Page 130 of Filthy Rich Silver Foxes
I power it off and toss it onto the kitchen counter. I'm done giving them my attention.
They want a war?
They’ll get one.
But it won’t be the kind they’re prepared for.
Because this time, I'm not fighting for money or power or reputation.
I'm fighting for her.
For us.
And I will burn the world to the ground before I let anyone take that from me.
Chapter40
Gen
Every time I open my phone, there’s a new story—some lurid variation on the same tired theme. Scandal. Obscenity. Billionaire love triangle. Illegitimate heir. Homewrecker. Gold digger. The words blur after a while. They paint me as both victim and villain, a naive fool and a calculating predator, often in the same breath. What the actual fuck?
At eighteen weeks, there’s no hiding it anymore. The bump is small, but unmistakable. Real in a way that feels both terrifying and exhilarating. Nothing in my life will be the same after this.
And I couldn’t be happier.
Still, the constant scrutiny is starting to get to me.
I finish organizing the mail stacked neatly on the kitchen counter, forcing myself to maintain the small rituals of normalcy. It's a flimsy illusion, but I cling to it anyway. I find it at the bottom of the pile.
A letter.
It’s formal, written on heavy linen paper. My family’s crest is embossed in gold at the top, the ink catching in the light.
My stomach turns before I even break the seal. I know what it will say. I don’t need to read it to know.
But I do anyway.
Genevieve,
It is not too late to correct the course you are on. We are deeply concerned by the reports reaching us daily—concerned not only for you, but for the damage you are doing to our family’s reputation. There is still an opportunity to distance yourself from this indecency. We urge you to come home. To end this shameful situation before it is beyond repair.
We love you. But we cannot support the choices you are making.
Come home. Or we will be forced to take more drastic measures. You don’t want it to go that far, Genevieve, I assure you.
Mother
There’s not a single mention of the baby. No acknowledgment that this isn’t just a scandal to be managed, but a life. A future.
My hand tightens around the letter, crumpling the pristine paper before I catch myself. I force my fingers to loosen, smoothing it out carefully on the counter, pretending it doesn’t sting. It’s just another piece of meaningless correspondence.
I used to believe their approval was the end-all, be-all of success. I used to live under their control. But not anymore.
I don’t realize I’m still standing there, staring at it, until Max comes in from the balcony.
He moves quietly, always aware of the space he occupies. His gaze lands on the letter immediately.
"Genevieve," he says, his voice a low thread of concern.
