Page 107 of Filthy Rich Silver Foxes

I come to a halt a few feet away, close enough that they have to acknowledge my presence but far enough that they can’t accuse me of crowding her. I meet Max’s gaze first, then Silas’s. Silent assessments pass between us. None of them are favorable.

I ignore them. I’m not here for them. I’m here for her.

My eyes lock on Genevieve. She lifts her chin by a fraction, the smallest tilt of defiance, but it’s there. Still fighting. Still refusing to crumble under the weight I put on her shoulders.

If she were anyone else, I would walk away. Cut my losses. Salvage what I could. But she isn’t anyone else. And there’s nothing left worth salvaging that doesn’t begin and end with her.

“I want to see the baby.”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Her eyes flicker to Max, to Silas, then back to me. I see the debate playing out across her face—the war between the old bruises I left and the part of her that hasn’t finished bleeding.

The nurse calls her name.

Genevieve stands, one hand drifting instinctively to her stomach. She hesitates.

Just for a second, but long enough that I feel it. Then she nods at me, and I have to fight the urge to throw my hands in the air in celebration.

The nurse eyes us warily, but keeps her mouth shut as she leads the way back. Max and Silas are close behind, both casting occasional looks back at me, making it abundantly clear that if I step out of line even once, they will not hesitate to intervene.

I don't blame them.

Inside the exam room, Genevieve sits carefully on the edge of the table, her palms flattening against the crinkling paper beneath her.

The doctor enters—an older woman with kind eyes but a no-nonsense demeanor. She greets Genevieve warmly, throwing a quick, cursory glance toward the rest of us. She doesn’t ask questions. I’m sure she’s seen worse.

Genevieve leans back against the table as the doctor preps for the ultrasound. Her shirt drifts higher, revealing the little bump beneath it, and every protective instinct I’ve spent the last two months trying to kill roars back to life.

The doctor presses the wand to her abdomen. She moves it around until she finds what she’s looking for. For a moment, there’s silence.

And then—there it is.

A heartbeat.

It fills the room, eclipsing everything else. The tension. The anger. The regret.

Everything I am—everything I’ve tried so hard to control—fractures under the sound of it. It’s not just a heartbeat. It’smybaby’s heartbeat.

Max looks down sharply, jaw working as he struggles to contain whatever he’s feeling. Silas turns his head slightly away, but not before I catch the flash of emotion in his eyes.

And Genevieve. Genevieve closes her eyes, a single tear slipping free before she can catch it. She wipes it away quickly, but I see it.

I feel it.

The doctor smiles gently and adjusts the machine, pointing out the different readings, but the words barely register. All I hear is that heartbeat.

We made that.

When it’s over, Genevieve sits up slowly, pulling her shirt down with shaking hands. She doesn’t look at me. Max steps in immediately, helping her off the table, saying something low under his breath. She nods, giving him a small, grateful smile that guts me.

When she turns to leave, her gaze brushes mine for half a second. I have so many things I want to say to her, but now isn’t the time.

Outside, the late afternoon heat cuts through the cool air of the building.

Silas brushes Genevieve’s elbow. “Maybe you should take the rest of the day off, Gen.”

Genevieve presses her lips together, her gaze flickering up to meet his. There’s exhaustion etched into the delicate lines of her face, but there’s something harder there, too. A stubborn pride I recognize because I broke it once.

“I might,” she says, her voice quieter than usual.