Page 114 of My Brother's Billionaire Best Friends

And they hate Vivian just enough to make this fun.

Done. The message pings on my screen. It’s from a handle named RedRoot. No real name. No photos. Just three lines of text and a smiley face that always reads a little bit smug.

Blocked transfer authorization. Tripped quiet flag to notify Pillsbury shell. Left a trail straight to you. Like you asked.

I stare at the message and allow myself the smallest smile. Not because it’s petty—though yeah, it is. But because it’s precise. Vivian won’t get the building. And she’ll know exactly who stopped her.

I toggle open the chain logs just to see it for myself. The false denial buried under the fake tax hold, the flagged route that looks like a rookie signature from someone with my exact traceable habits. It won’t hold up in court—wasn’t meant to. But it’s enough for Vivian. Enough to make her furious.

Good.

She’s already taken too much from Parker, from the kids, from all of us. She thought she could rip their home out from under them just to remind us who still pulls the strings.

But I don’t have strings anymore.

I sit back, close the terminal, and roll my shoulder until it pops. My apartment’s dim, warm in the kind of way that makes everything feel heavier. One lamp on. Outside, the city pulses like a heartbeat.

My place looks like what fifteen-year-old me thought success was supposed to be—glass walls, dark concrete floors, recessed lighting everywhere. It’s sleek, cold, designed to impress people I don’t let past the entryway. Custom steel shelving I never filled, a ridiculously oversized leather sectional, floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the skyline so sharp it feels fake.

The kitchen’s all black marble and brushed chrome, the kind of thing that looks better untouched. There’s a high-end espressomachine I barely use, a wine fridge stocked by someone else, and a minimalist fireplace I’ve turned on maybe twice. It’s curated, not lived in. Expensive, not warm. Like I built it to prove something—then forgot what that was.

Inside, it’s just me and the steady hum of satisfaction.

I don’t celebrate. I don’t toast. I just stand, stretch, and pull out my phone. Messages from Jack and Gavin, both asking if I’m available now.

So, I send:Come over. We need to talk.Because now that the battle’s over, it’s time to talk about the future.

Jack shows up first, as usual. He knocks once, opens the door like he owns the place, and drops a six-pack of something cold on the counter. He doesn’t ask if I want one. He grabs two, tosses one my way, and leans against the kitchen island. “You get it done?”

I nod, taking a long pull from the bottle. “She’s out of the deal. Couldn’t close. I left a trail.”

Jack smirks. “So she knows it was you?”

“She’ll know by morning.”

“Good. Vivian’s been haunting all of us for too long. If she wants war, she can have it.”

Gavin arrives ten minutes later, still in slacks and a white shirt rolled to the elbows. His tie’s stuffed in his jacket pocket, hair slightly mussed like he spent the whole drive debating whether to keep his temper or use it. He nods to both of us, sets his phone face-down on the counter, and cracks a beer before anyone has to offer.

We sit in the living room. No formalities. No agenda. Just the three of us spread out on the couch and armchairs, city lights pouring through the glass behind us. It’s quiet for a minute. Then Jack clears his throat.

“So,” he says, setting down his drink. “We’re doing this.”

Gavin glances at him. “The baby?”

“Babies,” Jack corrects, then pauses. “Or baby. We don’t know yet.”

“We will,” I say, and they both look at me.

Jack raises an eyebrow. “You good with that?”

“I am.” The answer is simple. Maybe the simplest truth I’ve ever spoken. “If it’s one or two or however many, they’re ours. This is our family.”

Jack relaxes a little, his fingers drumming the side of the bottle. “I’ve been thinking about it. How weird it is that it’s not weird.”

“That’s because it feels right,” Gavin says. He shrugs. “We built this. The three of us. Parker’s not in the middle of it. She’s the core of it.”

We sit with the thought, the idea that this isn’t about taking turns or picking favorites. It’s about the fact that we are committed to the same woman, whatever comes next. And there’s no jealousy, no bickering. Just family.