Page 109 of Filthy Rich Silver Foxes
“I didn’t expect this,” I say, and the admission costs me more than I like.
“No one did,” she says. “But it’s happening.”
And she’s right.
I open my mouth to say something else. I don’t know what. Something about being there. About stepping up. About what this could still be, if she’d let it—but the fragile moment we were building shatters into a thousand pieces.
Heather.
She walks in with that same calculating sway. She zeroes in on me immediately, cutting across the room without hesitation, ignoring everyone in her path.
Genevieve’s body goes rigid. The warmth drains from her face so quickly, I’m not even sure it was there in the first place.
Heather reaches my side and, before I can stop her. “There you are,” she says brightly.
Genevieve rises without a word. Her chair scrapes back, her napkin drops to the floor, and I feel the air change.
“Right,” she says, her voice clipped, hollow. “This was…this was a mistake, Sebastian. You’ll have a role in their life, but not mine. We should…let’s just communicate through our lawyers going forward.”
Then she walks away. Is this what she felt like when I left her on that island? I am a fucking bastard and I don’t deserve any amount of her attention. But I can’t walk away now.
Heather says something, but I don’t hear it.
Because I’m already on my feet, moving after the only person in this room that matters.
I’m out the door before the rest of the dining room can register the commotion. The evening air is chilly, but not enough to numb the edge cutting through my chest. Genevieve’s already halfway down the block, moving fast, arms wrapped around herself like armor.
“Genevieve,” I call, sharp enough to cut through the noise of the street.
She doesn’t stop.
I lengthen my stride, closing the distance until I’m directly behind her. “Stop.”
She spins, chin high, eyes flashing with fury.
“What, Sebastian?” she demands, voice shaking. “What do you want now? Haven’t you done enough?”
The words hit hard, but I take it. I deserve worse.
“I never slept with her,” I say, the words tearing out raw. “Heather. Nothing ever happened between us. Not before. Not now. It never will.”
Genevieve crosses her arms tighter over her chest, holding herself together with sheer force of will. I see her replaying every interaction, every doubt I didn’t silence when I had the chance.
“She’s been showing up. Everywhere. Uninvited,” I continue. “She doesn’t get it. I want nothing to do with her.”
Genevieve shakes her head slowly, disbelieving. “You didn’t deny it. When I asked you?—”
“I froze,” I snap, sharper than I intended. I rake a hand through my hair, exhaling hard. “I fucked up. I hesitated, and you thought it meant guilt. It wasn’t. It was...fear.”
She blinks, caught off guard. “Fear?”
I nod. “I don’t do relationships. I don’t do permanent. And you—” My voice drops, rough and unsteady. “You make me want things I don’t know how to deal with.”
Genevieve’s face softens, just a fraction. Enough to make the ache in my chest sharpen.
“I thought I was doing the right thing,” I say. “Letting you go. Letting you find someone who could give you the kind of life you deserve. Someone better. Safer.”
Her eyes widen, but she says nothing.
