Page 88 of Goldrage
Trust no one. Love no one. In the end, you are alone.
The only flicker of hope—pathetic as it is—is the child Aurelia carries. If it’s mine, maybe there’s one person in this world who might love me without an agenda. One tiny life that hasn’t been corrupted by the games everyone else plays.
I need that. Need it with a desperation that scares me.
I can keep going… but only for that child.
That baby is all I have left.
My sobs gradually fade to silence, leaving me empty. Something fundamental has died tonight, suffocated under the weight of too many truths. The boy who believed in love, in family, in the possibility of redemption—he’s gone forever.
What’s left is someone else. Someone who finally understands the rules of the game. Someone who won’t be anyone’s pawn ever again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
DANTE
Dawn bleeds through the curtains, and I stand at the window watching light creep across the manicured grounds. My reflection stares back from the glass—hollow-eyed, jaw clenched, looking every inch the composed Harrow heir.
Except I’m not composed. Not even close.
Julian’s words from last night tore away chunks of myself.
He spoke the truth. I failed him for years, and yet now I’m expecting to swoop in and make it all better. Like his forgiveness should come easily.
I haven’t earned it. My errors were too insidious.
I let myself believe that distance was protection, that my careful maneuvering behind the scenes could shield him from the worst of our world. I counted myself clever for diverting Father’s attention, for taking the brunt of his “lessons” when I could, for maintaining the facade of the perfect heir so Julian wouldn’t have to.
But facades don’t heal wounds. Strategic brilliance doesn’t mend a brother drowning in pain.
The estate grounds stretch before me, perfect in their order. Guards patrol predetermined routes. Gardeners tend to immaculate hedges. Everything precisely where it should be—except nothing is where it should be anymore. The very foundations of our world have cracked, and I can feel the tremors spreading outward, threatening to bring everything down.
My jaw tightens from my determination. Julian can hate me. He can rage and spit venom and call me every name his broken heart conjures. But I won’t let him destroy himself. Not while I still draw breath. Whether he wants salvation or not, I’ll drag him from this abyss.
Iwillearn his forgiveness, even if it takes the rest of my life. I’ll prove to him that I’ve changed and will never abandon him again.
I turn from the window, focusing my mind on the practical matters I must do now. Last night’s dinner didn’t just shatter Julian’s world, it sent fractures through every level of this household.
Julian hasn’t emerged from his room. The guards posted outside report nothing—no sounds, no requests, no sign of life. It’s as if my brother has simply ceased to exist, retreating so far into himself that even his presence has become a void.
Lady Harrow has bunkered down in Lucian’s old office. I walked past and heard her talking to someone. She’s likely been making phone calls to Consortium members, desperately trying to maintain control as she senses her empire might crumble. While I doubt she’d betelling anyone the truth, she’s working to solidify alliances. Damage control on an impossible scale.
Bianca, that wretched woman, has been meeting with her book club this morning, oblivious to the catastrophe unfolding around her. Part of me envies that ignorance. The larger part wants to shake her until reality penetrates her self-absorbed bubble.
But it’s the subtle shift in the guards that concerns me most. I noticed it the moment I stepped into the hallway this morning—the way conversations died mid-sentence, the uncertain glances that followed my movements. These men who once jumped at Julian’s slightest command now drift like ships without anchors, unsure where their loyalty should lie.
Valentine’s bombshell hasn’t just revealed a secret. It’s torn the very fabric of command that holds this organization together. If Julian isn’t true Harrow blood, then who commands their allegiance? The question hangs unspoken in every averted gaze.
Time to test exactly how deep this uncertainty runs.
I straighten my shoulders and pull open my door with deliberate authority. The two guards flanking my room snap to attention, hands moving instinctively toward their weapons—a nervous tic of men standing on shifting sand.
“I won’t be needing an escort today,” I say, keeping my voice low but firm. “You’re dismissed.”
They exchange glances, and I can read the conflict in their faces. Protocol demands they follow Julian’s standing orders; I’m to be accompanied at all times, a prisoner. But with Julian’s legitimacy in question, withthe very foundation of Harrow authority cracking beneath their feet…
After a heartbeat of hesitation, they step aside.
