Page 87 of Goldrage
I stare at the matte black metal, turning it over slowly. One squeeze. That’s all it would take. One tiny movement and all of this—the lies, the manipulation, the crushing weight of being nothing but a pawn in everyone else’s game—it would all just… stop.
This is the only way I’ll ever truly escape.
The bullet in this gun is my only peace.
But what about the child?
I want that child. I need it.
But…
Maybe it doesn’t need me.
No one does.
The barrel is cool against my temple. My finger finds the trigger. I inhale a slow, final breath.
A knock at the door splits the silence. “Mr. Harrow?”
I flinch as the guard’s voice yanks me back from the edge. My hands are shaking so much, I almost drop the gun, so I holster it quickly. I stumble toward the door and open it.
“Mr. Harrow, do you need?—”
I shove past the guard without a word. His questions follow me down the hall, but they’re just noise. Everything is just noise.
Soon, I reach my bedroom. The door takes the full force of my rage as I slam it hard enough to rattle the paintings on the walls. I don’t give a fuck. Let the whole fucking estate shake apart. It’s not mine anyway, so I’ll happily see it burn.
I grab a whiskey bottle off my nightstand and unscrew the cap. I start chugging. Maybe if I drink enough, fast enough, my body will just give up. Maybe I won’t wake up tomorrow to face this nightmare that used to be my life. The bottle is only half full, though, and considering how much I’ve been drinking lately, I doubt that amount is enough to poison me.
I collapse on the bed fully clothed, blood still seeping from my knuckles, and pull the covers over my head like I’m five years old again. Like the monsters can’t find me herein the dark.
But they’re already here, all around me.
Mother, playing god with my life to secure her own power. Valentine, drowning in guilt but never enough to actually save me from Lucian’s fists. Aurelia, wrapping her revenge in pretty words about love while she used me. And Adrian—fuck, Adrian hurts the worst. My brother. Who watched silently all along while I twisted myself into knots trying to survive.
They all had their games. Their schemes.
I was the only one without an agenda. I just wanted to fuckinglive.And I was the only one stupid enough to believe that love might be real, that family might mean something.
Lucian’s voice rings in my ears.
“Trust no one, boy. Everyone who claims to love you has an agenda. Everyone who offers you comfort wants something in return. In this world, you are alone—always alone. The sooner you accept that, the stronger you’ll become.”
That’s the only honest thing the bastard ever told me.
I am alone. Completely, utterly, devastatingly alone in a world where everyone sees me as a game piece to be moved or sacrificed according to their whims. My mother wants power. My biological father wants absolution. My brother wants redemption. The woman I loved wanted revenge.
No one ever just wanted me.
The sobs come harder this time, ugly and raw, muffled by my pillow. My whole body shakes from the force, years of suppressed emotion pouring out in waves that leave me gasping and choking on my own grief.
I want to choke.
I want to break apart.
I just want to die.
Lucian was right. He was always right.
