Goldsin (The Chrysophilist Trilogy Book 1)
Goldsin: Chapter 5

I step into the Harrows’ penthouse, looking for Valentine, and immediately sense something is off.

I’ve spent most of my life in this place. When I was younger, it was because Valentine couldn’t—or rather, wouldn’t—trust a babysitter to look after me, so he took me wherever he went. Since his work consists of being at arm’s length from the Harrows at any given moment, we were here a lot. Then, when I grew older, it was because of Julian. Later, it became because of Adrian.

Whatever the reason, this penthouse has become a second house to me. Not home—there’s no warmth here.

The place is usually pristine. Its dullness is the reason I get goose bumps whenever I come here. There’s no personality, no color. That’s how I know something must be happening.

This is an unusual form of unsettling.

Petals are scattered on the marble floor, the vase the flowers were in now lying on its side on the round table in the center of the foyer. With a gust of wind it could roll off, meeting the petals with a crash.

I make my way to the formal living room and freeze.

Something is seriously wrong!

Papers fall from between the hands of the scattering guards as they hurry in different directions. But no one makes a sound.

It’s like sitting front-row at a silent play. No one dares to speak. Their expressions are enough to convey the disarray. If I had to guess, I’d think they were afraid to attract Lucian’s anger.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my years spent here, it’s that Lucian hates turmoil. Especially when he isn’t the instigator of it.

“Hey!” I shout at a passing guard. “What’s going on?”

“Vincent DeMarco is dead,” he pants, recoiling at his own words. “The Consortium’s in chaos.”

A thrill spikes through me, but I feign shock.

I wounded the Inferno Consortium with just one kill. Imagine what will happen when more die.

Is this what Valentine was talking about last night? Could this be an opening for me to slither in and cause more damage?

I need to replace him.

“Thanks.”

Nodding, he disappears down the corridor.

“Looking for someone?” A smooth yet sharp voice stops me, stirring whatever he awakened within me at the fundraiser.

I steel myself as I turn to face him.

Guards rush past him and he remains unbothered, leaning against the wall as his gaze darkens. Julian’s features sharpen as he stares at me, making it impossible for me to understand what’s going on in that head of his.

“Valentine.” I cut to the chase. The less time I spend here with him, the better it’ll be.

“Right,” he drawls, hands in his pockets. “Our little chat at the fundraiser last night must have left you longing for more civilized company.” The faintest of grins stretches his lips.

I press my lips together, my heart squeezing. Memories of the way his touch felt as it molded to my curves, held me obedient, flood back in.

But it’s the way he’s staring at me now that makes my blood turn cold. Not hot, but a chilling emptiness. Because it only serves to remind me of the void he left in me the moment he decided I wasn’t worth his time, attention, or affection.

Julian Harrow and I need to keep to our separate paths. Just like we have done for the past ten years.

“Hardly.” I scoff. “I just need to talk to him.”

“Of course.” He pushes off the wall and takes small, deliberate steps toward me. The depth in his eyes locks me into place. “But if you ever get bored of tasting the same old⁠—”

“Julian!” A sharp voice interrupts him.

A woman with legs half my height stands at the far end of the foyer. Her eyes are the darkest black I’ve ever seen, and she has long brown hair. A white knitted dress is draped elegantly over her figure.

That’s a Rabanne chain-detailed midi dress. I’d recognize it with my eyes closed. Eleanora spoke about it maybe ten to twenty times last Friday when we met at her place for what she loves to call “pamper Friday.” She’s always had an eye for fashion, and with her family’s wealth she’s able to indulge in the latest trends. She says her extensive knowledge of fashion is a means of survival, because in a world like ours, the masks we choose to wear say more about our character than we’d like.

I guess that’s why I dress to catch the eye. I don’t want to cower away like they expect me to. I’m the odd one out, but that doesn’t mean I need to play the part.

“Your father needs you in his office.”

“Thank you, Lady Marlowe.” He gives me one last glance before turning to follow her.

Lady Marlowe.

My mind races with the probability that this is the same Lady Marlowe from my mother’s diary.

It’s impossible.

It can’t be the same Lady Marlowe.

Then again, the families who are a part of the Inferno Consortium span generations. No one else is called Marlowe if not a Marlowe.

But this woman is young. Her face doesn’t carry the weight of all her wrongdoings. Not yet at least.

She must be the daughter. Or a niece.

Whoever she is doesn’t take away from the fact she is a Marlowe. She may not have inflicted pain directly onto my mother, but she’s no saint. Not if she’s a member of the Inferno Consortium.

I need to replace Valentine and ask him to tell me everything he knows about this Lady Marlowe and her connection to the Harrows.

I need answers, and I need them fast.

Determined, I make my way through the corridor opposite the one Julian and Lady Marlowe disappeared down. With each step I take, questions assault my thoughts.

