Page 83 of Goldrage
Julian erupts from his chair. His hands clamp onto his mother’s shoulders, fingers sinking deep. “Tell me the truth!” The roar tears from his throat as he shakes her. “For once in your goddamn life, tell me the fucking truth!”
I stay seated, spine straight, hands folded. This explosion was inevitable, a pressurecooker finally blowing its lid. My irritation simmers beneath careful control. Valentine’s timing couldn’t be worse. We need Julian to be stable and focused. Not drowning in identity crises when my plan demands precision.
“Julian, please?—”
“The truth! Now!” Something fractures in my brother’s voice, a sound that pulls at something deep in my chest. Even monsters can inspire sympathy when they break.
The dam bursts. Tears carve channels through Lady Harrow’s makeup as she nods. “Yes.” The whisper barely reaches my ears. “Yes, it’s true. Valentine is your biological father.”
Julian releases her like she’s turned to acid. She sways, catching herself on the table edge while he stands there, his face a war zone of emotions.
“Why?” he says weakly. “Why keep this from me all this time?”
“To protect you!” Mother’s finger stabs toward Valentine in accusation. “He was nobody! A common soldier with no prospects, no power, no ability to give you the life you deserved. Lucian gave you everything—status, wealth, a legacy to inherit! Power! Look at all this power you now wield.”
“Lucian tortured me!” The words detonate from Julian’s chest. “He beat me and turned me into a weapon! And you let him because it served your fuckingpurpose?”
My gaze sweeps the table, cataloging damage. Aurelia sits frozen, a beautiful statue carved from shock, her eyes tracking Julian with something softer than fear.And Bianca continues spooning crème brûlée into her mouth, frowning at her dessert as if the screaming is merely bad background music.
I fucking hate that woman.
Julian’s eyes find mine across the battlefield of our family dinner. For a heartbeat, his armor drops completely. Raw need bleeds through, the need for something solid in a world suddenly built on lies.
“You’re still my brother,” I tell him. “That will never change.”
His vulnerability sharpens instantly. The scoff that follows cuts deep.
“You bastard!” Mother launches herself at Valentine, hands clawing for his face. “How dare you destroy everything I’ve built!” Her palm cracks against his cheek before he can react. “All these years of careful planning, and you ruin it with your pathetic conscience!”
Valentine catches her wrists as she swings again. “Someone had to tell him! He deserves to know?—”
“He deserved a father who could give him power! Not some lovesick fool who?—”
The situation unravels like a spool of barbed wire, catching everyone in its path. Crystal trembles on the table. Guards shift nervously, unsure whether to intervene. This chaos threatens everything I’ve worked toward.
I rise from my chair slowly and the movement alone shifts the room’s tension.
“Enough.” I don’t raise my voice. Don’t need to. The quiet command carries the weight of every order I’ve given, every man I’ve broken, every empire I’ve toppled. “This news stays here. No one, and I mean no one, breathes a word of this to anyone outside this estate.” My gaze finds Bianca, who finally glances up from her plate like a child caught daydreaming during a funeral. “Especially you. I need your word that you’ll keep this secret.”
She wilts under my stare. “Yes, of course, whatever my husband wants. I’m just here to please you, Adrian. I won’t tell anyone.”
The submission in her voice should satisfy me. It doesn’t.
“If this information reaches the Consortium,” I continue, “it will throw everything into chaos. Julian’s legitimacy as leader will be questioned, and we’ll have civil war on our hands.”
Though that’s exactly what I want. Just not yet.
Julian stumbles backward like I’ve struck him. I watch the precise moment his internal architecture collapses—jaw slackening, eyes going vacant, hands trembling. Twenty-eight years of certainty, of identity, of purpose, crumble in real time.
Without a word, he turns and bolts. His footsteps pound down the hallway, each one taking him further from the wreckage of his life.
My chest constricts with an ache I rarely allow myself to feel. He’s discovering what I’ve always known: love in the Harrow family comes with strings.
Aurelia’s eyes find mine across the carnage. In that glance, I read understanding deeper than words. She knows where I need to be. Her subtle nod grants permission I don’t need but appreciate anyway.
Without looking back, I leave the dining room. Valentine and Lady Harrow’s shouting fades behind me.
Somewhere down this length of hallway, my brother is drowning in truth. I move toward him, though I’m not sure what I’ll say. How do you comfort someone whose entire identity just revealed itself as fiction?
