Page 84 of Goldrage
He’s broken, but somehow, I must gather the pieces before they scatter beyond recovery.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
JULIAN
The leather creaks under my weight as I sink deeper into Lucian’s old office chair, my palms pressing against the wooden desk. The bastard hasn’t been here in months, but this office still reeks of cigars, Lucian’s ghost lingering in every corner. Above me, the mounted heads of exotic animals stare down with glassy eyes. A tiger. A lion. A fucking rhino.
All of them slaughtered for sport. Trophies to prove dominance.
I know exactly how they feel.
Acid feels like it’s literally eating through my heart. I can’t even wrap my thoughts around what I just heard at dinner.
Valentine is my father.
I’m a bastard child.
Not Harrow blood.
The words keep circling like vultures, picking at the corpse of everything I thought I knew.
I’m not Lucian’s son, the man whose fists taught mehow to bleed, whose voice still echoes in my bones telling me I’m weak, pathetic, a disappointment. I pound my fist against the desk. I put up with all that shit and I’m not even his fuckingson?
And Valentine watched it all happen. He stood in doorways and corners like a fucking specter while Lucian broke me down piece by piece. Valentine knew the whole goddamn time that he was letting a stranger brutalize his son.
My fingers curl against the desk until my knuckles crack. How many times did I crawl to my room, ribs screaming, face swollen, wondering what I’d done wrong this time? How many nights did I lie awake trying to figure out ways to finally make Lucian proud, to finally be the son he wanted?
And Valentine knew. He fuckingknewand did nothing!
He didn’t care about me enough to act…
In a twisted way, that means Lucian cared about me more.
The office door inches open. I don’t need to look to know it’s Adrian; his presence fills spaces differently than other people, like he was born to command rooms.
I’ve tried. I’ve fuckingtried, but I’ll still never be half the leader he is so naturally.
Guess I finally understand why.
Not a Harrow.
“Julian?”
I keep my eyes on the desk’s surface, on the scratches and scuff marks from decades of use. My voice comes out like gravel. “Did you know?”
Adrian walks deeper into the room and clears his throat. “Not until recently. Valentine… told me a few days ago. I’m sorry.”
A laugh tears out of me and I nearly choke on it. “Of course he did. Everyone always tells you everything first, don’t they? You were always on a fucking pedestal, even with him.” My voice cracks, and I hate myself for it. “I mean, what the fuck am I? I’m everyone’s trash.”
Adrian’s footsteps are careful, like I’m some wild animal he’s trying not to spook. With all these dead things watching from the walls… how ironic.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you right after I found out,” he says. “I thought it was best you hear it from Valentine, and he didn’t know the right time.” He stops in front of the desk and peers down at me like I’m some pathetic little child. “But I need you to listen to me now. Really listen, not like the other times when you shut me out.”
My head snaps up, and I know I must look like shit—eyes burning, face probably blotchy from the rage and the fucking tears. “So you’re here to tell me more bullshit, but disguise it as brotherly love?”
“The truth. All of it. I need you to finally listen to the truth, brother.”
The fight drains out of me all at once, leaving me hollow. I slump back in the chair, suddenly exhausted. What does it matter if I let him talk? Not like my day can get any worse. “I know what you’re going to say, but fine. Tell me your version of the truth. Tell me how I’m supposed to deal with the fact that my entire life has been a fucking lie.”
