Page 74 of Filthy Rich Silver Foxes
I didn’t answer her calls. I didn’t return her messages. I made it clear there was no future for us. And this is how she responds? Jumping into bed with the first two men who could give her a soft landing?
What the hell kind of game is she playing?
My expression turns cold, calculating. The part of me that once cared—the part that unraveled under the soft press of her mouth against mine—seals itself off without hesitation.
Just because she comes from wealth doesn’t mean she isn’t a gold-digging social climber. Plenty of girls like her go this route. Privilege is a better disguise than desperation. I’ve seen it before. Inherited money masking bottomless ambition. Perfect smiles hiding sharper teeth.
And Genevieve?
Maybe she played the sweet, nervous act better than most. Maybe she fooled me with those wide green eyes and that helpless little stammer when I pushed her past her limits.
She wasn’t looking for a job when she came to me. She was looking for a foothold. A name. A future secured not by talent, not by work, but by proximity to power.
I grit my teeth, feeling the raw slide of enamel against enamel, tasting iron in the back of my throat.
I should have seen it sooner.
Heather presses in closer, mistaking my silence for opportunity. Her perfume assaults my senses—too sharp, too synthetic—and the sound of her laugh scrapes down my spine. She says something else, something about a private afterparty, but her words dissolve into white noise.
“Fuck off, Heather.”
I don’t wait for her response beyond the offended scoff she supplies. I shift my gaze just enough to find Dom at the edge of the room. His posture is rigid, eyes already cutting toward me. Always watching. Always ready.
I catch his eye and lift my chin a fraction. He’s already moving, slipping through the crowd with military efficiency until he’s at my side.
"Problem?" he asks, voice low.
"Background check," I practically spit. I’m hanging onto my control by a goddamn thread at this point. "Genevieve St. Claire. I want everything. Anything and everything."
Dom doesn’t blink. He nods once, pulling his phone from his jacket pocket and disappearing into the crowd before the command even finishes leaving my mouth.
I stay rooted where I am, the storm inside me condensing into something darker. She might be an innocent little thing on the outside, but people always leave footprints. Paper trails. Scandals buried just deep enough to be forgotten by the masses, but never far enough to escape someone willing to dig.
I’m coming for you, sweetheart. Actions have consequences. And it’s time to live with yours.
Chapter22
Silas
Genevieve hasn’t stopped trembling since we left the ballroom.
She tried to convince us we should stay, said people were expecting it, that we couldn’t just bail halfway through the event. But that’s bullshit. She’s not okay, and I’m not about to force her back into a room that rattled her so badly she could barely stand upright.
Max didn’t argue. One look at her was enough.
Now she’s curled into the corner of the back seat, arms crossed tight against her stomach, staring out the window like if she focuses hard enough, the night might swallow her whole. Her hands keep twisting in her lap, knotting and unknotting the fabric of her dress until it’s a wrinkled mess.
Max slides in beside her, shutting the door with a little more force than necessary. He doesn’t say anything at first. Neither do I. He’s stiff beside her, one arm braced along the seat back, his eyes locked on her reflection in the glass. Watching. Calculating. Probably trying to figure out the fastest way to fix something that isn’t as simple as a broken piece he can just snap back into place.
The silence stretches on. Every second she stays silent, the knot in my chest pulls tighter. But pushing her right now feels about as smart as poking a wounded animal and expecting not to get bitten.
Still, Max has never been great at patience. I’m not surprised that he breaks first.
“What the hell happened back there?” he demands.
Genevieve flinches. Barely. But I catch it. It’s enough to make me want to reach across the car and haul her into my arms. But I’m scared any sudden movements will send her into a full-blown meltdown.
She shakes her head, still staring out the window. “Nothing.”
