44. Gen
Chapter 44
Gen
T he invitation came in the form of a simple text from my mother, phrased so sweetly it made my teeth ache. We just want to talk, darling. Please.
I knew better.
Still, I accepted. Because apparently, I’m a glutton for punishment.
The house looks the same as always—stately, cold, all about appearances over warmth. As I climb the front steps, a feeling of unease tightens in my stomach.
The door swings open before I can knock. Simone offers a stiff smile and gestures me inside.
"They're waiting in the sunroom," she says quietly, avoiding my eyes.
That should have been my first warning.
I square my shoulders and step inside.
The sunroom is bright, deceptively cheerful. But really, it’s a war room in disguise. For a moment, all I see are my parents. They’re already seated. My mother is perched stiffly at the head of the table, pearls and disapproval gleaming under the recessed lighting. My father is standing behind her, his hands folded neatly in front of him, expression carved into stone.
But they’re not alone.
Heather is here. And Dom. What the fuck?
My heart plummets to my toes.
This isn’t a conversation. It’s an ambush.
I’m not even surprised anymore. Why do I let myself keep falling for their bullshit?
"Genevieve," my mother says, rising gracefully to her feet. "You look tired. Sit down, darling."
I don't move. "What's going on?"
"We’ve been talking," she says. "And we all agree—it’s time to set things right."
The words land with a dull thud in my chest. My brow furrows.
"Set things right," I repeat, voice flat.
My father steps forward, tone gentle in a way that feels rehearsed. "You’ve made quite the mess of things, darling. But you're young. You don't understand the consequences of your choices yet. That’s why we’re here—to help you fix this before it’s too late."
I stiffen. "There’s nothing to fix."
Heather laughs lightly, a sound so disgustingly fake. "Oh, Gen, come on. You don’t really want to be stuck playing house with three old men, do you? That’s not a life. That’s a circus."
She reaches into her oversized handbag and pulls out a folder, sliding it across the coffee table toward me.
"I’m buying your event planning business," she says, her voice ridiculously upbeat, like I’ve won some amazing price. "At more than fair market value, mind you. You’ll get a clean break. Real money. Independence."
My throat constricts, but I don’t touch the folder.
"And," my father adds smoothly, "if you walk away now, we can minimize the damage. Salvage your future. Your reputation."
Mother nods eagerly. "There are still options, darling. You could have a proper match. A family. Respectability."
My fists clench at my sides, nails digging into my palms.
Heather leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her eyes gleaming. "You don’t belong in their world, Gen. You’re just a temporary distraction. But lucky you—you get to walk away with a payday."
The room feels suffocating, the air thick with condescension and fake concern. Are they out of their damn minds? I may be young, but I am still an adult. I have built a company up from scratch and turned it into something worth talking about. And they think they can just lead me around like a naughty child and railroad me into doing what they want?
And, why wouldn’t they? I’ve let them do it my whole life. But I have something else worth fighting for now. I place a hand on the swell of my belly and take a deep breath before I slam my hand against the table hard enough to rattle the crystal vase filled to the brim with lilies .
"Enough."
The word echoes in the stunned silence.
I push the folder back toward Heather with two fingers. "I don't need your money. I don't need your approval. And I sure as hell don't need your permission to live my life."
My father exhales sharply. "Be reasonable, Genevieve," he says, voice clipped.
"No," I snap. "You be reasonable. I'm not a child you can boss around. And I’m not selling my business to anyone."
Heather rolls her eyes, muttering something under her breath. Dom remains silent, but his gaze is locked on me.
"I love them," I say, voice steady. "I love our baby. And if that embarrasses you?" I smile, the expression razor-sharp. " Too fucking bad. "
I don’t stay to hear whatever self-righteous lecture they have planned next.
I turn on my heel and walk out.
I don’t let myself look back. I am done with this bullshit. I don’t rely on them financially. I don’t rely on them emotionally. Cutting them out of my life won’t be difficult.
Because the truth is—they’re just people.
Flawed. Selfish. Small.
They’re not gods. They’re just two people who happened to create me, and somewhere along the way, they decided that I should have no choice in my own decisions.
But I don’t need their approval to breathe. I don’t need their permission to live. I have built something stronger, fiercer, better than anything they ever gave me.
Family isn’t blood. It’s choice.
And I choose them —Silas, Max, Sebastian. I choose the life we’re building. I choose our baby. I choose myself.
I make it to the front steps before the first crack splinters through the wall I’ve been holding up.
The second the door closes behind me, the weight of it all crashes down. My throat tightens painfully, vision blurring as the fight drains out of me, leaving nothing but bone-deep exhaustion in its place.
I press a shaking hand to my belly, trying to steady myself, find some semblance of control again. But it’s too much. The betrayal, the manipulation, the constant battle just to be seen, to be enough. It claws at my chest, tears pressing against my eyes with a force I can't hold back.
Strong arms catch me before I can fall.
I blink through the tears, surprised to find Silas. His arms band tight around me, grounding me, his chin tipping down to brush against my temple.
"You’re not alone, baby girl," he says, voice low and fierce. "You never will be."
Another body presses close—Max. A third—Sebastian, his hand cupping the back of my head.
The three of them form a wall around me, shielding me from the world I just walked away from.
I hold on tightly to Silas, letting the certainty in his touch anchor me. My heart still stutters unevenly, but the worst of the collapse passes. I can breathe again. I’m safe.
Or I think I am.
The door swings open behind me.
I stiffen instantly, the comforting cocoon around me breaking apart as Dom steps outside.
His expression is infuriatingly neutral, but there’s a glint in his eye that sets my teeth on edge. I pull away from Silas slowly, wiping at my face with the back of my hand. I turn to face Dom, squaring my shoulders, forcing my voice to steady.
"Why are you doing this?"
Dom’s mouth twitches. "I’m protecting Sebastian."
I laugh, sharp and humorless. "No. You're not."
He raises an eyebrow, feigning innocence.
"This isn’t about protection," I say, stepping closer. "This is about control. About power. You can’t stand the fact that you don’t have it anymore."
Something cracks in his carefully constructed facade. A flicker of something ugly flashes across his face.
"You’re pathetic," I say, letting every ounce of fury, every buried wound rise to the surface. "Trying to destroy something just because you don’t understand it."
His hands flex at his sides, a clear sign that I’ve hit a nerve.
"I’m not afraid of you," I say, meaning every word. "You think you’re untouchable because you know how to move pieces on a board. But you’re not playing chess anymore, Dom. You’re standing alone, clinging to rules that no longer matter."
I step closer, so close I can see the slight flare of his nostrils.
"Stay away from me," I say, voice low and unwavering. "Stay away from all of us."
I gesture behind me—at Silas, Max, Sebastian. At the future Dom will never be a part of.
For a moment, Dom just stands there, muscles coiled like he’s debating whether to argue, to lash out. But then he gives a bitter smile and without another word he turns and walks back into the house, slamming the door behind him.
I stand there, heart hammering, waiting for the adrenaline to wear off.
All my men surround me and I turn into their touch, breathing them in.
Home.
Safe.
Loved.
Everything my family could never give me—right here, wrapped around me like armor.