How long have the Harrows and the Marlowes been doing business for? Yes, they’re both members of the Inferno Consortium, but that doesn’t mean their front companies have to interconnect.

How am I going to play my way deep into Lady Marlowe to destroy her?

And most importantly, since when was Julian this involved in the family business?

Thinking of him doing the disgusting things I read in my mother’s diary leaves dread crawling up my spine. Could he have changed this much?

My pulse races. I hope not.

Why? Because seeing him again stirred up old feelings? Because I foolishly think we can just erase ten years and pick up where we left off?

Stupid.

Stupidly hopeful.

I need to stop thinking of Julian Harrow. But when I think back to Lady Marlowe, he invades my thoughts again.

How deep does Julian’s connection with Lady Marlowe go?

I can’t help but to dig deeper.

What if targeting Lady Marlowe will hurt Julian too?

I let him take root in my heart, where he once was and never left.

Why do I suddenly care about him?

Did I ever stop?

His recent interest in me is already complicating things. He’s finally talking to me after ignoring me for years, and I suddenly feel obliged to consider him when planning my next move.

He could throw everything to shit.

Or maybe, just maybe, he’s a blessing in disguise.

Can I use their friendship to bring her down?

I bite my lower lip, tasting the peach lip oil.

I don’t know anything about Lady Marlowe or her role in the Inferno Consortium, but if she’s here at the penthouse, talking directly with Lucian, then she’s ranked highly. Too highly for me to just ignore. I need to get close to her and learn her secrets, her weaknesses. Playing nice could be my best weapon—at least until I have more intel on her.

I’m about to get lost in the labyrinth of light gray walls, black-and-white marble floors, and the occasional abstract expressionist artwork, when I spot her sitting on the white cushions of the couch.

She must have escorted Julian to his father’s office and then headed through the adjoining corridor on the east side to get here before me.

Valentine can wait. When will I get another opportunity like this?

“Lady Marlowe?” I approach her with a confident stride even though my heart could give out at any second. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name’s Aurelia Draven.”

As I sit down next to her, every nerve in my body spikes, on high alert. I subtly scan the room in my peripheral for any potential intruders who might divert her attention from our conversation or cast a shadow of suspicion over me.

It’s no secret that my relationship with the Harrow brothers is complicated at best and lethal at worst. Me being at the penthouse isn’t weird since Valentine works here, the boss to every single one of these panicked guards, but if anyone replaces me speaking to a member of the Inferno Consortium without Adrian or Julian by my side, their suspicions could arise. Especially now that another empire has just crumbled.

But I’m not too worried.

I’m ready to deflect any intrusion with a distracting comment about the latest society gossip, or with a charming smile. I’m not blind to the way the guards look at me.

“Ah, you must be the golden one.” Her words slither down my body. “You’re quite the entertainment around here.”

Her voice pitches high on the last three words, carrying a sense of superiority that makes my teeth grind. Sharp black eyes sweep over me like scorching coal, making my gut instincts scream.

Danger, danger. You know nothing about her.

Ignoring it, I stand tall, chin jutted out, as I refuse to let my unease ruin this precious chance. Instead I evaluate her too, picking up every detail about her that could become a potential clue—a weapon to use or avoid.

Her long, chocolate-brown hair is pinned behind her shoulders, not even a strand out of place. The expensive Rabanne dress hugs her petite frame as she crosses her long legs.

She projects power and wealth.

Yet there’s something else that makes my heart thunder in my chest. Whatever lurks behind those vacant eyes, I recognize it all too well.

Calculating intelligence mixed with ruthless determination.

It’s like looking in a mirror. My own self is reflected in her gaze.

“I’ve heard about you.”

I force a smile onto my face. The fakest of smiles. “Only good things, I hope.”

I hope I look more confident than I feel.

“Depends on who you ask.” She glances at her immaculate bloodred nails. Each one is filed into a sharp point. The nail polish is such a deep shade of red it’s almost black. The cut of Lady Marlowe’s dress emphasizes the sharpness of her collarbone and the thinness of her arms.

A cruel elegance radiates from her. Like heat from a flame.

“Tell me, what brings you to mingle among our kind?”

Our kind. I try to let it slide, yet it burns along my skin.

“Curiosity, mostly. Your name is quite popular in certain circles too.”

“Is that so?” She raises an eyebrow. “Well, curiosity can be a dangerous thing, especially around here.”

“Sometimes danger is half the fun.” I notice the corner of her lips twitching in an almost-smile. “Besides, who doesn’t like a little excitement now and then?”

She hums in agreement. “But too much excitement can lead to trouble.”

“Trouble can be . . . interesting.”

“Perhaps,” she concedes, sweeping her fingers in front of her, letting the brightness of the long drop ceiling light bounce off her diamond rings, “if you have your family’s name to deal with incoming threats.”

“How resourceful!”

