Goldsin (The Chrysophilist Trilogy Book 1)

The nauseating scent of a Cuban cigar whirls around me. Lucian’s office is covered in a thick layer of smoke, hiding the gold leaf on the mahogany bookshelves from my eyes.

I’m standing in front of his desk, yet his presence towers over me. I shuffle my feet on the plush Persian rug with the pestering need to leave this place.

No one knows how much standing here is killing me.

It’s the middle of the day and the sun is shining outside, but the curtains are drawn. Long shadows are cast across the waxed surface of Lucian’s desk from the torchiere lamp in the far corner of the room.

The tension between us is palpable.

Adrian is at his side, looking as composed as ever.

The smug bastard.

“DeMarco is dead,” Lucian growls. “We need to find out who did this.” His hands twitch, a tangible echo to his seething rage.

The room seems to shrink under the weight of his anger. It hangs heavy in the room.

But Lucian’s anger isn’t anything new. Nothing unexpected for me.

It’s an old friend.

The way his jawline sharpens as he grinds his teeth together. The way his eyes darken, boring into me. The way his vein throbs in his forehead, threatening to burst at any moment.

I’m all too familiar with how much his own wrath dominates him.

The sight wrenches something within me. Not out of fear but recognition.

The man in front of me is the same one who haunts my mother at night, unleashing his fury upon her, punch after punch.

The familiar frosty glint in his eyes—the same color as mine—as he lifts his hand to her. The same protruding tendon tightening along his forearm like a steel cable. The same cruel curl of his lips after each blow meets its mark.

The man in front of me is an uncanny reflection of that monster. And just like in a nightmare, all I can do is stand by helplessly and watch the darkness lurk within him.

“Of course, Father.” Like the perfect obedient son he is, Adrian doesn’t waste any time in pleasing him. “We’ll do whatever it takes to find the person responsible.”

I let a chuckle filter through. Thorough and heavy. Intentional.

“I expect you to put your shit aside and focus on the task at hand,” Lucian snaps, slamming his fist down on the desk. “DeMarco’s death has caused a significant disturbance within the Inferno Consortium. This cannot go unpunished.”

“Understood.”

The truth is, I don’t give a damn about DeMarco or the Consortium, and they know that. I’ve been making it obvious since the day I learned to talk. But then the years passed, and the longer I went against his orders, the more Lucian beat my mother. Things changed. Aurelia was no longer in my life and my mother needed me more than ever, so I learned to keep my opinions to myself and do Lucian’s dirty work for him.

Lucian breaks eye contact. “From what we’ve gathered,”—he stands from his chair and leisurely walks to the bookshelf, making a scene of scanning the shelves—“we believe one of those filthy whores killed him. He was found in his hotel room with an open bottle of champagne, his glass full, and another glass missing from the set.”

“Are we sure about that?” Adrian asks.

“Positive. It’s always the fucking whores,” Lucian spits before laughing, the raucous sound a cruel joke to the ears. “Just like your mother, eh, Julian?”

Darkness gathers in my sight at the mention of my mother. My nails, unyielding, dig into the soft flesh of my palm as I clench them. The urge to punch the bastard right then and there itches under my skin, a tantalizing temptation dancing at the edges of my restraint.

But for her . . . for my mother’s sake, I hold back.

Last time I lost control she paid the price with two broken ribs.

Lucian has always been cunning at sniffing out vulnerability. Like a bloodhound on a hunt, he found mine in her—our mother. He uses her to manipulate me into taking part in the family business.

Adrian, on the other hand, doesn’t need Lucian to control him. He fell in love with the family business at first sight. His one true love.

He cares about our mother, but never before the business.

“Leave her out of this, you piece of shit.”

“Watch it,” he warns.

Then, just like that, he shifts gears with practiced ease, his disregard for anything but power evident. Not even his own wife is more important.

“We need to find the whore who killed DeMarco, and we need to do it now.”

I listen to my brother as he goes through the file containing every girl who was working that night. He states their name and their hour stamp before coming up with a list of five suspects.

While I remain with only one.

The blood staining her breast. Her flushed state. Her late arrival.

The details of DeMarco’s death flood my mind as I try to make sense of it. How did she manage to do it? To watch the life drain from a man’s eyes is no simple task.

I can’t believe she did it, but that unexplained bloodstain on her breast haunts me. Taunts me. And then DeMarco dies? There’s no such thing as a coincidence. Not when it has something to do with her.

What is her motive? Why did she want DeMarco dead?

The more I think, the more unanswered questions I have.

“Julian.”

Lucian’s harsh voice snaps me out of my thoughts. He’s looking at me like he would kill me if I weren’t his son.

