Goldsin (The Chrysophilist Trilogy Book 1)
Goldsin: Chapter 14

The gym is my sanctuary.

It’s the place where I can release all the anger and frustration building up inside of me day after day. Hour after hour.

My shadow dances in the afternoon sunrays as I pound away at the brown punching bag hanging from the ceiling. My fists pulse in time with each thud against the heavy leather, while sweat drips down my face, soaking into the waistband of my sweatpants.

All the rage I feel toward Aurelia and her stubborn refusal to tell me why she killed DeMarco oozes out of me.

Slowly. One punch after the other.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, gritting my teeth.

She’s just as stubborn as I am, and it drives me insane.

I know what she’s hiding . . . but goddamn it, I just want her to trust me enough to tell me herself. I’m not asking too much.

I’m five punches into my set when I hear the irritating voice of my best friend.

“Oi.” Emeric saunters in, beaming his thanks for whoever was latched around his dick this morning. “You’re really giving that bag a beating, mate. What’s got you so riled up?”

Panting, I stop my assault on the punching bag and grab the towel I left on the floor, dabbing at the beads of sweat trailing down my neck.

Sometimes I forget how irritatingly perceptive this asshole can be. He’s always able to guess when something is upsetting me. I take it that’s what makes a best friend, but even if we weren’t friends, I know he’d be able to read me like a book. We’re each other’s missing piece.

That sounds like a cliché, but I don’t give a fuck. This guy is my right-hand man. We’ve been friends since we were in diapers.

Emeric’s family moved here from Manchester, England, seeking a new life as members of the Inferno Consortium. His father wanted to expand his wine business, Grimward Manor Vineyards, in ways that couldn’t be achieved without getting his hands dirty.

But I have my mother to thank for our friendship, because it’s thanks to her and Lady Grimward that I got to meet this shithead. Emeric isn’t just my best friend; he’s closer than blood could ever make us.

He knows about the way Lucian treats my mother—treats me. He’s been by my side through everything, the closest thing I have to a brother outside of Adrian.

He is family. More so than my actual family.

“Adrian and Aurelia this morning.” I throw the towel back to the floor and go for the water bottle instead. “They are driving me insane.”

“Ah yes, the lovely Aurelia.” He leans against the wall, and a devilish glint appears in his eyes as he asks, “How’s your little game with her going? Still trying to break down her walls?”

“Did some damage here and there.” I smirk at him even though the muscles in my neck strain at hearing her name. I have a lot to do this morning, with my father breathing his orders down my neck, yet I’ll need to throw some punches for a few more hours to ease my nerves.

I clench my fingers around my bottle and spray some water over my face, combing my hair back with my fingers. “How are things going with Eleanora? You should have her teach Aurelia some of her tricks.”

Emeric’s face darkens slightly at my words. I swear I love the guy deep down.

“Don’t worry about me, mate,” he says dismissively before averting the conversation from my little comment, knowing damn well it would be useless to go at it. “I’m just enjoying our time together for however long it lasts.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Come on, Emeric,” I drawl, enjoying the way his cheeks redden, jaw clenching. “Everyone can see you’re smitten with her, mate.”

“Really, Julian?” He scoffs. Emeric hates it when I talk back in British. He thinks I do it to mess with him. He’s right. “We’re fuck buddies, nothing more.”

Ah, come on.

“Really?” is all I say, not quite believing him. “Anyone with two eyes can see the tension brewing between you two.” I throw the bottle at his chest, and he catches it, a chuckle reverberating around the gym.

Emeric hesitates—a rare occurrence for someone as talkative as him. He looks around the room, anywhere but at me, before silently admitting, “It doesn’t matter . . .” He presses his lips together, contemplating his next words. No—more like digging them deep within him before pushing them out. “Even if there was . . . even if there was more to this,”—he looks me dead in the eye—“it wouldn’t change anything.”

I stay quiet, my brow furrowing as I wait for him to continue. I know if I push him for answers, it’ll only take him longer to tell me.

“Her parents have arranged for her to marry some Italian prick next year, so whatever this is between us, it’ll be over soon enough.”

“What? Eleanora’s getting married? To who?”

“Some rich family from Rome. Can’t remember his name, but it’s all been settled.” His gaze flicks to the side, and I can tell this is bothering him more than he wants to admit.

“Fuck . . .” I mutter.

Eleanora and Emeric’s “love story” has been ongoing for years. They may like this little arrangement they have going on, but I know it’s cutting at him.

The thought that things might be ending stings even the strongest of people. No one likes change. Especially change that is permanent.

I’m not too close to Eleanora, but I still feel somewhat sorry for her too. She deserves better than a loveless marriage built on business connections.

Everyone does.

“Anyway.” Emeric clears his throat, changing the subject once again. “I found something that night at Victoria’s cabin that might interest you.”

My curiosity piqued, I raise a brow. “What was it?”

He hands me a worn out piece of paper. “This.”

I flip the paper between my fingers. It looks like it’s been torn from somewhere. A book, maybe? No. It’s handwritten. Perhaps a diary?

“Where did you say you found this?”

“It fell from Aurelia’s hand when we entered the library,” he says, a smile creeping out.

I flick my eyes from the piece of paper to him and back. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with this? It’s old and”—I wrinkle my nose—“smells like death mixed with sex.”

“Would you just bloody read it, mate?” he snaps, pushing the hand holding the paper closer to my face.

I do as he says and scan the crumpled paper. With the smudged ink, it takes me longer to decipher what the messy handwriting says, but as I read on, I feel this growing sense of disgust and confusion in the pit of my stomach.

