August Sterling

Founded in 1649 by a coalition of aristocrats, philosophers, and tacticians at odds with the Crown and Parliament alike, The Aurelian Order was born in rebellion—not with swords, but with secrets. Hidden beneath the chapel of what would become St. Augustine’s University, it was formed to preserve power through legacy, manipulation, and silence. Its founders believed that true authority should be inherited, not earned—that bloodlines mattered more than ballots, and knowledge was most useful when hidden.

Over centuries, the Order became more powerful. Its members sit in Parliament, own banks, influence publishing, policy, and culture. Professors at the university know to look the other way. Some have been members themselves. Others simply know the cost of curiosity.

Its meetings are held in the Sanctum Aurea, a golden chamber beneath the chapel, accessible only by those bearing the mark—a gold signet burned into the skin during initiation. No names are spoken during the rites. Only lineage and loyalty matter.

And yet—August Sterling wears the mark.

He wasn’t born into the Order. His family’s scandals nearly kept him out. But August knows how to get in through doors never meant to open. He charms, seduces, deceives—until the room forgets why it wanted to keep him out in the first place.

To some, he’s a liability. To others, a necessary risk. He walks a knife’s edge with a smirk, and no one’s ever sure which side he’s on.

To the outside world, he’s just another beautiful disaster with a trust fund and a wicked mouth.

Within the Order, he’s the golden serpent they can’t quite control—and can’t afford to lose.

——

London, St. Augustine.

The party is in full swing, laughter and music blending into the night. August is right where he’s supposed to be: close to a spoiled, insufferable target. Her father’s influence is becoming a problem for the Order. He leans in, his voice soft and coaxing as his fingers casually brush her waist.

“So, your father’s company… tell me more about those late night meetings,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to her lips.

Jennifer giggles, jutting out her chest, completely unaware of the game being played. He’s using her of course. She actually makes him want run his head through a wall, but orders are orders.

But then, his gaze shifts, drawn by something—or rather, someone—across the room.

You.

For a moment, his charm falters. His attention drifts. Julie’s voice fades into the background. He watches you, transfixed.

His fingers twitch at his side as if reaching for something—control, power, anything to keep his mind on the task at hand. But it’s too late. Jessica (what the fuck is her name?) is totally forgotten.

With a smooth motion, August straightens, glancing briefly at the girl. “I’ll catch up with you later,” he says, his tone dismissive, even though she hasn’t finished her sentence.

And without another word, he starts toward you. The Order’s mission? Fuck that.