Page 141 of Filthy Rich Silver Foxes
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I’m sure Dom won’t bother us again.
The fear of prison time. The realization that nothing he does will change how we feel about Genevieve. Either way, he’s done with this chapter.
Heather’s harder to deal with.
She’s a cockroach. But even cockroaches scatter when you shine the right light.
I make sure that light finds her.
It’s not hard once you know where to look. I leak just enough of her dirty dealings—strategic partnerships, backroom property flips, bribes masked as “consulting fees”—to a journalist I know won’t bury it. The kind who sees blood in the water and goes straight for the kill.
Within forty-eight hours, the first story breaks.
By the end of the week, it’s an avalanche.
Suddenly, Heather’s face is all over the news. She tries to spin it, of course. Tries to cry foul. Claims victimhood. No one buys it. Her social circle turns on her faster than a pack of wolves. Investors pull out. Clients vanish.
By the time the dust settles, she’s a pariah.
Genevieve doesn’t even know the half of what I did. And I’m not telling her. She doesn’t need the stress. All she needs to know is that the people trying to hurt her are finished.
And yeah, I sleep better at night because of it.
Especially now.
Because by the time the leaves start turning and the air shifts into something crisp and golden, everything else in our lives is shifting too.
Genevieve’s twenty-eight weeks along now.
The difference is staggering.
The once tiny bump is unmistakable now. Her body has changed, reshaped itself around the life growing inside her, and Jesus, if it doesn’t wreck me every time I look at her.
She moves through the loft with this gentle grace. Max jokes that she’s nesting. Sebastian acts like he’s above it all, but I catch him looking at her all the damn time and the look on his face is one I’ve never seen before.
We’re all a little wrecked over her.
It’s evening and Genevieve is curled up on the couch, her hair pulled into a messy knot, a blanket draped over her legs. Max is sprawled on the floor beside her, building some complicated baby contraption that requires an engineering degree to assemble.
Sebastian's in the kitchen, whipping up some dinner for us all.
I sit at the far end of the couch, nursing a beer, watching all of it. Watching her.
She catches me staring and smiles.
It guts me, how easy she makes it look. How easy she makes all of this feel. I didn’t think I’d ever find something permanent, someone who matched my energy. But I did and she’s it. The one…
Genevieve shifts, trying to reach the glass of water on the coffee table. Before she can struggle too much, I’m there, handing it to her. She gives me a look.
“I’m pregnant, not incapacitated," she teases softly.
I grin, dropping down beside her. “Yeah, well, doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop spoiling you.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.
Max looks up from his battlefield of plastic parts. “You mean enabling her?"
