Page 53 of Goldrage
The baby needs to be kept away from her influence.Maybe from Adrian’s too, at least until I’m sure my brother’s truly back on my side. Can’t have him filling the kid’s head with his noble bullshit about right and wrong.
I set the whiskey bottle on a random table and scrub a hand over my face. I need some distraction.
My feet carry me to the office first, and I grab a folder from the desk without really looking at it. Consortium contracts, probably. Something to stare at while my world falls apart.
Next, I escape toward the study, needing space that doesn’t reek of Lucian Harrow’s legacy.
The hallway outside the study is guarded—Adrian’s men, standing silent like statues. Which means Adrian is inside. Maybe I shouldn’t let him wander around so much.
The door’s cracked open, voices drifting through.
I should announce myself. I should walk in like I own the place, because I fucking do. But I hear voices and decide to eavesdrop. I hover near a guard, who glances at me before minding his own goddamn business.
“You know, Adrian,” my mother’s voice carries through the gap, but it’s wrong. All wrong. She doesn’t sound like herself; her tone is too jagged. “I’ve been thinking about your recovery. It’s taking rather longer than expected, isn’t it?”
Through the crack, I can see them. Adrian on one couch, Mother on the other. But her face—Christ, what’s happened to her face? The afternoon light cuts across it, carving shadows that turn her into someone I don’t recognize. Someone who looks like she’s contemplatingmurder. The bandage on her nose only makes her look more villainous. And I can’t believe she snuck out and got plastic surgery when there are more important things going on.
Adrian doesn’t look at her. His jaw’s set in a way that reminds me of how he was with Lucian—the expression he wore while Father lectured him about weakness, about control, about becoming the perfect heir.
“The doctor says I’m healing normally.” His voice is flat, controlled.
“Normally.” Mother laughs. It’s nothing like her usual warm chuckle. This is cruel and mocking. “Nothing about your survival was normal, darling. Some might call it miraculous. Others might call it… unfortunate.”
The folder slips from my fingers. Unfortunate? What the fuck does that mean? Why would she?—
“You were supposed to?—”
I burst through the door before she can finish. Both of them turn toward me, and I watch something impossible happen.
Mother’s face transforms.
The cold cruelty vanishes like it never existed. Warmth floods her features, concern softening the harsh lines the shadows had carved. The change happens so fast I wonder if I imagined the woman I’d glimpsed through the doors. If the whiskey’s playing tricks on me.
Yes. It must be the whiskey.
“Julian, darling!” She rises from the couch, gliding toward me. “So good to see you.”
I stare at her, searching for any hint of the creature I’d witnessed. But there’s nothing. Just my mother,looking at me with those concerned eyes that have comforted me through every nightmare.
Except now I’m wondering if she was the nightmare all along.
No. No, that’s not true.
“I just… I need to speak with Adrian. Alone.”
She smiles, touching my cheek with gentle fingers. “Of course, dear. I was just keeping him company. He gets so lonely during his recovery.”
She glides past, her heels clicking. The sound follows her down the hall until silence swallows it.
I stand in the doorway, staring at my brother. He hasn’t moved from his spot on the couch, but he’s tense. His knuckles are white where they grip the book he’s not reading.
I clear my throat, still feeling too hazy from the booze. I don’t know what the hell to say.
Adrian turns to meet my gaze, and what I see there pisses me off: pity. Fucking pity. Like I’m some pathetic child who’s about to learn Santa isn’t real.
“What did you hear?” His voice is careful in that way that means he’s calculating every word.
“I’m drunk,” I say like it explains everything. Maybe it does. I think I imagined the whole thing. Mother loves Adrian. The whiskey’s playing tricks, has to be. Making me see monsters where there’s only the woman who sang me to sleep.
