Page 88 of Filthy Rich Ex's Brothers

That is, until I actuallyprocesswhat Graham, his chest rumbling under me, just said.

“What if we just tell the truth?”

I jump up from his lap, turning around to face him, heart racing not for the first time today. Can you have a heart attack from stress? Is that what’s happening to me?

“What are you talking about?” I ask, at the same time Travis asks, tone low and even, “What exactly do you mean by that? What truth?”

“That we’re together.” Graham looks first at his brother, then at me, and finally at Ryan. “In a relationship. Dating. Sharing Serena.”

I sputter out a laugh even as my heartbeat picks up even more. It was anxiety-inducing enough the first time the guys suggested that we do this thing. Now, it’s ten times as strong, theburst of nervous energy that crackles through me when I think about thepublicknowing. Seeing photos of us.

The things they’ll call me. As a woman, I’ve already gotten a taste, but Ryan is right—I have no idea how bad it could really get.

“Won’t it be just as bad?” I ask, voice weak. “Does it really matter who puts it out there?”

“No, no—I see what he’s talking about.” Ryan steps into the middle of the room, holding up his thumbs and fingers in right angles, like he’s trying to imagine a new piece of furniture in this room. “If Alex tells them, it’s something for us to be ashamed of. If we tell them, and it’s our thing. We own it. It belongs to us.”

“I don’t know.” Travis makes a face like he hates those particular words coming from his lips.

“I mean, it makes sense to me,” Ryan goes on, getting more worked up. “What’s the point in making all this money, working hard to be rich and powerful, if we don’t get to live life how we want? I’m gonna move to New York City and let some little punk, no offense?—”

“—none taken—” Graham mutters.

“—threaten me? Try to make me cower?” Ryan’s gaze swings to mine, and the smile stretched over his face almost makes me feel better about the whole situation. Almost. “Nah. I think we tell the truth.”

Everything hangs in the air as we look at one another. Part of me wants to fight back against this. Another part wants to climb back into Graham’s lap, where I felt safe. Let the guys handle everything. Rest for the first time in my life.

Travis sighs, looks at me, and says, “It comes down to what Serena wants. I’ll do whatever you think is best, Ser. Whatever makes you happy.”

I swallow through a knot in my throat.

On the surface, I know what I want—tobewith them. To spend time with them, travel with them, move about the world with them, without caring about what people think. I want to spend my life with these three men and, ideally, never think about Alex Oakley ever again.

But deeper than that, below the easy, simple wanting, is a feeling that I haven’t been able to push down. An insipid voice in the back of my head that insists, again and again, that it doesn’t matter what I do. If I give in to the wanting, to the possibility oflove, then I’m putting myself in danger.

I’m putting myself in exactly the kind of situation to find my belongings in garbage bags again. And this time, it’s not just one rich guy, but three.

And not just Alex.Thesethree. Men who made me feel something, who touched my body and made me light up, responding to a language I never realized was my native tongue.

This is a chance for us to get ahead of the narrative. To take control of our relationship.

But there’s another option—I walk away.

Protect myself and them. Without me in the middle, there will be nothing for Alex to tell. Some pictures unsubstantiated by their behavior. They will all go their own ways again, connected through their friendship.

And I’ll go back to the life I had before. Live with my roommates. Take senior photos and respond to emails asking me why edits are taking so long.

I’ll forget about the taste of Ryan’s cooking. Forget about the burn of Travis’s eyes on me. Delete Graham’s large hands and comforting presence from my mind.

I caused this problem. Walked into their lives and expected them to rearrange for me. Make space for some random, broken woman.

And here they are, ready to risk everything. It’s not just about me—it’s about them. About the differences they make. Every person who has a job at Onyx. Every visitor to the National Park Graham will have instated.

“I just—” I’m backing toward the door before I fully realize what I’m doing.

“Serena—” Travis looks me up and down, brow furrowing. “Are you okay?”

“I think, I think?—”