spot the camera because then he’ll be suspicious of my behavior. No. I’ll act “normal” and like I’m assuming no camera exists.
My hands move to my stomach, cradling it. I let out a few more sobs.
“We’ll know who your daddy is soon, little one,” I say, hopefully loud enough for the cameras to pick it up. The words feel hollow, but I convince myself it’s real, that I’m really pregnant so my voice fills with tenderness. “Whoever your daddy is, I promise I’ll keep you safe, no matter what. You’re a Harrow, and that means something. Even if I hate what it means.”
