Page 125 of Filthy Rich Silver Foxes

This impossible, chaotic, stitched-together thing we’re building.

It’s messy. It’s a goddamn logistical nightmare.

And I wouldn’t trade a second of it.

Genevieve hums softly in her sleep, curling tighter into my chest, her hand sliding over Max’s where it rests on her hip.

Mine.

Ours.

Chapter38

Gen

The waiting room at Dr. Halston’s office hasn’t changed.

It still has the same muted paint colors. There’s still a stack of outdated parenting magazines on the table. Even the polite, tired receptionist behind the counter who barely glances up when we walk in is the same.

But everything feels different.

Because for the first time, we’re doing this together. All three of them may have been at my last ultrasound, but we weren’t a united front. This time? We are.

We must make a scene, the four of us sweeping through the quiet waiting room, but for once, I don’t care.

They’re here with me.

The nurse calls my name, and I rise on autopilot, smoothing a hand down the front of my dress. I glance back, half-expecting them to stay behind, but Max and Silas are already moving. Sebastian catches my eye, his mouth tightening, and then he follows, too.

I climb onto the exam table with a kind of mechanical efficiency, hiking my dress up over my thighs and baring the gentle curve of my stomach. It’s strange—seeing my body change this way. Strange, and a little terrifying. I don't feel ready. I doubt I ever will.

But when Max threads his fingers through mine and squeezes, something inside me eases.

The doctor enters with a warm smile, rolling the machine closer.

"This might feel a little cold," she warns before squirting the gel onto my skin.

I brace for it, but still flinch slightly when the wand touches down. Max strokes his thumb over my knuckles. Silas’s hand finds my ankle, squeezing gently. Sebastian doesn’t touch me, but I can feel his gaze like a physical weight on my skin.

The monitor flickers to life.

And there, in grainy black and white, is our baby.

Moving. Squirming. Kicking tiny legs.

The room falls away.

Max’s hand tightens almost painfully around mine. When I turn my head toward Sebastian, I catch him in a rare moment of complete vulnerability—his mouth parted, his eyes suspiciously glassy.

He wipes at them a second later, turning it into a cough, but it’s too late.

I saw.

I felt it.

The doctor points out the arms, the legs, the little fluttering heart that beats strong and steady. I barely hear her words over the rush of my own blood in my ears.

This tiny life growing inside me isn’t theoretical anymore. It’s not just appointments and nausea and lists scribbled in my planner.