27. Gen
Chapter 27
Gen
I barely register what Heather says. I’m not sure I can hear anything over the ringing in my ears. I’m not even sure if I’m still breathing.
The moment she sweeps into the room, dripping smugness, her perfume poisoning the air, I know everything I need to know. She doesn't have to say a word. Her casual entrance tells me everything.
I sit frozen in my chair, nails digging into the fabric of my leggings, trying to keep myself anchored. I count my breaths in a desperate attempt to maintain control.
In. Two. Three. Four.
Out. Two. Three. Four.
Silas stiffens beside me. Max mutters a curse under his breath. Neither of them moves.
And Sebastian—Sebastian just stands there.
I don't even need confirmation. I can see it plain on his face. I can feel it in the way he doesn't immediately push Heather away, doesn't instantly slam the door on whatever claim she thinks she has.
Whatever foolish hope I’d been harboring about second chances, about rebuilding and finding some way to survive this together, shatters instantly.
I can't stay here.
I can’t breathe in this room, with her perfume clogging my lungs and his silence choking me.
Without a word, I rise from the chair. I don’t run, even if my entire body is screaming at me to do just that. I don't look at Max. I don't look at Silas. I certainly don't look at Sebastian.
I just walk. I hear Sebastian's low curse behind me.
"Genevieve—wait! Just—please."
I don't stop.
I don't even slow down.
If I stop, I'll lose every scrap of dignity I have left. I’ll say something I’ll regret, something that will leave even deeper scars. If I stop, I'll give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he still owns me, even after everything.
The hallway outside the office feels endless, a gauntlet I have to survive with my head held high.
I’m halfway to the elevators before I hear his footsteps behind me.
Quicker this time. Desperate. He’s always quick when it’s too late.
Sebastian moves in front of me, cutting off my path with his body.
"Don’t walk away from me," he says, his voice rough and raw in a way that almost makes me falter. Almost.
"Not like this."
"Like what, Sebastian?" I snap, pointing my finger at him. "Like you walked away from me?"
The words echo down the too-bright hallway.
His jaw locks tight, the muscles twitching under his skin. Then he closes his eyes and takes a deliberate breath.
"I know I fucked up," he says finally. "I know I don’t deserve anything from you. But I swear to God, Genevieve, I want to fix this."
I tilt my head, studying him with a calmness I don't feel.
"You can't fix this," I say quietly.
He steps closer, and I resist the instinct to step back.
"I want to be in the baby’s life," he says, his voice a low, fierce growl. "I want to be in your life."
When I don’t answer, he steps closer, reaching for my hand. “I’ll do anything. Tell me what I can do. Tell me what to do, Genevieve.”
My throat tightens painfully. I force myself to meet his gaze.
"Tell me you didn’t sleep with her."
The question slices through the fragile air between us, leaving a jagged wound in its place.
Sebastian doesn't answer. He doesn't deny it. He doesn't say anything at all. He just stands there, stone-faced and silent, and I understand more in that awful, aching silence than I would from a thousand shouted denials.
It’s answer enough.
The last of my breath leaves my body in a shuddering exhale.
I take a step back, then another, putting physical distance between us because it’s the only thing I can control anymore.
"Then there’s nothing you can do," I say, my voice flat.
I turn and walk away, my steps mechanical, each one a conscious decision not to turn around. I will not let him see the tears blurring the edges of my vision.
This time, he doesn’t follow.
I make it to the elevator before the shaking starts.
At first, it’s subtle—a tremor in my fingertips, a slight unsteadiness in my knees—but by the time I press the call button, it feels like my whole body is betraying me. The adrenaline that carried me down the hallway drains out of my system, leaving a hollow, bone-deep exhaustion in its place.
I hear footsteps pounding behind me, two distinct sets, moving fast.
The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime. I step inside, grateful for the small, contained space, the illusion of separation it offers.
But Silas and Max are already there, crowding into the car before the doors can shut.
