Page 103 of My Brother's Billionaire Best Friends
I should be. Everything we wanted to expose has been exposed. The power structure has shifted. Edison’s gone. Vivian’s shadow is smaller than it’s ever been. This should feel like a win.
But I’m still thinking about Parker.
I nod. “Yeah. Just got some loose ends to handle.”
Gavin gives me a look. “You sure you’re good?”
“I am.” I don’t know what the future holds for VT. But what I do know is I’m digging my heels in. About the company. About Parker.
The walk out of the boardroom is quiet, but for once it’s not awkward. Gavin moves ahead, shaking hands, accepting nods of solidarity. Jack lingers behind, always watching the exits, always reading the room. I walk between them.
For years we told ourselves we were making VT better from the inside. But for a while now, that’s felt like a lie I told myself to survive. Swallowing condescension, dealing with old grievances from tenured employees. I’ve been carrying the weight of that bullshit for longer than I want to admit—afraid to rock the boat, afraid to lose what I’ve worked for.
Because this place? It made me. Or at least, Vivian did. She pulled me out of nothing, gave me a salary, a desk, a secondhand suit, and told me to earn it. I spent years telling myself I was lucky.
But I’m not lucky. I’m good at what I do. She didn’t make me good at my job. I did that. It’s easy to forget, but I never will again.
Gavin slows as we reach the elevators, glancing back over his shoulder. Jack steps up beside me, rolling his neck like he’s shaking off the last trace of corporate tension. When it’s just the three of us, Jack mentions, “You know that letting them keep those pictures of Vivian means someone will leak the photos to the press, right? The story of her divorce is about to be publicly rewritten.”
Gavin turns to him, panic in his eyes. “Oh, shit.”
“We can get them back?—”
Then Gavin smiles. “It’s almost like I planned for that to happen.”
Jack grins. “One more Vivian maneuver before we turn over a new leaf?”
He shrugs. “I learned from the worst.”
I chuckle as I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. The screen lights up—still open to the draft of my resignation. The one I typed a few days ago, the one I’ve nearly sent a dozen times.
The delete button never looked so good. I pocket the phone and let out a slow breath. Now, for the other big deal.
Parker left because she thought we couldn’t hold both. Her and the company. Love and legacy. We can, but only if we’re willing to do it out loud. If we’re brave enough to stop hiding and start telling the truth.
25
PARKER
I’ve readthe same job posting three times and still can’t tell you what the company even does.
My laptop’s open on the kitchen counter. The afternoon sunlight’s coming in at the wrong angle through the blinds, striping the laminate floor like bars. There’s a cold cup of coffee next to my elbow, half-drunk and bitter. And me? I’m still in a sweatshirt I stole from Phil when I was nineteen, hair in a messy bun, glasses sliding down my nose because I can’t be bothered with contacts today.
The twins are at school. I packed their lunches. Made sure Lyra’s backpack had her library book, even though she swears the librarian is out to get her. Kissed Levi’s forehead even though he squirmed and said he’s “too big” for that now. And then I came back here. To this silence. To this low, grinding ache in my chest that won’t let me breathe deep.
I’ve cleaned the kitchen twice. Sorted the mail. Reorganized the spice rack alphabetically. And still, every few minutes, I catch myself placing a hand over my stomach.
I’m not even showing yet. But I feel it. The weight of it. The change. The life inside me—and the absolute, unrelenting fear that I’ve ruined everything for this child before they’re even born.
Half of the job listings are scams. The other half ask for ten years of experience and the blood of a unicorn. I’m barely twenty-five and somehow already feel like I’ve aged out of everything good.
A knock at the door nearly sends my heart into my throat.
I freeze.
Nobody knocks in the middle of the morning. Unless it’s Mom with some homemade bread. But then the knock comes again. Firmer this time. The police?
When I open the door, there they are. All three of them.
