Page 65 of Filthy Rich Silver Foxes

Silas kisses the valley between my breasts, then glances back over his shoulder. “Or maybe not just watch.”

That pulls Max’s gaze from mine. He looks at Silas, then back to me. Me, half-naked on the couch. Me, breathing hard, flushed and wanting.

“You sure?” Max asks, voice rough.

I feel it again—that tightening in my chest. That same pull I’ve been trying to ignore for weeks. The answer’s on my tongue.

But I stop.

I press a hand to Silas’s chest, and he freezes, eyes flying to mine. “Wait.”

His brows draw together. “Gen?”

Max is completely still now. Watching. Waiting.

“I need to tell you something,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Silas doesn’t move. He just holds my gaze, making sure I’m certain. He already knows. This isn’t for him.

I turn to Max, breath catching in my throat. “It’s not a secret,” I say, carefully. “Not really. Just…something I haven’t told you yet.”

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t blink. He crosses his arms in front of his chest.

“I’m pregnant.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Max’s face doesn’t change. Not at first. But his jaw shifts. His arms fall slowly to his sides. He exhales through his nose and looks at me—not the way he did a minute ago, but deeper. Slower. Like he’s seeing all the pieces at once and trying to figure out where they fit.

His gaze flickers to Silas, then back to me.

I push forward, even though my voice shakes. “I’m not asking you for anything. I’m not expecting anything. I certainly wasn’t expecting a baby. Or this.” I swallow hard. “So, if this changes anything—if it changeseverything—I get it.”

Chapter19

Max

Pregnant.

The word lodges in my chest. It echoes—once, then again—until it’s no longer a word but a pressure behind my ribs.

She’s pregnant.

And she’s looking up at me with glassy eyes, breath catching at the edge of panic. She’s waiting for me to pull back. To turn away. And for a second, I nearly do. Not because I want to. Because I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do with this.

Fuck, it makes perfect sense. All the puzzle pieces I’ve been trying to place finally fit. I’m not the type to run from responsibility. But…this isn’t my responsibility.

She’s not mine. Not technically. Not in the ways that matter on paper. But she’s mine in other ways. In the way I think about her when I’m alone. In the way her voice lingers after she’s left a room. In the way I’ve caught myself watching her, learning her, collecting the soft, impossible pieces she never meant to give away.

My gaze drifts to Silas. It’s clear from the way he's watching me that he already knew. He knew and didn’t run. Of course he didn’t. That’s who he is—reckless, loyal, and endlessly hopeful. He’s always been the one to love first and fall hardest, even when the landing isn’t clean.

Genevieve’s hand shifts, moving to rest against her stomach, and something inside me knots. That hand is trembling. So is her mouth. She’s bracing for impact, steadying herself against the possibility that I’ll walk.

I should say something. I should ask who the father is. I should ask why she didn’t tell me sooner. Why she didn’t tell him.

But I already know the answer.

I figured Sebastian out weeks ago. I don’t know what went down at the launch party for Elysian Cove, but I know the two of them were intimate, and it ended poorly—most likely by his own design.