Page 80 of Filthy Rich Silver Foxes
Genevieve stands by the drafting table, a pencil in one hand, her other hand pressed flat against the plans spread out in front of her. She’s frozen in place, her body tense, but she doesn’t look surprised to see me. If anything, she looks resigned. Her eyes lift slowly to meet mine, and the force of it hits me harder than I expect.
She’s paler than before. Thinner too. There’s a tightness around her mouth, a hollow bruising under her eyes that’s new. She looks exhausted. Fragile. But when our eyes lock, there’s no fear. No apology. Only a raw, stubborn strength that twists something inside me.
I want to go to her.
I want to tear the distance apart, bury my hands in her hair, crush her against me until I can feel her heartbeat against my own. I want to lay her down on that table, rip the stubborn, silent distance out of her with my hands and my mouth and my body until the only thing she can think, the only thing she can say, is my name.
The need hits so hard, so fast, it nearly drives me to my knees.
I force it back down, locking it behind every ruthless instinct I’ve spent my life sharpening. She deserves my rage. She deserves the words clawing their way up my throat. She doesn’t deserve my touch.
I cross the room in three long strides, closing the distance until I'm standing directly in front of her.
"You should’ve told me," I say, my voice low, razor-edged.
Genevieve exhales slowly, the pencil slipping from her fingers to clatter against the floor. She doesn’t flinch at the sound but she’s braced for impact.
"I tried, Sebastian," she says, her voice tired. "You made your choice."
I clench my fists at my sides, fighting the instinct to reach for her anyway. To pull her against me and erase the last two months in the only language my body knows when it comes to her.
I snarl, the fury finally slipping past the tight rein I’ve kept on it. "So, you decided to use Silas and Max to get my attention?"
Her laugh is sharp, brittle, scraping against the walls of the room and making something savage rear up inside me.
"Are you serious?" she snaps. "You dropped me without a second thought. You made it very clear I was nothing more than a mistake you needed to erase. And now you're mad because someone else was willing to pick up the pieces you left behind?"
She’s breathing harder now, her chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths, but she doesn’t back down or soften.
She stands her ground, and fuck if it doesn’t make me want her even more.
Every part of me screams to close the last few inches between us. To pin her against the wall, to force the truth out of her with the one thing she can’t fake—her surrender, her need.
But I don't move. I’m not even sure I can.
“You practically threw me at them. Are you so surprised this is what happened? It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
I don’t have a chance to respond. The door creaks behind me, the sound pulling both of our heads around sharply.
Silas steps through, a takeout bag swinging loosely from one hand. His easy, lopsided grin freezes the second he sees me. In a blink, his whole demeanor shifts. The casual, lazy posture evaporates, replaced by something tighter. Harder. Protective.
His gaze flicks to Genevieve, reading her in an instant, then snaps back to me with a warning in it.
He crosses the room slowly, deliberately, and sets the bag down on the nearest surface without taking his eyes off me. When he straightens, his body slots subtly between Genevieve and me, shielding her without saying a word.
Silas stands in front of her, his body tight with tension. His hands flex once at his sides, a small tell he probably doesn’t realize he’s giving away. He thinks he’s ready for me. Thinks he’s protecting her from something she needs saving from.
The message is clear.
But I don’t care.
He’s too late.
She’s mine. Always has been.
My focus cuts through him, back to her, but she drops her gaze the second our eyes meet. That alone is a bigger blow than anything Silas could throw at me. She won’t meet my eyes.
"You need to back off," Silas says, his voice low and steady, but there’s something in it—an edge—that snaps my attention back to him.
