Page 83 of Silver Fox's Secret Triplets
"I forgot my phone," she said quietly, her voice hollow.
"It's not what you think." But she was already turning, already walking away. I started to follow, but Nick stepped in front of me, his anger replaced by grim satisfaction.
"Let her go, Duncan. She heard the truth. Maybe now, you'll come to your senses."
"Move."
"No. We're going to finish this conversation."
I pushed past him, but by the time I reached the elevator, the doors were already closing. I watched the numbers descend, my heart hammering against my ribs as I realized what had just happened.
By the time I fought free of Nick's arguments and made it home, the house was empty. No sounds of children playing, no scent of dinner cooking, no sign of the life we'd been building together. Their things were here, but even Lauren had vanished, like somehow my words had raptured their presence out of my life as quickly as fate had brought them back. And now I was alone.
I stood in the doorway, staring at the vacant rooms, my stomach churning with the realization of what I'd just destroyed. Ivy heard Nick blast my private thoughts so loudly, I'd be surprised if she ever talked to me again. An unstable man who wants to run from discomfort has no place being a father, and that was all I was to her now.
What was I going to do?
33
IVY
Icurled deeper into the corner of the couch, my knees drawn up to my chest. The familiar cushions offered no comfort. My mother's fingers moved through my hair in slow, rhythmic strokes, the same way she used to when I was small and afraid of thunderstorms. But this storm lived inside me now, and no amount of soothing could quiet it.
"Sweetheart, you need to eat," Mom whispered. Her voice carried the exhaustion of someone fighting her own battles. The chemotherapy had thinned her once-vibrant hair, and her skin held a pallor that no amount of makeup could hide. Yet here she was, trying to comfort me.
"I can't." The words scraped my throat raw. I pressed my face against my knees, trying to disappear into myself. The overheard conversation played on repeat in my mind—Duncan and Nick arguing about timelines and exit strategies. He'd never mentioned leaving Boston. Never said a word about stepping away from everything. From us.
Sammy's laughter bubbled up from the living room floor where he and his sisters had built a fortress of couch cushions. At three years old, he remained blissfully unawareof the adult chaos swirling around them. Elena babbled to her stuffed elephant while Chrissy stacked blocks with the focused determination she'd inherited from her father.
Her father who was planning to disappear.
"You're going to make yourself sick," Lauren said from the armchair across from me. She'd driven over the moment I'd called, leaving her own responsibilities behind without question. Her dark eyes held the kind of fierce loyalty that had sustained me through the loneliest nights in Bar Harbor. "When did you last sleep?"
I couldn't remember. The days had blurred together since returning to Boston—hospital visits, job interviews, sleepless nights worrying about Mom's treatment, about keeping the triplets' existence secret, about seeing Duncan every day at the office. And now this. The knowledge that he'd been planning his escape all along.
"He never told me." The admission broke from me in a whisper. "Four years I've been gone, and he never once tried to find me. Now I'm back, and he's planning to leave—just like that."
Mom's hand stilled in my hair. "What exactly did you hear?"
I lifted my head, meeting her concerned gaze. "An argument… Something about finalizing details, stepping away from the company." The memory made my chest tighten. "I thought maybe things were different than I feared all along. That he might actually want to be part of this."
The sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway announced my father's approach. He'd been pacing for the better part of an hour, his agitation growing with each pass. When he appeared in the doorway, his face carried the thunderous expression I remembered from childhood—the one that preceded lectures about responsibility and consequences.
"This is what happens when you trust a man who has no business around decent people," he said, his voice clipped and controlled. "Duncan Walsh has spent his entire adult life taking advantage of situations. Taking advantage of women."
"Dad, please." I didn't have the energy to fight him, but I couldn't let him reduce everything to his narrow worldview. "It wasn't all his fault."
"Wasn't it?" He stepped into the room, his hands clenched at his sides. "A grown man in his late thirties, manipulating a girl barely out of her teens. Using your vulnerability, your need for guidance. He knew exactly what he was doing."
Lauren shifted forward in her chair, her expression sharp. "Ivy wasn't a child, Bill. She made her own choices."
"Choices?" My father's laugh held no humor. "She was twenty years old, naive, and grieving her relationship with her family. He exploited that."
"Stop," I spat, and I pushed myself upright, my mother's hand falling away from my hair. "Stop talking about me like I'm not here."
The room fell quiet except for the triplets' gentle play. Sammy had discovered a new game, dropping blocks into a container and clapping each time they made a sound. The innocent joy in his voice made my heart ache.
"I'm not saying Duncan was blameless," I continued, my voice steadier now. "But I'm not some victim who couldn't think for herself. I wanted him. I made that choice."
