Page 76 of My Ex's Billionaire Brothers

His expression is priceless—utter bewilderment and impotent rage. I jog to catch up with Anya, leaving him sputtering behind us on the sand. She’s walking briskly, shoulders squared, but Ican see her breathing heavily. When I loop an arm around her waist, she leans into me, exhaling a shaky breath.

“Holy crap,” she mutters. “I can’t believe I said all that.”

I bark out a laugh. “No complaints from me. You just verbally burned that guy to ash and walked away without so much as a backward glance.”

She giggles, a sweet, breathy sound. “I hate being mean, but…he deserved that. Right?”

“Oh, absolutely.” I tighten my arm around her, pressing a kiss to her temple. “He needed to hear every word. And honestly?Ineeded to hear you say it. Watching you shut him down like that was…unbelievably attractive.”

She blushes, a slow smile curling her lips. “Well, look at that. All it took was me verbally slaying my ex to win your admiration.”

I grin, guiding her further down the beach. “I’ve always admired you, kitten. This just kicks it up a notch.”

Anya sighs again, but it’s a lighter sound, like she just needed to exhale the remnants of that confrontation. “I totally forgot Billy’s parents’ house is down this side of the beach,” she says. “Maybe we should’ve gone the other way.”

“Nah,” I say, giving her a small squeeze. “That was necessary. He needed to hear the truth. AndIneeded to see you take him down a peg.”

She laughs, leaning her head against my chest as we walk. The wind whips her hair around, and her face gleams in the sunlight. She looks so content, soalive. It makes my heart clench in the best way.

32

THEO

I can still feelthe salt breeze on my cheeks by the time Anya and Hunter return from their walk, their hands interlinked, faces glowing. The timing is perfect. Alexei has just announced that the ribs and brisket are coming off the smokers, while uncles, aunts, and cousins bustle about, arranging hot dogs, deviled eggs, and bowls of coleslaw on the long folding tables.

Dinner is served.

Anya catches my eye across the lawn and waves, a smile curving her lips. She and Hunter slip around a gaggle of chatty cousins to join us at the big table set up beneath a striped canopy. The Markoff clan has gone all out—long benches, bright tablecloths, and paper lanterns for when night falls and the fireworks begin. The older family members sit indoors, occasionally poking their heads out to check on everyone. It’s the sort of warm, familial scene that rarely graces any of our Carver childhood memories.

When Anya settles beside me, I catch a hint of coconut sunscreen and the lingering crispness of the ocean breeze. Hunter claims the seat on her other side, while Gage lowers himself onto a bench across from us with a grunt.

The flurry of chatter quiets as Alexei raises his hand. His voice is deep, resonant. “Let’s say grace.” Around the table, heads bow. I rest my hands in my lap, momentarily tuning in to the comfort of a family prayer.

The moment “amen” is uttered, arms reach for bowls and trays. Anya’s mother, Jessica, directs traffic. “Pass the corn! Don’t forget the baked beans!” Tongs click, and utensils clink on plates. Conversation resumes in a wave, everyone talking over each other in that uniquely boisterous way large families do.

I’ve just grabbed a piece of brisket when my phone buzzes in my pocket. Normally, I wouldn’t check, but it vibrates with the distinct urgent pattern I set for calls from Vivian, our club manager. I frown, my eyebrows pinching. Everything seems so pleasant, so…normal. I hate to break the mood. But the phone buzzes again, and I know I can’t ignore it.

Gently, I set down my plate. “Excuse me,” I murmur, leaning toward Anya. “I need to take this call.”

I rise from the bench and slip around the table, phone already in hand. As I step onto the back deck, the conversation and laughter fade behind me, replaced by the soft rustle of wind through the dune grass. I press the phone to my ear and keep my voice low.

“Vivian,” I greet. “What’s going on?”

“Theo, we have a problem. A major one.”

I clench my jaw. “I assume.”

“The club’s systems were compromised this morning,” she continues, clearly trying to keep herself steady. “I got an anonymous email demanding money, or they’ll publish themembership roster tonight at eight p.m. One name per hour, with the price going up ten percent every hour we don’t pay.”

A cold knot forms in my stomach. “A ransom.”

“Yes. They’re calling it compensation for ‘hosting immoral activities.’” She gives a derisive snort. “But that’s not all. The amount they’re asking for is astronomical.”

When she tells me the number, my blood runs cold. It’s the exact amount Gage, Hunter, and I inherited when our grandmother passed. It feels too deliberate, too pointed. Calvin didn’t get a dime from her, and it ate at him. I curse under my breath. “Have they shown proof they actually have our data?”

“There was an attachment,” Vivian says. “They included a partial membership list. It has a handful of senators, a few major celebrities, and that prince from Monaco—most of them masked or pseudonymous, but real names are in our system. They had pictures of our staff list too. They definitely got in.”

I take a moment to breathe. Sins thrives on discretion. Some patrons wear masks. Many use alias accounts. Yet the club’s private records hold their true identities, as required by certain legal measures. If those get out, it could ruin careers, marriages, even entire political structures. “Paying them might not solve anything. They could still publish it anyway.”