Page 108 of Filthy Rich Silver Foxes
Max steps in, his posture tighter than before. “What would it take?” he asks, the words rougher than he probably intended. “To forgive him.”
The question hangs there, a jagged blade suspended between us.
Genevieve’s eyes flicker—not to me, not to either of them, but somewhere farther away.
“I don’t know,” she says finally. “I don’t know if I can.”
I feel the words land inside me, ripping me to shreds with clean precision.
I earned this. Every ounce of her doubt, her distance, her refusal to hand over trust, I shattered with my own hands.
I step closer, ignoring the way Silas stiffens and Max steps toward her. I need her to hear me. I fucked up. In so many ways. But I will do anything for another chance.
“I understand. I do. But I’m not ready to give up either. Let me take you to dinner.”
She brow furrows.
“Not a date,” I add quickly. “I just want to talk. No pressure. No demands. Just…an hour. One hour to say what I should have said months ago.”
Silas looks ready to object. Max shifts his weight, calculating risks. But Genevieve is the only one whose decision counts. She studies me for a long moment, weighing the offer.
Finally, she nods. “Okay.”
Relief surges through my body.
It’s not a second chance. But it’s something. And it’s more than I deserve.
* * *
I watch her across the table, studying every small shift—the way her fingers twist on the stem of her water glass, the tight set of her shoulders. She’s on edge, worn thin from everything I’ve dragged her through, but she’s here. And I am not stupid enough to waste that.
I lean forward slightly. “Thank you,” I say, my voice low and steady. “For letting me hear the heartbeat today.”
Genevieve’s gaze flickers to mine, wary, as if she’s still trying to decide whether this is a mistake. I don’t blame her. I gave her every reason to walk away. But some stubborn, reckless part of me needs her to see I’m not letting go again. Not without a fight.
I clear my throat, a rare show of nerves. “I was wondering...” I trail off for a second, the words sticking harder than they should. “Could I...have a copy? Of the ultrasound?”
She blinks, surprised. Then something in her face softens, just barely. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a small, folded printout, smoothing it between her fingers before sliding it across the table. Our hands brush briefly as I take it, and the contact—barely a touch—is enough to make my heart soar.
I study the grainy black-and-white image and my throat tightens. We’re having a baby.
When I glance up, Genevieve is watching me. Not with anger or bitterness. Just...sadness. Like she’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“I’m not going to abandon you,” I say, forcing the promise past the thickness in my chest. “Not again. I’ll take the paternity test. I’ll jump through whatever hoops you want. Just…please.”
Genevieve’s mouth lifts in something that’s almost a smile. “It’s not just about showing up, Sebastian,” she says quietly. “It’s about staying. You don’t have the greatest track record there.”
I sigh, because she’s not wrong. “I didn’t bring you here to fix everything.”
She doesn’t respond, but her fork stills.
“I know I can’t fix what I broke that quickly.”
Genevieve glances up, her eyes wary, but clearer than before. “Then why are we here?”
I take a breath. “Because I fucking miss you. And you deserve the chance to say the things I wouldn’t let you say the first time.”
“You abandoned me with a note, Sebastian. After calling me yours, demanding I let you lay claim to me.”
