Page 78 of My Ex's Billionaire Brothers

“Fuck me?” I snort a laugh. “Why her, Calvin? Why is this your line in the sand? She did nothing but what you asked of her, and even that wasn’t good enough for you. Why can’t you let her find happiness elsewhere?”

He ignores the question. “My guys will kill the countdown. It’ll go back in the vault.”

“Good. Once Vivian confirms our systems are secure, I’ll delete these files from my phone.” I pause, letting my words sink in. “But don’t make the mistake of thinking that means this is over for you. If you screw with us again…I have more copies. And I won’t hesitate to use them.”

“Fucking fine.” Then the line goes dead.

I lower the phone, heart hammering. A wave of relief hits me so unexpectedly that my legs tremble. I lean against the porch railing, inhaling deeply to steady myself. Our club is safe—for now. The hack will end, and nobody’s reputation will be destroyed. But a small pang of guilt gnaws at me. For all Calvin’s faults, a part of me remembers us as boys, chasing each other around a yard not unlike this one, in some long-forgotten summer. Maybe we were never truly close, but once, wecouldhave been. Now, that door is closed forever.

Pocketing the phone, I take another minute to compose myself. My reflection in the sliding glass door looks…drained. I force myself to relax. This is the Fourth of July, a holiday—Anya’s holiday. I refuse to let Calvin ruin another minute of her life.

When I return, she catches sight of me and tilts her head, curiosity evident. I give her a small shrug and find my seat. “Justa work emergency,” I say quietly, sliding back onto the bench. “Everything’s fine now.”

“Are you sure?” She rests a hand on my arm. “You look a little shaken.”

I cover her hand with mine. “A minor computer issue at the club. I had to sort it out, that’s all.”

“Have you tried the brisket yet?” she asks, a playful sparkle dancing in her eyes, as if she’s daring me to relax, to let go of the heaviness that threatens to linger.

I offer a faint grin. “Not yet. Recommend a sauce pairing?”

She launches into an enthusiastic explanation about local barbecue traditions, a conversation that spills into comments from half the table—best rubs, marinade times, old family recipes. Gage teases me about being too “fancy” for their taste buds, which makes Anya giggle. Hunter chimes in with a joking remark about me being a “food snob,” then praises me for teaching him the difference between a Cabernet and a Merlot.

I allow myself to bask in that familial warmth. The tension in my shoulders eases. Vivian will handle the day-to-day fallout, and once she confirms the hack is gone, my threat to Calvin will stand like a silent sword over his head. That leaves me free to enjoy this moment—a real holiday meal, with people who, against all odds, are beginning to feel like family.

Anya passes me the brisket, her eyes lit with fondness. “You okay?”

I glance around at the swirl of conversation, then back to her. “Better than okay,” I murmur. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

33

ANYA

This is the weirdest—andbest—Fourth of July of my entire life.

Dinner comes and goes in a blur of brisket, ribs, and a million overlapping conversations. Even after we push our plates away, my aunts, uncles, and cousins linger in clusters around the yard and inside the cottage. Dessert platters litter the main table—pecan pies, fruit salads, and at least two trays of brownies—while some of my younger relatives carry steaming mugs of coffee laced with too much sugar. A few of the older folks sit around the living room, flipping channels between baseball and the local news coverage of the holiday fireworks.

I’ve been chatting with my mother about the best way to freeze leftover brisket for sandwiches when I catch sight of my cousins Jenna and Bryce slipping away through the back door, apparently trying to escape notice. Nobody else seems to see them, so I mumble a half-baked excuse about needing fresh air and follow their trail out into the yard.

It doesn’t take much sleuthing to find them. The pungent aroma of weed leads me to a little clearing behind the tall stack oflumber my dad has been using for the new fence. Sure enough, there they stand—Jenna, in her baggy band T-shirt and cut-off shorts, and Bryce, wearing a snapback cap and sporting a cringe-inducing attempt at a mustache. They’re both giggling as they pass a joint back and forth.

“There you two are,” I announce, hands planted on my hips in my best big-cousin stance. “Sneaking off, are we?”

They both freeze, eyes wide. For a second, I almost laugh at how startled they look. Then Jenna breaks into a grin. “Anya! Hey, we’re not exactly sneaking. Just…having some holiday relaxation.”

“You know Mom and Dad would blow a gasket if they found you here, right?”

Bryce’s mustache twitches in concern. “Are you gonna tell on us?”

“Relax,” I assure them, lowering my voice. “I’m not the tattletale type. But maybe put that out if you see Dad approaching. He has zero chill about that kind of stuff.”

They laugh, and Jenna holds out the joint in my direction. “Wanna hit?”

“Nah. I’m good.”

They both shrug, resume their smoking, and motion me closer. Jenna pats the edge of a cracked cinder block that serves as an impromptu seat, and I settle beside her. It feels cozy, the three of us huddled behind the woodpile like we’re teenagers breaking curfew.

“God, I haven’t seen you in forever,” Jenna says, exhaling a long plume of smoke.