“I need you and Adrian to handle the fallout from DeMarco’s death.”

“Understood,” I reply tersely, a headache forming at the front of my head.

“Adrian, you’re dismissed.”

Lucian waves a hand at him and Adrian nods, leaving me alone with the sperm donor.

“And you, Julian.” His cold stare turns to me. “How are things going with Lady Marlowe? You know how important it is that we maintain a good relationship with her family.”

“Everything’s fine,” I lie.

In truth, I’ve been doing everything I can to avoid Victoria. Just the sound of her irritating voice is enough to shrink my dick.

“See that it stays that way,” he warns. “The Marlowes are too valuable an ally to lose because of your foolishness.”

“Of course.”

“Good. Now go.”

Just as I’m stepping out of his office, Victoria saunters in.

She’s the epitome of the classic Inferno Consortium daughter. Her chin juts out defiantly as if challenging the world to knock her down a peg. Her spine is rigidly straight.

Every inch of her screams power. She knows her worth and she doesn’t shy from showing it, imposing it, on others.

Emotions? They’re nowhere to be found on her face. She’s stoic. A smooth, unreadable statue.

She is who Lucian wanted me to be. And I guess this is why I hate her more than I should.

“Julian,” she purrs while my patience evaporates, “I was just coming to invite you to my party tonight. It’s going to be quite the event.” She leaves the nature of the party hanging in the air like a ghostly secret. But I know all too well what her parties look like.

Lucian does too, more than anyone else here. He used to attend them every time, but now he prefers to host them.

The unspoken promise of decadence and debauchery is a familiar tune to my ears.

Her black eyes sparkle as they trail up and down my navy hoodie and jeans. I could be wearing a clown suit and her eyes would still fucking sparkle.

Turning around, I slowly smirk at Lucian. “As tempting as that sounds, I have other plans tonight,” I tell her as I stare at him, my voice dropping an octave.

“Are you sure?” She takes a step closer before running her fingers down my arm. “It’s going to be a night to remember.”

“Positive,” I say flatly, brushing her hand off me. I walk past her, leaning close to her ear to whisper, “I’m not Emeric. My dick doesn’t just get hard for anything that walks. So cut the shit.”

Her eyes widen at my words, the sparkle gone.

Good.

Without waiting for a response, I move to leave my father’s office. I’m about to step over the threshold, relieved not to be forced to look at their faces for another second, when her tight voice cuts through the silence.

Loud enough for Lucian to hear.

“What a shame. I guess the golden one—what’s her name again? Oh right, Aurelia—will be left alone tonight.”

I stop dead in my tracks. “I’m not in the mood, Victoria.”

“And I’m not one for jokes.” She laughs, her gaze jumping to my father’s as his attention zeroes in on us. “At least she had the decency to show appreciation for the invite.”

Bullshit. Aurelia has never attended any of the Inferno Consortium events—why would she now?

Because she isn’t dating Adrian and he isn’t keeping her from attending anymore, the voice in the back of my head taunts.

Images of Aurelia among them, vulnerable and exposed, flood my thoughts.

Vulnerable and exposed for you, the voice echoes.

“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’ll be there.”

“Great!” she exclaims. “The party is at nine at my cabin. You remember the dress code. Be a gentleman and let her know?”

I grunt in response, leaving the room with her nagging voice trailing behind me.

Tonight I’ll go to the party. Tonight I’ll find out whatever secret Aurelia is hiding. Tonight I’ll play with her. Tonight . . .

She’ll be mine.

The sun is setting on the horizon, bathing Seattle in glowing hues of orange.

I’m standing outside Aurelia’s apartment. The walls of the corridor, lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, showcase the breathtaking contrast between the city skyline and the fiery background as they capture the essence of the sunset hour.

My shadow stretches long and thin on the marble beneath me as I pick at the lock of her apartment door. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts from beneath the door, mingling with the subtle hint of fresh laundry. Or maybe . . . vanilla?

I know she’s the one who killed DeMarco. I don’t have concrete proof yet, but I know she did it.

I haven’t been able to shake the thought all day.

That’s why I’m picking at the lock and slipping inside.

I need to find proof.

Without making any noise, I make my way through the short corridor to the living room before heading upstairs to her bedroom.

I know every inch of this apartment, every turn and every wall an echo of my past, a maze I could walk through with my eyes closed after the countless nights I snuck through these corridors in pitch-darkness.

Valentine knew about my break-ins. He never said or did anything about them. After all, it was his teaching that turned me into a lock-picking expert.

I still remember that sun-drenched afternoon he spent with me outside his apartment, where he told me, “The world doesn’t leave any door open for you. You’ve got to break yourself in.”