“It is.” Her expression softens ever so slightly at my sweetened words. “In fact, I’d wager there isn’t a situation we couldn’t handle if need be.”

“Your confidence is inspiring.”

Someone please take me now and choke me to death.

I have a feeling she’s too preoccupied with basking in the compliment to catch the fakeness in my voice.

“Thank you, Aurelia,” she responds, finally calling me by my name. “You’re quite the enigma, aren’t you? But I think I like you.”

“Likewise, Lady Marlowe.”

“Please, call me Victoria,” she insists.

Bingo.

That was way easier than I anticipated.

Tilting her body, she turns to face me. “Tell me, how did you come to know Julian?”

The implication in her question is obvious: How does an orphan girl, daughter of a whore, befriend the prince of the Harrow family—of the Inferno Consortium?

“Ah, Julian,” I muse, thinking quickly about what to say. “We met through mutual friends. He’s quite the charmer, isn’t he?”

I leave out how we used to be childhood best friends before he decided to act like a dick and throw away years of friendship.

“He is,” she agrees, chuckling. Her eyes shine with mischief. “He always did know how to make an impression.”

“How long have you known him for?” I try my luck, my voice dripping with honeyed sweetness.

She narrows her coal eyes on me, leaving a trail of chills creeping over my body as I wait for her next move.

I try to remain at ease as I wait for her answer.

Then, when the seconds seem to stretch out, she lets out a giggle.

“Well, you see, our connection goes back several generations. My great-grandfather and Julian’s great-great-grandfather were close friends and partners in business, building new possibilities to . . . branch out. Let’s just say, their bond was passed down through the years.” She seems to hesitate for a moment, weighing her words before adding, “My mother and Lady Harrow were quite good friends when my mother was still alive.”

There’s no doubt now that she’s the daughter of the Lady Marlowe my mother mentioned in her diary.

“Partners in business? What kind of business?”

My mother’s diary gave me a different perspective into their world, but I’m Valentine’s daughter: I hear and see things.

“Various ventures,” she replies vaguely before going back to checking her nails. “Some more successful than others.”

“So Julian has been integral to your family’s success?”

“Absolutely.” She smiles as my blood turns cold. “He’s always had a keen mind for strategy and negotiation. In fact, he recently helped us secure a deal that has greatly expanded our influence.”

Ignoring the unfamiliar ache spreading inside of me, I dig deeper. “A deal, huh? Well, that doesn’t sound like Julian at all.”

Victoria feeds on the skepticism in my voice. She’d do anything to make her life, this included, seem interesting in the eyes of someone like me.

She cracks a smile. One that leaves me uneasy. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the details. But let’s just say, it’s been very profitable.”

This isn’t exactly what I wanted. Not even close. But at least I’ve answered one of my questions: I can use their relationship to my advantage. I can use Julian without feeling any guilt. Especially now that I know how tainted he is by the Inferno Consortium.

“Well, I must say, I’m impressed by Julian’s abilities.”

She hums in agreement. “I have no doubt he’ll continue to be an invaluable asset to both our families.”

I force a smile.

Something subtle but intrusive cracks inside of me, snapping, molding into something different. Something unrecognizable. Maybe I was still holding onto hope, onto that version of Julian I trusted with my naïve heart. But I should have stopped long ago. I should have tossed all hope the moment he trashed everything we were. When he decided I no longer mattered.

I shouldn’t have hoped for a viper to be nonvenomous.

The Inferno Consortium takes and takes, leaving a shell of a human in return. Leaving a hungry man willing to do anything to fill that void again.

And Julian Harrow? He’s ravenous.

“I’m in quite a generous mood today. Almost forgot about that hopeless case of a man dying.” Her eyes gleam when they take me in. “I’m hosting an intimate gathering at my cabin tonight. I’d be delighted if you could . . . join us.”

“I’d love to. Thank you, Victoria.”

This is exactly the opportunity I need. Attending this party will allow me to start mapping out Victoria’s routine, replaceing the cracks in her curated façade. I have to be ready. I need to be two steps ahead of her, predicting each of her actions before she even considers them.

This party is my chance to strike.

“Excellent.” Her smile widens. “And you’ll be attending with Julian, of course. After all, you guys are friends.”

“Of course,” I echo. Great.

He’s the one person who could sabotage everything and he’s already suspicious of me. How will I get him off my back in there?

Maybe if I tell him to meet me there, I can arrive a bit earlier and use the extra time to snoop around and talk to people.

I’ll need to be good at getting closer to Victoria while keeping Julian in the dark about my true intentions.

“Perfect!” She claps her hands as she gets up to leave. “I’ll let him know the details,” she says from over her shoulder, her voice fading as she rounds the corner. “It’s sure to be a memorable evening.”

What?

“Wait, Victoria⁠—”

But it’s too late. She’s already gone.

“Perfect,” I huff, sinking down between the cushions . . .

And the doomed realization there is no escaping Julian Harrow.