The second they’re inside, Silas swears under his breath. He reaches for me without hesitation, pulling me into the solid wall of his chest.
I let him.
For once, I don't overthink it. I just let myself lean into him, let myself be held.
Max moves to the panel, stabbing the button for the lobby with more force than necessary. His entire body is vibrating with an anger he’s barely holding in check.
I press my forehead against Silas’s chest, breathing in the clean, familiar scent of him. It grounds me, just a little. Enough to keep the worst of the panic at bay.
Silas wraps his arms around me tighter, his hand stroking up and down my back in slow, soothing passes. I feel him press a kiss to the crown of my head, murmuring something I can’t quite make out, but the intent is clear.
You’re safe.
You’re not alone.
The elevator hums quietly around us as it descends. Every second that ticks by feels heavier, denser, dragging me deeper into a fatigue I don't know how to fight.
Max glances over his shoulder, his gaze raking over me with a mix of frustration and helplessness. I know he’s looking for signs—injuries, panic, anything he can fix with a quick, decisive action.
But there’s nothing to fix. Not externally.
All the damage is internal. Deeper than skin. Deeper than bone.
The elevator dings as it reaches the ground floor. Silas doesn’t let go. He keeps one arm firmly around my waist as we move, guiding me gently but insistently toward the car waiting at the curb.
I blink against the too-bright light of the lobby, against the stares I can feel pressing in from every direction. I keep my head down, my steps small and careful, forcing my body to move when every part of me wants to crumple.
The driver opens the rear door without a word.
The second I’m inside, the door shuts with a muffled thud.
I fold into the seat, curling my knees up toward my chest without thinking. I press my forehead against the cool glass of the window, willing the chill to seep into my skin, to numb the rawness scraping me apart from the inside out.
"Home," Max says, voice low and hard. "Now."
The car pulls away from the curb smoothly, the city blurring past the windows. I don’t realize I’m crying until I feel the tears slipping down my cheeks. I try to wipe them away discreetly, but my hands are shaking too badly to do much more than smear them across my skin.
Silas notices immediately. He reaches for me, and for the first time since this nightmare started, I stop trying to hold it together.
The sob that rips out of me is ugly and broken and loud in the small space of the car, but I can’t stop it. I can’t even pretend to.
Silas pulls me tighter against him, cradling me in his arms, rocking me gently without saying a word.
Max reaches across the seat, his hand finding my thigh.
Neither of them says anything.
They don't tell me it's going to be okay.
They don't make promises they can't keep.
They just stay.
And somehow, that’s enough.
The tears keep coming, draining the last shreds of adrenaline and anger and hurt from my system. By the time I start to quiet, I feel wrung out. Empty.
But not alone.
Never alone.
By the time we pull up in front of my apartment, my brain is at least partially functional again.
I don’t know how I make it up the stairs. Muscle memory, probably. One foot in front of the other, climbing through a fog thick enough that everything feels distant, disconnected.
When Max unlocks the door and pushes it open, Evie is there, her bare feet tucked up under her on the couch, a laptop balanced precariously on her knees.
The second she sees my face, the laptop is forgotten.
“G?”
I lift a hand before she can reach me, palm out in a silent plea.
“I’m fine,” I say, my voice rough from crying. “I just...need a minute.”
Evie stops short, her mouth tightening into a line that says she doesn’t believe a single word, but she lets me go. For now.
I offer a weak smile in thanks and move past her, heading straight for my room. I hear Silas and Max saying something to her, but I don't stop to listen.
Inside my room, I shut the door behind me and sag against it for a moment, the cool wood pressing against my back.
The apartment is quiet.
Safe.
But the silence isn’t comforting the way it usually is. Tonight, it feels oppressive.
I cross to the bed, sinking down onto the edge of the mattress with a heavy exhale. My hands find my stomach automatically, palms splayed over the gentle swell that's still more concept than reality.
"I’ve got you," I whisper, the words barely a breath.