New pictures decorate the white walls now. Memories I wasn’t a part of. But there are also whispered stories of our unforgotten shared past.

A chill creeps over my body as I let the familiar surroundings wash over me.

Each corner holds a memory that tugs something deep within.

How long has it been since I last set foot in here?

Pushing open her bedroom door, I step inside. My legs go weak as everything that’s changed crashes down on me.

Her honey perfume still clings to the air. At least that much hasn’t changed. Its sweet scent sends a shiver down my spine. It reminds me of the summer nights she would lay her head on my chest and I would play with her curls, our laughter ringing wild as we counted the stars.

Shaking off the haunting memories, I give the room a quick scan.

Everything has changed.

Her room is no longer a space containing the best memories of my life. Her room is now a stark reminder that she’s no longer mine. That we’re once again strangers.

This isn’t the same room I visit in my dreams. This isn’t the same room I was in last time, years ago.

There are no pink stripes on the walls. Instead they’re a cold shade of teal, covered with artwork I’ve never seen before.

I feel like an outsider, a stranger heading to meet the woman Aurelia grew up to be.

I feel like she slammed a door on our past.

Shaking off the burning need to get to know this new version of her, I search every inch of the room for what I came here to find.

I look under her bed. Behind the stack of papers hiding the books displayed on the white wooden bookshelf. My fingers graze the small bottles on the vanity table and the softness of her honey-scented bedspread.

But all I find is her.

She is everywhere. In every little figurine adorning her desk. In every paintbrush lying on the floor. In every colorful notebook with strings of material and paperclips peeking out of it.

I’m picking up the notebooks, skimming through them, when a leather-bound book hidden beneath a pile catches my attention.

This one looks worn out, less vibrant than the others.

I know whatever I’m searching for is written in these pages.

I flip it open, and torn pages stare back at me. I’m about to flip to the next one when her voice drifts toward me.

“My lingerie drawer is over there, creep.”

A smirk curves my lips, and I turn around to look at her.

There she stands, leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. The gesture pushes her cleavage further up, calling for my attention.

Tempting. But all of her is. Always has been.

Every inch of her calls for my gaze to linger over it.

Her curves are wrapped in a pair of emerald sweatpants. The color makes her green eyes pop, flecks of burned honey catching the light. A black tank top hugs her stomach, accentuating each dip of her body. A faint strip of her lower belly is bare.

Her inviting lips, the color of ripe summer peaches, curl into an insufferable smirk that sends a jolt straight to my dick. She’s clearly amused by my intrusion. Or she hopes to give that impression. Hopes I won’t notice the way her eyes keep calling to the diary still in my hand.

“Now, why would I go through all this trouble for some lingerie?” I ask, taking a step toward her.

Her hair’s in a messy bun on top of her head. My heart thuds heavily in my chest as I take in the sight of her this close up.

From the smattering of freckles dusting her nose to the soft flush on her neck down to her chest, she’s painfully beautiful. The only kind of agony I’d endure for life.

“No,” I continue slowly. My eyes travel leisurely down the expanse of her body, catching the invisible shiver I leave behind. “I want something . . . more.”

Something worth my time. Something worth the time I lost.

“Say it, Julian.”

“Why did you kill Vincent DeMarco?”

When I heard of DeMarco’s death, the only proof I needed was in the flustered way she was acting that night, DeMarco’s mysterious disappearance, and the bloodstain on her skin. Something inside of me screamed she did it. Or maybe it was only my hope that she was as tainted as me.

“Really?” She scoffs, walking toward me. “Do you really see me as a murderer, Julian?”

“I see you as someone who’s hiding something,” I retort, holding the diary up between us. “What’s in here that’s so important? Are you afraid I’ll find out the truth?”

She doesn’t waste time and snatches the diary from my grasp. I let her, amused at the lines that form in the middle of her brow as she tightens it against her chest. Her nose wrinkles ever so slightly.

“Sometimes people like to have an ounce of privacy. I have a diary, just like half of the population.” Her green eyes blaze with anger. “I didn’t kill DeMarco. And I didn’t write it in my diary. I may be secretive, but I’m not stupid.”

“Then what are you hiding?” I close the last remaining space between us and lower my gaze to her.

Too fucking little to be this lethal.

“None of your damn business,” she hisses, taking a step back.

She’s smart. She’s not running away.

“Everything is my business when it comes to you, Aurelia,” I growl, my headache mounting. “Especially when it involves you attending tonight’s party.”

“Ah, so that’s what this is really about.” She lets out a hollow laugh. “Afraid I’ll have too much fun without you?”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. If it’s not with me, I’ll still be there to watch.”

