Page 68 of Filthy Rich Daddies
Dean is perched in the corner chair, laptop on his knees, but he’s not typing. Just staring at the screen. I don’t ask what he’s thinking about. I don’t need to.
Yesterday rattled all of us. But for Dean? Watching Colin collapse after everything that’s happened—after the company, after the resignation, after the months of pressure—I suspect it landed somewhere deeper.
Thalassa’s sitting in the chair nearest the bed, legs folded up beneath her, hoodie sleeves half covering her hands. She hasn’t looked up since I came in. She hasn’t looked away from Colin either.
She was terrified yesterday. When she ran into the hospital, she looked like she’d just seen someone die. The fear wasn’t just on her—it was in her. And it’s still there now, simmering just under the surface.
I can’t blame her.
None of us expected Colin to hit his limit so publicly. And none of us knew how badly he was pushing himself. We should have known.
I should have known. I’m his big brother. That’s my job.
I glance toward the counter near the sink and spot the hospital-issued coffee cup—half full, thin as dishwater. Colin’s going to hate it when he wakes up.
“I’m going to the Starbucks downstairs,” I say quietly. “He’ll want something real.”
Dean nods, rising. “Good idea. I’ll walk down with you.”
I meet his gaze. He means to give Thalassa a moment alone with Colin, and I can’t fault him for that. She looks like she needs it.
I adjust my cuffs, smooth my coat, and follow Dean out into the hall. The elevator doors close behind us, sealing in the quiet hum of early-morning tension. Dean leans against the wall, arms crossed. He waits until we’re between floors before he speaks.
“You looked strange,” he says, voice low but direct. “When I said we were all the father.”
I glance at him. “Did I?”
He gives me a look. One brow raised. “Don’t insult both of us by pretending I imagined it.”
I exhale, slow and quiet. I’d hoped this wouldn’t come up. Not yet. But of course it would. Dean notices everything. He always has.
The words fight to get out. “I had a vasectomy.”
He blinks once. That’s it. He doesn’t flinch or ask why. He just waits.
“It was shortly after Serena died,” I continue. “I didn’t tell anyone. There was no reason to. No one to tell.”
The elevator hums beneath us. We descend in silence for a moment.
Dean shifts slightly. “Because of the pregnancy complications?”
“Yes.” The word comes out sharper than I intended. I force my hands to unclench. “The hemorrhaging wasn’t supposed to happen. The doctors said it was rare. That it couldn’t have been predicted. I don’t like unpredictability.”
“Understandably.”
“And I—” I pause. My throat is tight. “I couldn’t do it again. I couldn’t ask that of another woman. That kind of risk…it’s too much. So, I took myself out of the equation.”
Dean exhales, jaw tight. “Tic…”
“I’m not looking for sympathy,” I say. “Just honesty.”
He nods, slowly. “Then here’s some. That doesn’t change anything. Not to me. Not to Colin.”
“I’m not the biological father,” I say, and it sounds hollow out loud.
Dean steps forward, meeting my gaze. “You were there. You love her. You’ll love them. That’s more important.”
“It’s not about what I feel. It’s about what’s real.”
