Page 58 of My Brother's Billionaire Best Friends

“No shit,” he says without malice.

“She wants to know if she can still pull your strings.”

His jaw clenches. “She can’t.”

“Then prove it.”

He meets my eyes.

And I say, quietly but clearly, “It’s time she understood her son is not her bitch.”

He knows I’m not insinuating anything by that. I can tell by the way he isn’t punching me in the face.

Silence stretches after I say it.

Not tense, not awkward—justheavy.The kind that waits. Gavin doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. He stands in front of me with his hands braced on the back of the chair and his spine straight, like the only thing holding him together is the bones he inherited from someone he stopped trusting a long time ago.

Harrison shifts beside me, crossing his arms as he leans his shoulder into the doorframe. He doesn’t say anything yet. Doesn’t need to. We’re both waiting to see what Gavin does with the truth.

His jaw flexes, once. Then again. His fingers tap a slow rhythm on the edge of the chair—deliberate, practiced, like he’s buying himself just a few more seconds to walk the edge of this decision.

Because this isn’t just about Parker. It’s about Vivian. About legacy. About who holds the strings now that Gavin has the title and she’s technically in retirement—but still very much in the shadows, pulling levers with Heather as her stand-in marionette.

“She’s not going to stop,” he says finally. “If I push back, she’ll escalate.”

“She always does,” I say.

“And the board?—”

“Will smell blood if you don’t hold your ground,” Harrison finishes.

“She’s put me in an impossible position.”

“No,” I say. “Shethinksshe has. That’s why you hold the advantage right now. She thinks she’s already won. You have to prove otherwise.”

Gavin exhales, slow and tight. Then drops into the chair he’s been gripping like a lifeline. “I hate that I’m even hesitating.”

“Then don’t,” I tell him. “Stop giving her space in your head. Take it back.”

He scrubs a hand down his face and sits there a long moment, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the floor like it’s going to reveal some new playbook none of us have seen.

“She’s my mother,” he says quietly.

“I know.”

“She built this place.”

“Yeah.”

“She also tore down half the women who tried to work here and replaced them with mirrors of herself,” Harrison mutters.

Gavin almost smiles. But it’s bitter. “She says Parker doesn’t reflect VT values.”

“Good,” I say. “She’s the first person who reflects the kind of values we should’ve had from the start.”

Gavin glances up.

“She’s competent. Honest. Loyal,” I say. “She’s not here to network. She’s here towork.And she’s not just surviving—they keep throwing knives at her, and she keeps showing up.”