30. Gen
Chapter 30
Gen
I brace my hands against the cold marble sink, leaning my weight forward as I try to slow my breathing. The water is icy where it clings to my skin, droplets trailing down my wrists. I welcome the chill. It gives me something tangible to focus on when everything inside me is falling apart.
This evening was a huge mistake. I knew Naomi King wasn’t going to hand me a warm welcome tied up in a silk ribbon, but I hadn’t expected her disdain to be so...calculated.
Every word, every glance, was a strategic incision meant to cut me down before I could even get a foothold. And it worked. I’ve spent the last fifteen minutes pretending I’m unaffected, but the truth is, I’m unraveling under the weight of her scrutiny.
I close my eyes and count backward from ten, each number a desperate attempt to claw back the composure slipping through my fingers. When I reach one, I adjust the neckline of my dress, run a damp tissue under my eyes to catch any lingering mascara, and square my shoulders.
I’m fine.
I’ve survived worse.
I will not let one woman’s opinion shatter everything I’ve built. Because she’s wrong about us.
With a final steadying breath, I reach for the doorknob and pull it open.
Naomi is standing there, waiting for me.
She leans casually against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, an expression carved from cold stone.
"Going somewhere?" she asks, voice deceptively mild.
I straighten instinctively, spine snapping into perfect posture. "Excuse me," I say, stepping forward, attempting to get back to Silas and Max as quickly as I can.
She moves quickly in front of me, blocking my way. I didn’t realize we’d moved onto the schoolyard bullying part of the evening. And she’s worried I’m too young.
"What exactly do you think you’re doing with my brother?" she says, skipping the pretense entirely.
My hands curl into fists at my sides, my fingernails biting into my palms as I fight the instinct to retreat.
But I am so tired of swallowing my pride to make other people more comfortable.
"Excuse me?" I manage, my voice clipped and dangerous.
"You heard me." Naomi steps closer, crowding into my space, trying to intimidate me with sheer force of will. "Women like you see men like Max and Silas and smell opportunity. And now you’re pregnant with another man’s baby? Another very wealthy man. You expect me to believe you’re not using them?"
It takes every ounce of restraint I have not to slap the smug expression off her face.
Instead, I laugh. Sharp and humorless.
"That’s rich," I say, shaking my head. "Coming from someone who doesn’t know a damn thing about me."
Naomi’s smile tightens, but she doesn’t back down. "Then tell me I’m wrong."
I take a breath, slow and deliberate. "You are wrong. I didn’t plan for any of this. I didn’t expect to fall for them. But I did. And they both love me. Whether you like it or not."
Her eyes flash, and for a moment I think I see something raw flicker across her face—something that looks suspiciously like fear. But it’s gone a second later, replaced by cool disdain.
"Love," Naomi scoffs, the word dripping with contempt. "Love isn’t using two men to cushion the fallout of your mistakes."
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from flinching.
The baby growing inside me is not a mistake.
What Silas and Max and I have is not a mistake.
"You don’t get to talk about mistakes like you’ve never made any," I say, my voice low and steady. "You don’t know what it’s like to be abandoned. To have everything ripped out from under you and be left alone to deal with the wreckage. Silas and Max were there when no one else was. They chose me. They stayed. And I chose them right back. There’s nothing convenient about this. And if you can’t understand that, that’s your limitation. Not mine."
Naomi holds my gaze for a long moment, and for once, there’s no smugness in her expression. No triumph. Just a thin, brittle crack running through her armor, so faint I almost miss it.
"Don’t expect me to be sad when this all falls apart," she says stiffly, her voice hollow compared to the razor edge it carried a moment ago.
"I don’t expect anything from you," I say, pushing past her with a calmness I don’t feel.
I walk away with my head high, my heart hammering in my chest, and my hands still trembling slightly at my sides.
The dining room comes back into view, bathed in soft golden light, as deceptively calm as a painting frozen in time. But the moment I cross the threshold, both Silas and Max snap to attention. I catch the flicker of tension across Max’s face, the rigid line of Silas’s shoulders.
I don’t sit down.
“It’s time to go,” I say, voice even, though my heart drums violently in my chest.
Silas is out of his chair before I finish speaking. His mouth is set in a hard, thin line, every inch of him vibrating with a restrained fury that mirrors my own. Max hesitates for the briefest of moments, but then he nods once, folding his napkin carefully before rising to join me.
Neither of them asks for an explanation. Neither demands justification. After the night we’ve had, after the accusations and the barely concealed contempt dripping from every corner of this house, it feels like an anchor tossed into a turbulent sea.
I turn toward the hall, ready to make a clean, dignified exit.
But, of course, Naomi won’t allow that.
She reenters the room, her heels clicking with a deliberate rhythm against the marble. She’s smiling—that slow, smug curve of her lips that promises nothing good. She plants herself neatly in our path, head tilted to the side, faux sympathy dripping from every polished syllable.
“Running already?” she says, voice syrupy and cutting all at once. “Guess you’re used to that. Considering you couldn’t even keep your baby’s father around.”
The words land exactly as she planned. My vision blurs at the edges for a heartbeat, but I force myself to stay upright, to stand taller. I will not crumble.
Max steps forward, his body slotting neatly between mine and Naomi’s, and for a terrifying second, I think he’s going to lose the tight grip he always keeps on his temper.
But when he speaks, his voice is calm. Razor-sharp, but calm.
“That’s enough,” Max clips. “You don’t get to talk to her like that. You have no idea what’s going on, and frankly, I don’t give a fuck what you think.”
Naomi blinks, caught off-guard by the venom in his tone. She opens her mouth to respond, but he doesn’t give her the chance.
“Genevieve is with us. Both of us. She didn’t ask for any of this, but she’s handled it with more strength and grace than most people would have.” His voice never rises, but the force behind it is staggering. “If you can’t respect her, then you don’t respect me.”
The silence that falls afterward is absolute, and tense enough to shatter under the weight of a single breath.
Naomi’s mouth opens for a second, as if scrambling for a rebuttal that refuses to come. For the first time tonight, she looks genuinely unsettled.
“Max—” she starts, reaching for some invisible thread of authority she no longer holds.
“No,” he cuts her off, sharper this time. “We’re leaving.”
Without giving her another glance, he turns and gestures for me to move ahead of him. Silas falls into step on my other side, close enough that I can feel the heat of his body. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. The protective hand he places on my forearm says everything.
We walk away from the table without a backward glance.
I tighten my fingers around the small clutch in my hand, willing myself not to falter as we cross the threshold of the front door and step back into the cool night air. The sky overhead is deep and velvet black, scattered with faint stars.
For a moment, we simply stand there on the wide front steps, the tension bleeding off us in waves.
I glance up at Max. His jaw is still tight, his posture rigid with the aftershocks of anger he rarely allows anyone to see. Silas exhales a long, slow breath, his hand never once leaving my arm.
I reach for them both, curling my fingers lightly into Max’s sleeve, brushing the edge of Silas’s jacket with my other hand. A silent thank you.
Without a word, Max presses a hand to the small of my back and guides me down the steps toward the waiting car.
We’re done here.
We’re going home.