I picked up my phone.
Stared at the screen.
No messages.
No missed calls.
Nothing.
I set it back down.
Resumed pacing.
I was halfway across the room when I heard the front door again.
Heavier footsteps this time.
Familiar.
My jaw tightened.
Winston Landry walked into my living room like he owned it.
Expensive suit. Polished shoes. That expression on his face—the one that said he was here to remind me of something I’d forgotten.
“Amai,” he said. “We need to talk.”
I didn’t respond.
Just stood there, hands in my pockets, waiting.
“I heard you sent a physician to some woman’s house last night,” Winston continued. “In the Seventh Ward.”
Of course he’d heard.
Dr. Chen was on his payroll too.
“That’s right,” I said.
“The surrogate.”
“Yes.”
Winston’s expression didn’t change. “You’re getting attached.”
“I’m making sure my investment is protected.”
“Yourinvestment.” He said the word like it tasted bad. “Is that what you’re calling her?”
I didn’t answer.
Winston stepped closer. “You needed outside help to produce an heir, Amai. That’s not something to be proud of. That’s not something to getemotionalabout.”
The words landed like a slap.
I felt my hands curl into fists in my pockets.
“Careful,” I said quietly.
