Page 138 of Filthy Rich Silver Foxes

She reaches into her oversized handbag and pulls out a folder, sliding it across the coffee table toward me.

"I’m buying your event planning business," she says, her voice ridiculously upbeat, like I’ve won some amazing price. "At more than fair market value, mind you. You’ll get a clean break. Real money. Independence."

My throat constricts, but I don’t touch the folder.

"And," my father adds smoothly, "if you walk away now, we can minimize the damage. Salvage your future. Your reputation."

Mother nods eagerly. "There are still options, darling. You could have a proper match. A family. Respectability."

My fists clench at my sides, nails digging into my palms.

Heather leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her eyes gleaming. "You don’t belong in their world, Gen. You’re just a temporary distraction. But lucky you—you get to walk away with a payday."

The room feels suffocating, the air thick with condescension and fake concern. Are they out of their damn minds? I may be young, but I am still an adult. I have built a company up from scratch and turned it into something worth talking about. And they think they can just lead me around like a naughty child and railroad me into doing what they want?

And, why wouldn’t they? I’ve let them do it my whole life. But I have something else worth fighting for now. I place a hand on the swell of my belly and take a deep breath before I slam my hand against the table hard enough to rattle the crystal vase filled to the brim with lilies .

"Enough."

The word echoes in the stunned silence.

I push the folder back toward Heather with two fingers. "I don't need your money. I don't need your approval. And I sure as hell don't need your permission to live my life."

My father exhales sharply. "Be reasonable, Genevieve," he says, voice clipped.

"No," I snap. "You be reasonable. I'm not a child you can boss around. And I’m not selling my business to anyone."

Heather rolls her eyes, muttering something under her breath. Dom remains silent, but his gaze is locked on me.

"I love them," I say, voice steady. "I love our baby. And if that embarrasses you?" I smile, the expression razor-sharp. "Too fucking bad."

I don’t stay to hear whatever self-righteous lecture they have planned next.

I turn on my heel and walk out.

I don’t let myself look back. I am done with this bullshit. I don’t rely on them financially. I don’t rely on them emotionally. Cutting them out of my life won’t be difficult.

Because the truth is—they’re just people.

Flawed. Selfish. Small.

They’re not gods. They’re just two people who happened to create me, and somewhere along the way, they decided that I should have no choice in my own decisions.

But I don’t need their approval to breathe. I don’t need their permission to live. I have built something stronger, fiercer, better than anything they ever gave me.

Family isn’t blood. It’s choice.

And I choosethem—Silas, Max, Sebastian. I choose the life we’re building. I choose our baby. I choose myself.

I make it to the front steps before the first crack splinters through the wall I’ve been holding up.

The second the door closes behind me, the weight of it all crashes down. My throat tightens painfully, vision blurring as the fight drains out of me, leaving nothing but bone-deep exhaustion in its place.

I press a shaking hand to my belly, trying to steady myself, find some semblance of control again. But it’s too much. The betrayal, the manipulation, the constant battle just to be seen, to be enough. It claws at my chest, tears pressing against my eyes with a force I can't hold back.

Strong arms catch me before I can fall.

I blink through the tears, surprised to find Silas. His arms band tight around me, grounding me, his chin tipping down to brush against my temple.