Page 83 of Filthy Rich Ex's Brothers

He has no answer to that because he knows I’m right. In all of his marriages—even with my mother—it was important to our father that he always had the upper hand. That he called the shots.

Travis sips his water. I stare into my whiskey glass and wish it could magically refill itself. Nowthatwould be hospitality.

Without consciously thinking, I ask, “What are we going to do about him?”

Travis makes a surprised noise, “About Alex?”

I give him a look that sayswho else?

He makes a grunting noise. “We do nothing. We keep our guardrails in place and hope Priscilla keeps him cut off from the money. What? You want to do something more? Go on the offense?”

I wave a hand, “No. I’m not talking about… this whole thing. I’m talking about our brother. Is there something we can do for him?”

Travis finishes his glass, rinses it out, and sets it beside the sink. Turning to me, he crosses his arms and says, “Alex was awful to Serena. Downrightcruel. Fucked up that record player knowing she wouldn’t have the resources to get it fixed. He could have just talked to her, and instead he threw her shit on the lawn like a child. And,” Travis lowers his voice, gaze flicking to the doorway for a second, “I’m pretty sure he was cheating on her with her friend.”

My brow shoots up, “Her best friend?”

Travis shrugs, which reminds me of Ryan. “Yes. The brunette. It seemed like they’d been together for a minute when they came into the office.”

“Seems like a leap.”

“I’m good at reading people.”

I shift in my seat, take a deep breath. “I know he sucks. I just want to… figure out why. Guess after watching him grow up with basically no parents, I just want to give the guy the benefit of the doubt.”

“You’ve been spending too much time in the middle of nowhere,” Travis says, shaking his head and making for thedoor. “I’ll tell you what Alex has accomplished—he’s continuing on Stephen’s legacy. Stephen couldn’t recreate himself in me, or in you, but he certainly got it right with Alex.”

And with that, Travis knocks twice on the door frame in a sort ofgood nightbefore he slips off into the hallway. I listen to his footsteps as they retreat down the hallway.

Ten minutes later, after the whiskey and conversation, I’m able to drift off in the leather armchair, fire crackling cheerfully beyond my feet.

Chapter 45

Serena

Remind me never to listen to social media again.

In that gorgeous house, with a drawer full of luxury athletic clothing and a credit card to buy whatever I wanted, I convinced myself that I could join the latest fitness trend and become a runner.

But now, on the road outside the house in my brand new running shoes, with my hair tied back and my lungs shriveling in my chest, I’m majorly regretting this decision. Money truly cannot buy you everything.

It’s at that moment that I think,okay, that’s it, I’m really done, and start to walk again that I hear the soft purr of an engine behind me. Fear springs up inside me, and I think about Travis this morning, telling me to stay within the gates.

Why did I leave?

And what should I do? The car isn’t going past—in fact, I can hear it following right behind me. At once, I can feel every part of my body—the tips of my ears, the backs of my calves, every tiny hair on my forearms.

Before I can figure out what to do—run away or try to fight—the car pulls up beside me, and a familiar face appears. “Get in. We need to talk.”

A bark of laughter pops out of me like the cork on a shaken bottle.

Bianca is sitting behind the wheel of a white convertible. Despite the dust and grime of the gravel country road, she has the top down. Her dark hair is wrapped in a silk, patterned scarf. Knowing her, that thing was a thousand dollars in some exclusive vintage shop.

Instead of justifying this stupidity with a response, I just flip her the bird and turn, walking back to the house. She can follow me all she wants, but she won’t make it through the gate once I get there.

“Serena!” she shouts, her voice breaking a little. I hear her throw the car back into gear, and for a fleeting moment, I wonder if she might actually run me down. “Please. Can we just talk? It’s important, Ser?—”

“No!” I tip my head back and yell it to the sky, like some god up there might hear the answer and smite her for me. Of course, nothing happens. “Why don’t you just fuck off? Don’t you have someone at home, wondering where you’ve gone?”