Page 115 of Filthy Rich Silver Foxes

He stands, gathering the trash and throwing it away. At the door, he hesitates, his hand braced against the frame.

“Thank you,” he says, and I know he’s not talking about joining him for dinner.

I open my mouth to respond, but no words come. So, I just nod again, clutching the hem of my sweatshirt tight in my hands.

He leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead that I feel all the way down to my toes. Then the door clicks softly behind him, leaving me alone in my too-quiet apartment.

Chapter34

Sebastian

Idon’t waste time.

The second I leave Genevieve’s apartment, I’m already reaching for my phone. I’ve let this go on long enough, but I’m not about to risk Heather swooping in and ruining things with Genevieve again.

Dom should have had answers by now. He’s never taken this long before. Normally, I ask, and within hours—minutes sometimes—he delivers. The man is thorough, precise. It’s why I hired him in the first place. It’s why I’ve kept him around all these years.

If it’s taking this long, either Heather is better connected than I gave her credit for, or something about this situation isn’t what it seems.

Heather isn’t resourceful enough to pull this off on her own. She’s working with someone who has more reach, more resources. It would explain her uncanny ability to appear exactly when she could do the most damage. I can account for desperation, ambition. But planning? Strategy? That requires something different entirely.

The possibility that it’s someone close gnaws at me. I trust so few people. I built my world with walls thick enough to keep out anyone who didn’t earn their place, brick by brick. Dom was one of the only ones who made it inside. The thought that he would turn, that he would weaponize that trust against me, is almost laughable.

Almost.

But the signs are there. The timing. The excuses. The tiny inconsistencies I didn’t want to see before because it was easier to believe loyalty could be permanent if you paid enough for it.

Loyalty isn’t permanent. When the balance shifts, when the scales tip, even the ones closest to you will sell you out.

I press the call button. It rings longer than it should before Dom picks up.

"Status," I say, without preamble.

"Still compiling," Dom says. "She’s been careful. No obvious electronic trails."

Bullshit.

Heather’s ambition outweighs her subtlety. If Dom hasn’t found anything, it’s because he hasn’t been looking in the right places—or because he never intended to.

My mind runs through the angles. Who benefits if Genevieve walks away? Who benefits if I stay isolated? Who benefits if I stop building the future that—until recently—I didn’t even realize I wanted?

Heather, sure—at least in her mind. If Genevieve is out of the way, then she can just slide right in and take her place, right? Fuck no. I wouldn’t touch that bitch with a ten-foot pole. But she’s delusional enough to believe otherwise.

I hang up without another word. Anything else would be wasted breath.

I head into the office with every intention of getting to the bottom of this tonight. Whatever lingering hesitation I might have clung to is gone. I know what I need to do. Dom made his choice the moment he decided my life needed editing.

By the time I step into the building, I’m ready to do what needs to be done.

The place is mostly empty, the late hour driving everyone else out hours ago. Good. I don’t need an audience for this. I sit at my desk, pull up the network access logs, and start combing through them myself. It doesn’t take long. It never does when you know what you’re looking for.

Dom’s credentials pop up too many times where they shouldn’t. Accessing files he had no reason to touch. Monitoring comms logs he was never authorized to view. His fingerprints are all over every point of contact tied to Genevieve, to Silas and Max, even to Heather.

Heather didn’t find me by accident. She was pointed at me like a weapon, set loose at the exact moment she could do the most damage.

And Dom held the leash.

The anger that coils through me is red-hot. I lean back in my chair, staring at the evidence sprawled across my screen, the final nail in the coffin of a man I once trusted without question.