“Master says I must be more obedient,” the writing says. “He tells me I am not allowed to disobey him again, or else I will be punished. I don’t know what I did wrong, but I promise. I promise to be better. For him.”

“Who the fuck wrote this?” I lift my eyes to meet Emeric’s expectant gaze. The smug expression he had before is now long gone, replaced by something far more serious.

“Keep reading.” Nodding his chin toward the paper, he urges me to continue.

Even if I don’t want to, I return my attention to the disturbing words as my stomach turns in on itself.

“Master says I cannot speak to anyone unless spoken to first. He tells me I am too opinionated and that I need to learn my place.”

“Master says he will teach me where I belong.”

“Jesus Christ,” I breathe, looking up at Emeric again. “What the hell is this?”

“Like I said, Aurelia dropped it when you practically dragged her out of the library like a caveman claiming his prize.”

My grip tightens on the paper, crumpling it even more. I stare at him. “This is fucked-up, Emeric.”

Why was Aurelia reading this? Did she write it?

“This isn’t all of it.” He closes the distance between us, dragging his finger over the page still clutched in my hands, bypassing sentences that send chills down my spine. “I was confused too when I was reading it. But it was here”—he points to a specific line—“that everything made a little more sense.”

“Lucian wants me dead.”

My chest constricts as the words slam into me at full force, and my mind starts to race with a million questions.

What the hell is going on? Who does Lucian want dead? Is it Aurelia?

Dread creeps up my spine, wrapping itself around my heart. The thought of Lucian putting his filthy hands on her twists my insides; tortures me in the slowest of ways. If I’m not able to protect her after everything I’ve done and sacrificed . . .

Fuck.

Without wasting any more time, I march out of the gym. I need to replace Aurelia, and this time she’d better give me some answers.

I’m done being—acting—patient.

“Not even a kiss goodbye?” Emeric fakes a pout at my retreating form.

I don’t even bother to reply.

I’m outside my apartment in seconds. I don’t even consider the security guards nodding my way as I pass them. Storming down the corridor, I opt for the stairs, jumping down three at a time to get there faster.

My heart pounds in my chest, matching the frantic rhythm of my breath as it heaves between gritted teeth.

“Lucian wants me dead.”

Those four words taunt me, haunting the depths of my mind as I reach her apartment.

I pick the lock of her door and sprint toward the stairs up to her bedroom.

As if the house itself is holding its breath, the whole place is in an eerie silence, anticipating the confrontation to come.

I reach her bedroom and slam the door open. The knob leaves a small dent on her teal wall.

But she isn’t here.

The room is empty, devoid of what I’m searching for. My fists clench, impatience twisting into knots inside of me.

I am so tired of having to wait for that stubborn girl to come clean about DeMarco’s death. It’s well past time for me to get the words rolling out of that tight little mouth.

How is my dad involved in all this? Why?

Stepping back into the hallway, I strain my ears for any sound that might give away where she is. Not that this place isn’t too big for me to just barge into every room.

As if on cue a faint humming reaches my ears. I turn my head to the left, my gaze falling to the bathroom on the far side of the hallway. The only bathroom in this house. My pulse quickens. As if I’m walking in slow-motion, with each step closer to her my anticipation worsens, going feral for me to be faster.

The door is slightly ajar, and I silently peer through the gap.

There she is.

I lose sense of my anger, robbed to the bones of it.

Aurelia is standing in front of a full mirror, steam swirling around her figure. Her bare skin glistens, while the other half of her is wrapped in a towel. A towel I so want to hook my fingers around and throw to the ground.

I trail my gaze over the same curves that haunt my dreams. The towel leaves little to the imagination. It’s just a tease. A little disturbance.

Her lips part slightly as she hums softly, following the tune of the song playing through her phone. The sound makes my dick twitch, but the images that rush behind my eyes next are what undo me.

“Please,” she moans in my ear, tongue darting out to flick my earlobe.

Her thighs squeeze my waist, a small roll of her hips as she grinds over my pants. The black skirt she’s wearing rides up as my hands roam the length of her thighs, up to her hips.

“Aurelia . . . I can’t—” I groan as her fingers thread through the hair at the back of my neck, pulling back so hard I see the darkness in her eyes.

My fingers squeeze lower on her ass, and I bite at her skin to give back the same pain.

But she likes it.

Her eyes narrow just a little. Just enough.

Her tongue peeks out from her pink lips, and she gives one last roll of her hips. “Please.” Lips pulling up in a smirk at my hiss, her hands fall down my chest, hook around the hem of my pants, and dip inside. “I want to feel you.”

But her hand isn’t reaching for my dick right now. No—it’s going for a flat iron instead. And just as fast, the anger from before storms back in at full force.

She is defiant to the very end.

My teeth grind together as I watch her straighten a strand. She knows how much I love those curls, and yet here she is, erasing a part of herself I adore. But this isn’t the only thing that boils my blood. It’s the realization that even when she’s alone she replaces the need to hide behind a mask.

Cautious, I push the door open just enough that I can slip through without her noticing me. She’s standing in front of the full-length mirror on the right side of the bathroom, meaning I’m out of her line of sight.

I creep further in, my eyes frozen on her every movement. She lets the long strand fall and goes to straighten another one.

She seems so at ease, unaware of the havoc I’m about to unleash.

I take one last step. I’m right behind her. Her perfume tugs at my dick, but I ignore the surging feeling that overtakes my body.

I inhale her addictive scent one more time. Then I let my prey know she’s not alone.