Page 105 of Filthy Rich Silver Foxes

"That’s rich," I say, shaking my head. "Coming from someone who doesn’t know a damn thing about me."

Naomi’s smile tightens, but she doesn’t back down. "Then tell me I’m wrong."

I take a breath, slow and deliberate. "You are wrong. I didn’t plan for any of this. I didn’t expect to fall for them. But I did. And they both love me. Whether you like it or not."

Her eyes flash, and for a moment I think I see something raw flicker across her face—something that looks suspiciously like fear. But it’s gone a second later, replaced by cool disdain.

"Love," Naomi scoffs, the word dripping with contempt. "Love isn’t using two men to cushion the fallout of your mistakes."

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from flinching.

The baby growing inside me is not a mistake.

What Silas and Max and I have is not a mistake.

"You don’t get to talk about mistakes like you’ve never made any," I say, my voice low and steady. "You don’t know what it’s like to be abandoned. To have everything ripped out from under you and be left alone to deal with the wreckage. Silas and Max were there when no one else was. They chose me. They stayed. And I chose them right back. There’s nothing convenient about this. And if you can’t understand that, that’s your limitation. Not mine."

Naomi holds my gaze for a long moment, and for once, there’s no smugness in her expression. No triumph. Just a thin, brittle crack running through her armor, so faint I almost miss it.

"Don’t expect me to be sad when this all falls apart," she says stiffly, her voice hollow compared to the razor edge it carried a moment ago.

"I don’t expect anything from you," I say, pushing past her with a calmness I don’t feel.

I walk away with my head high, my heart hammering in my chest, and my hands still trembling slightly at my sides.

The dining room comes back into view, bathed in soft golden light, as deceptively calm as a painting frozen in time. But the moment I cross the threshold, both Silas and Max snap to attention. I catch the flicker of tension across Max’s face, the rigid line of Silas’s shoulders.

I don’t sit down.

“It’s time to go,” I say, voice even, though my heart drums violently in my chest.

Silas is out of his chair before I finish speaking. His mouth is set in a hard, thin line, every inch of him vibrating with a restrained fury that mirrors my own. Max hesitates for the briefest of moments, but then he nods once, folding his napkin carefully before rising to join me.

Neither of them asks for an explanation. Neither demands justification. After the night we’ve had, after the accusations and the barely concealed contempt dripping from every corner of this house, it feels like an anchor tossed into a turbulent sea.

I turn toward the hall, ready to make a clean, dignified exit.

But, of course, Naomi won’t allow that.

She reenters the room, her heels clicking with a deliberate rhythm against the marble. She’s smiling—that slow, smug curve of her lips that promises nothing good. She plants herself neatly in our path, head tilted to the side, faux sympathy dripping from every polished syllable.

“Running already?” she says, voice syrupy and cutting all at once. “Guess you’re used to that. Considering you couldn’t even keep your baby’s father around.”

The words land exactly as she planned. My vision blurs at the edges for a heartbeat, but I force myself to stay upright, to stand taller. I will not crumble.

Max steps forward, his body slotting neatly between mine and Naomi’s, and for a terrifying second, I think he’s going to lose the tight grip he always keeps on his temper.

But when he speaks, his voice is calm. Razor-sharp, but calm.

“That’s enough,” Max clips. “You don’t get to talk to her like that. You have no idea what’s going on, and frankly, I don’t give a fuck what you think.”

Naomi blinks, caught off-guard by the venom in his tone. She opens her mouth to respond, but he doesn’t give her the chance.

“Genevieve is with us. Both of us. She didn’t ask for any of this, but she’s handled it with more strength and grace than most people would have.” His voice never rises, but the force behind it is staggering. “If you can’t respect her, then you don’t respect me.”

The silence that falls afterward is absolute, and tense enough to shatter under the weight of a single breath.

Naomi’s mouth opens for a second, as if scrambling for a rebuttal that refuses to come. For the first time tonight, she looks genuinely unsettled.