It’s a promise. To this tiny, stubborn life growing inside me. To myself.
A soft knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. For a second, I consider pretending to be asleep. But then the door creaks open, and Silas’s head appears in the gap.
His expression is cautious, tender in a way that nearly undoes me all over again.
“Can we come in?” he asks, his voice low, careful.
I nod, unable to find words.
He slips inside, Max following a step behind him. They cross the room and sit down—one on either side of me.
I let myself lean into Silas first, my body slumping against his side without resistance. His arm wraps around my shoulders instantly, pulling me closer, tucking me against him with a quiet sigh of relief.
Max’s hand finds my thigh, his thumb stroking slowly.
For a long time, none of us says anything.
The knot in my chest loosens fractionally, enough that I can finally exhale without feeling like I’m shattering into a thousand irreparable pieces.
I stare down at my hands, still folded protectively over my stomach, and try to breathe through the ache lodged behind my sternum.
“You’re not alone,” Silas murmurs into my hair, the words vibrating against my scalp. “And we’re going to protect you from him.”
Max squeezes my thigh gently, a silent agreement.
I blink rapidly, willing away the fresh sting of tears.
I know. I believe them. But believing it doesn't erase the fear, the overwhelming uncertainty threading through every inch of me.
I glance sideways at Silas, then at Max.
Two men who have every reason to run, to decide this is too complicated, too messy. They could walk away without a backward glance, and no one would blame them.
But they’re still here.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, I start to believe maybe that’s enough.
Maybe it’s everything.
I tilt my head up, shifting slightly against Silas’s side. His arm tightens reflexively, as if afraid I’ll pull away. I don’t. I study his face instead—the faint lines around his mouth, the tension still braced in his jaw, the shadows under his eyes.
Without thinking, without second-guessing the impulse for once, I lean up and press my mouth to his.
His breath hitches against my lips, his hand cupping the back of my head, holding me there as he deepens it just enough to chase away any uncertainty. He kisses me deeply and it’s everything I need and everything I’m terrified of, all at once.
When I finally pull back, my heart is hammering against my ribs, but the weight in my chest feels lighter.
I turn toward Max, finding his dark eyes already on me.
I don’t hesitate. I lean in and kiss him too, my hand finding the side of his neck. Max responds immediately, his lips moving over mine with a tenderness that guts me more than any anger or heartbreak ever could.
When I pull away, there’s no hesitation left. Silas shifts first, brushing my hair back from my face with a touch so careful it makes my throat ache.
"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice a rasp of sound against the quiet.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
He searches my face for a long moment, looking for any sign of doubt. When he finds none, he presses another kiss to my forehead, lingering there as if imprinting the moment into memory.
Max moves behind me, his arms sliding around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. His hands rest just above my stomach, and I sink into him with a shuddering breath.
They don’t rush.
There’s no frantic tearing of clothes, no desperate fumbling. Just slow, deliberate movements.
Silas kisses me again, slower this time, his hands mapping the shape of my body with aching tenderness. Max’s lips find the side of my neck, his breath stirring the fine hairs along my skin, sending a shiver through me.
Max’s hands lift the hem of my shirt, peeling it upward with patient care.
The rest of my clothes follow, each piece removed with the same careful slowness, until I’m bare between them, exposed in every way that matters.
Max lays me back against the pillows, his hands framing my face as he kisses me again—soft, slow, savoring every small sound I make. Silas’s hands are everywhere stroking, exploring, reminding me that I’m not alone.
When Max finally presses into me, it’s slow and careful, his forehead resting against mine, his breath ragged.
Silas stays close, his hand sliding down my arm, his mouth whispering promises against my skin.
I lose myself in the rhythm they set. No demands. No expectations.
Just love.
By the time I come apart, it’s with a shuddering gasp, tears slipping silently down my cheeks.
They stay with me, moving together, moving with me, until we all collapse into a tangled, exhausted heap of limbs.
I let them hold me.
And I know I’m going to be okay.