40. Gen
Chapter 40
Gen
E very 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.
I try to slide the letter away, but he’s already seen too much. His hand covers mine, halting the motion.
"It’s nothing," I say, too fast.
Max doesn’t call me on it. He just shifts closer, gently tugging me into his chest, his arms wrapping around me.
"They don’t get to have an opinion on our happiness," he says, voice rough with conviction. "Not now. Not ever."
I close my eyes against the hot prick of tears. Breathe him in—clean soap, warm skin. He always smells like safety. Like home.
I want to believe him. I want to carve those words into my skin until they overwrite everything else—the doubt, the shame, the endless, gnawing fear that somehow, I’m not enough for all of this. For them.
"I’m fine," I lie against his chest.
Max doesn’t argue. He just tightens his hold, pressing a kiss to my temple before letting me go.
Later, after dinner, when the loft is filled with the soft hum of low music and the golden spill of light from the kitchen, I feel them all around me.
Silas is sprawled on the couch, reading a book and pretending not to watch me over the rim of his glasses.
Sebastian is leaning against the counter, sleeves rolled, jaw tight with whatever storm he’s managing behind those calculating eyes.
Max, always steady, always patient, is setting up the new bassinet with a quiet diligence. He pauses to adjust one of the bars, frowning slightly in concentration, like this task—the smallest, most mundane thing—is the most important thing he’s ever done.
I belong here.
Even when my mind tries to convince me otherwise. Even when old fears whisper that I’m too much or not enough. Even when the world outside claws at the edges of what we’re building.
Here, in this moment, I am theirs.
And they are mine. And that is worth fighting for.