Page 129 of Filthy Rich Silver Foxes
Her smile wavers for a fraction of a second before she recovers, tossing her hair over her shoulder in a practiced move. "Or maybe I’m just not ready to give up. Not when it’s obvious you’re only pretending with her."
That gets my attention.
But not the way she wants.
I fold my arms across my chest, letting my silence stretch long enough to make her shift uncomfortably. She mistakes it for encouragement. She always did have a problem telling the difference between opportunity and impending doom.
"You really think she’s in this for love?" Heather says, her voice losing its syrupy coating, hardening into something brittle. "You think a girl like that ends up with three billionaires out oflove?"
My jaw tics once. A warning. She doesn’t catch it.
“She’s playing you," Heather presses. "All of you. And when she’s done, when she’s squeezed every last dollar, every last ounce of attention out of you—what do you think she’ll do? Stay loyal? Have your baby and live with you happily ever after? Please. She’ll leave the moment a better offer comes along."
I don’t react. Not outwardly. But a slow, sharp anger unfurls in my chest. I let it sharpen every word as I step closer, so close she has to crane her neck to maintain eye contact.
"And yet, she’s the best fucking thing that ever happened to me."
Without waiting for a response, I step around her, slide into my car, and slam the door hard enough that the frame shudders.
I don’t give her the satisfaction of a second glance. I start the car, pull into traffic, and leave her behind.
I don’t see the figure lurking in the shadowed alley across the street until I’m already merging onto the main road.
But I know the posture. Dom.
He steps forward just enough for me to catch the glint of a lighter in his hand, the flash of his face illuminated for a heartbeat.
I keep driving.
But the storm still simmers under my skin.
* * *
The city bleeds into dusk around me, the streets blurring into shadow as I pull into the garage beneath my building. I check my phone as I wait for the elevator. One new message.
Dom: You’re being stupid. She’s using you. But don’t worry… you’ll see soon enough.
My fingers tighten around the device as I stare at the screen for a long moment. Reading the words. Memorizing them. Weighing them the way I would any threat. Because that's exactly what this is.
Dom isn't done.
Heather isn’t, either.
I pocket the phone without responding. I won’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he got under my skin. It’ll only fuel the fire.
Genevieve’s face flashes in my mind. The sound of her laugh. The way her eyes soften when she looks at me.
I spent years cultivating loyalty in others. Buying it. Demanding it. Never once letting myself believe that it could be real. And now, when it matters more than it ever has, I have to trust that what we’re building isn’t as fragile as Dom would have me believe.
Because if I let the seed of doubt he planted take root, I will tear it all down myself.
I unlock the door to my penthouse, step inside, and engage the security systems with a few quick swipes across the console. Lights bloom to life overhead, casting long shadows across the floor-to-ceiling windows.
I pour a drink without thinking—whiskey, neat—and toss it back with a sharp, burning swallow.
The phone buzzes again.
Another message. Another empty threat.
