Page 78 of Goldrage
She’s dressed in a charcoal wool dress that skims her knees, paired with black heels and a string of pearls. Her dark hair is pulled back in a chignon that emphasizes the sharp intelligence in her eyes.
“Olivia,” I say, not hiding my shock. “This is… unexpected.”
She rises smoothly and offers a warm smile that transforms her serious features. “I hope you don’t mind. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d check on how you’re doing. Pregnancy can be such an overwhelming experience, especially when you’re adjusting to a new living situation.”
In the neighborhood? That’s a clear lie; the estate is outside Seattle and somewhere you would only drive to on purpose.
I glance at the corners of the room, knowing security cameras are recording every word and gesture. “Would you like to take a walk in the garden? It’s such a beautiful day.”
“That sounds lovely,” Olivia says, gathering her small purse.
She follows me silently through the mansion. Sunlight warms my face as we step out on the patio.
“It is a beautiful day,” she comments. “And what a lovely garden.”
There are guards positioned around the estate’s perimeter, but the open air and white noise of the fountains should provide some protection as we stroll through the rose bushes.
“How are you feeling?” Olivia asks, her tone carrying genuine concern. “You look a bit pale. Are you getting enough rest?”
“As much as I can. The, uh, baby seems to be doing well. Though the stress of everything isn’t good for either of us.”
We walk in comfortable silence for several minutes, admiring the flowerbeds and ornamental trees. There’s something soothing about Olivia’s presence. She doesn’t demand conversation or performance. She simply exists in the space with the kind of self-possession that comes from years of navigating dangerous social waters.
“I attended a Consortium gathering a few nights ago,” Olivia says casually as we round a bend in the pathway. “Julian provided some… dramatic entertainment for everyone.”
My stomach clenches with a familiar dread. “What kind of entertainment?”
“Bloody. He killed two men in front of everyone. Maybe killed is putting it too lightly. He slaughtered them. It was meant to be a demonstration of power, but honestly, it felt more like watching someone have a psychotic break in public.”
The confirmation of Julian’s continued descent into madness should shock me, but instead I feel only a bone-deep sadness for the boy he once was, who might be lost forever. Adrian thinks he can be saved, but I’m not convinced.
“He wasn’t always like that. There was good in him once.”
“I’m sure there was,” Olivia says as she stops to smell a rose. “But power and manipulation have a way of corrupting even saints. And Lady Harrow…” She trails off, shaking her head with what might be disgust. We continue walking.
The mention of Lady Harrow combined with the stress of everything else—Adrian’s assault, the looming paternity test, the weight of my own secrets—suddenly becomes too much. I feel tears pricking at my eyes as guilt crashes over me in suffocating waves. I think of how I might be just like them,becomingthem. It’s too much finally and I don’t want to be that person anymore. I don’t want this nightmare, this life.
“Olivia,” I say abruptly, stopping beside a marble bench overlooking a fountain. “I need to tell you something. Please, can we sit down?”
Olivia’s eyebrows rise slightly, but her expression remains calm and attentive. “Alright.”
We sit together and I think that this is probably a mistake. That I’m completely insane. She might kill me, and who knows if the guards will notice and get to me in time.
But I can’t live another day with this secret. I don’t want this life anymore.
I spill my guts, driven by guilt and stress and the desperate need to confess if for the simple fact to prove I’m not like Julian and Lady Harrow, that I’m not a monster. Or at least trying not to be one. “Victoria… her death was my fault.”
Olivia goes very still, her face showing no immediate reaction beyond a slight tightening around her eyes. I brace myself for violence, for screaming, for the kind of explosive retaliation that defines Consortium justice.
Instead, Olivia simply says, “Continue.”
Continue? I’d rather not relive it, and I don’t want to tell Olivia the gory details of Victoria’s death, so I just say, “I did it. I set her… apartment on fire. I killed her. I had a plan to kill her.”
She folds her hands and lowers her gaze to my stomach. “Why?”
The quiet question catches me off guard. I’d expected rage, threats, immediate demands for vengeance. Maybe she’s holding back because she thinks I’m pregnant. I don’t know. But her rational response is so unexpected that I answer honestly.
“Revenge.” My voice cracks. “For what your mother did to mine. I had a list—have a list—of everyone whoparticipated in my mother’s torture and murder. Victoria was on it because of your mother’s actions.”
