Page 104 of Filthy Rich Silver Foxes

Robert shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze lingering on the door Gen disappeared through. There’s a weight in his eyes, a quiet apology he doesn’t voice. He’s smart enough to know it wouldn’t matter even if he did. Besides, his wife would gut him just as harshly if he spoke out against her.

Silas leans back in his chair, his hands fisting and unfisting against his thighs. His jaw is clenched tightly, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low and rough.

"Well," he mutters, a humorless edge slicing through the word. "This is going well."

I run a hand down my face, dragging my palm across my mouth to keep from saying something I’ll regret. My temper is a live wire under my skin, fraying with every second Gen stays away from this table, alone, hurting because we asked her to be here.

BecauseIasked.

"Give her a minute," I say quietly, mostly for myself.

Silas mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously close tofuck that, but he doesn’t move either. He exhales sharply through his nose, his hand tapping a restless rhythm against the table’s edge.

She’s taking longer than I thought she would. I imagine her falling apart in the powder room and my heart races. What the fuck have I done?

Chapter30

Gen

Ibrace my hands against the cold marble sink, leaning my weight forward as I try to slow my breathing. The water is icy where it clings to my skin, droplets trailing down my wrists. I welcome the chill. It gives me something tangible to focus on when everything inside me is falling apart.

This evening was a huge mistake. I knew Naomi King wasn’t going to hand me a warm welcome tied up in a silk ribbon, but I hadn’t expected her disdain to be so...calculated.

Every word, every glance, was a strategic incision meant to cut me down before I could even get a foothold. And it worked. I’ve spent the last fifteen minutes pretending I’m unaffected, but the truth is, I’m unraveling under the weight of her scrutiny.

I close my eyes and count backward from ten, each number a desperate attempt to claw back the composure slipping through my fingers. When I reach one, I adjust the neckline of my dress, run a damp tissue under my eyes to catch any lingering mascara, and square my shoulders.

I’m fine.

I’ve survived worse.

I will not let one woman’s opinion shatter everything I’ve built. Because she’s wrong about us.

With a final steadying breath, I reach for the doorknob and pull it open.

Naomi is standing there, waiting for me.

She leans casually against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, an expression carved from cold stone.

"Going somewhere?" she asks, voice deceptively mild.

I straighten instinctively, spine snapping into perfect posture. "Excuse me," I say, stepping forward, attempting to get back to Silas and Max as quickly as I can.

She moves quickly in front of me, blocking my way. I didn’t realize we’d moved onto the schoolyard bullying part of the evening. And she’s worriedI’mtoo young.

"What exactly do you think you’re doing with my brother?" she says, skipping the pretense entirely.

My hands curl into fists at my sides, my fingernails biting into my palms as I fight the instinct to retreat.

But I am so tired of swallowing my pride to make other people more comfortable.

"Excuse me?" I manage, my voice clipped and dangerous.

"You heard me." Naomi steps closer, crowding into my space, trying to intimidate me with sheer force of will. "Women like you see men like Max and Silas and smell opportunity. And now you’re pregnant with another man’s baby? Another very wealthy man. You expect me to believe you’re not using them?"

It takes every ounce of restraint I have not to slap the smug expression off her face.

Instead, I laugh. Sharp and humorless.