She has no clue what she’s getting herself into. The question is, why?

“What were you doing in that hotel room?” I ask.

She raises a brow. Her gaze falls behind my shoulder. “Who says I was even there?” she continues, her eyes narrowing to slits like the cuts of a gemstone. “You’re grasping at straws here, Julian. Just admit you don’t have any proof and move on.”

“If you won’t tell me, then give me the diary.”

“Absolutely not.” She clutches the book even tighter to her chest.

It’s cute, the way she thinks I won’t be able to take it from her with little to no force. But she knows me. She knows I don’t use force to get what I want. I prefer to use . . . different means.

“Do you know what you’ve caused?” I ask, taking a step closer to her. “The Inferno Consortium wants retaliation. They won’t grant you the same mercy you gave DeMarco. They will rip your soul. You’ll wish you were dead.”

“Your precious Consortium, huh?” She scoffs, her lips pulling downward as she tilts her chin up, her gaze frozen on mine. “You really think I give a damn about that cesspool of corruption and crime? If you’re so worried about me attending Victoria’s party, maybe you should be more concerned with what kind of people you associate with.”

“Cut the shit, golden one. You can’t seriously be shocked that I’m involved in my family’s business.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“No?” I move an inch closer.

Her neck strains to maintain eye contact.

“What should I call you then? The orphan? The motherless bitch? Or I could call you what some of my father’s guards call you. Wasted rat’s cum.”

The depths of her eyes blaze with untamed fury. Her body tenses to support the onslaught of emotion. Then, in a swift movement, her hand connects with my cheek in a piercing slap.

It’s strong enough to turn my face to the side and reach whatever softness I have left in me, cracking it.

“I may be the daughter of a whore,” she breathes, low and thunderous, “but at least I’m no son of a merciless killer who would watch you die before his empire.” Her voice is low but harsh enough to cut. “I may be motherless, but so are you, by your mother’s choice.” She stands on her toes, close enough for me to taste her words. “I may be wasted rat’s cum, but I live among you.” She smiles. “Now tell me, how fucking beneath you am I really?”

“Not even close enough for what I want.”

Her lips part, eyebrows mirroring mine as they meet in the middle.

Why does she want to attend tonight’s party? It doesn’t add up. It reeks of danger. Makes anger simmer inside of me. If I can’t convince her to stay away from Victoria’s party, then I need to steel myself for whatever chaos awaits us.

I need to be there too. Not because of Victoria, but for Aurelia. I need to shadow her steps. Shield her from unseen threats.

And maybe, while I’m at it . . . dig deeper into the secrets she’s keeping from me. Learn the reason why she did what she did.

“I’ll pick you up at eight.” I force myself to take a step back.

Striding over to her dresser, I yank open the top drawer. I’m already dreading what Victoria has in store for everyone. If Aurelia is so determined to attend, then she’ll do it in the correct way. But fuck, the last thing I want is to watch her get eye-fucked.

Rummaging through Aurelia’s delicate garments, I pick the first set of lingerie that fits the dress code but won’t reveal too much to the old scumbags.

“Here.” I toss the black lace teddy at her. “Wear this. You want to go to Victoria’s party? This is the kind of shit she expects her guests to wear.”

Aurelia catches the lingerie, and when she looks down at it, her cheeks turn a light shade of red. “You’re unbelievable, Julian,” she hisses. “I can’t believe you think I’d actually wear something like this just because Victoria fucking Marlowe says so.”

“Welcome to our world.” My voice drips with sarcasm. “You wanted to go to the party? That’s the price of admission. If you don’t like it, stay home.”

“Nice try. But I’m going with or without you.” She glares up at me, her eyes blazing with defiance.

“Please, don’t let me stop you.” I fix her with a hard stare, hoping to convey just how serious I am.

There’s no doubt in my mind that she’s hiding something from me. Something that has to do with DeMarco’s death. From the moment she walked into that ballroom to the moment she rushed away from Adrian, I never took my eyes off her.

There’s no other explanation for that goddamn bloodstain.

I know she killed him.

What I want to know is, why? Why did she kill DeMarco? What is their connection? What other secrets is she keeping from me? And how far will she go to protect those secrets?

If she’s really behind DeMarco’s death, I need to find out why she killed him before Adrian or the Inferno Consortium catch wind, otherwise there won’t be anything left of her.

Whatever pushed her to kill DeMarco had better be worth it. Because she’s five steps to hell. The devil’s right behind her.

And like fuck will I let her go through this alone.

“I hate you, Julian Harrow.”

“That’s too much of a compliment even for you, golden one.”