Page 38 of Filthy Rich Daddies

Adrenaline blasts through me like shrapnel. Something’s wrong. “Thalassa, it’s Atticus. What’s happened?”

She inhales a shaky breath that turns into a soft sob.

Panic spikes. I grip the phone hard enough that my knuckles blanch. “Thalassa, speak to me. Where are you?” Authority buckles beneath urgency, coming out harsher than intended.

Her words trip over tears. “Bre…Breckenridge—Pine…Summit…”

Static swallows the line, and background noise jars. I freeze, listening. No voice, only a muffled scuffle.

“Thalassa!” My shout ricochets off twenty-foot ceilings. No response. I pace three strides, nearly bowl over a planter. Rage at my own helplessness flares—plane now, find her, claim her, keep her safe.

A female voice comes on the line, sharp as broken glass. “Who is this?”

“Atticus Copeland. And you?”

“Arabella Von Castell. Thalassa’sbest friend.The one mopping up your mess.” Each syllable drips acid.

“My mess? Explain.”

“Did anyone ever teach you boys how to use a condom?” Arabella snaps.

“What? Why? What’s wrong?” My brothers and I are disease-free. We’re tested all the time. This makes no sense.

“What do you think, genius? She’s fucking pregnant!”

The world tilts. My breathing stops. Pregnant. Nausea churns, but I keep my voice steel. “Listen carefully, Arabella. We will fix this. Where exactly is she?”

“Pine Summit Resort, Breckenridge. Chalet 4-B. She’s trying to sleep. She has a concussion. Keep your jet grounded, she doesn’t need more drama.”

“A concussion?” My protective instincts howled earlier—now they roar. “What hospital? Is she stable?”

“Stable enough that we’re back at the resort. The hospital already discharged her. Don’t bother showing up. Like I said, she needs to rest.”

“She needs help. I can provide that?—”

“No!” Arabella barks. “You and your brothers have done enough!”

“I’m grateful she has such a protective best friend.” Each word lands like a gavel strike. “Thank you for taking care of her.” I’m not arguing with her friend, and I’m not asking permission either.

“Yeah, don’t thank me—just leave her the hell alone.” She hangs up.

I lower the phone. My legs tremble for half a second, but I force stillness. Dad said to hold tight. Fine. My grip will be iron.

I text my brothers for an emergency, non-optional, get-your-ass-here-now meeting, and within fifteen minutes, Colin knocks on my door with Dean beside him. They take in my expression, their faces looking every bit the identical twins that they are. Colin asks, “What blew up?”

They stride in, and Dean adds, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I seal the door behind them before speaking. “Thalassa is in Colorado with a concussion.”

“What?” Colin snaps.

“And she’s pregnant.”

Dean’s knees give out from under him and he collapses onto the nearest leather sofa. He rasps out, “Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

“Pregnant?” Colin echoes, voice cracking between awe and terror.