Page 10 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 3

I turned on the faucet and let the water run hot, watching as steam began to rise from the tub. I poured in bubble bath—lavender-scented, the kind Mama used to use when I was little—and watched the bubbles multiply and foam.

The tub filled slowly, and I stood there, staring at the water, my mind replaying everything that had just happened.

Winston walking into that exam room.

Yahmaria standing beside him, her face smug and satisfied.

Amai’s expression—shock, then rage, then something that looked almost like fear.

The twins on the ultrasound screen.

Winston’s voice. “An heir and a spare.”

I stripped off my clothes mechanically, letting them fall to the floor in a heap. My hands were shaking. My entire body was shaking.

I stepped into the tub and sank into the warm water, letting it cover me up to my shoulders. The bubbles clung to my skin, soft and fragrant, and for a moment—just a moment—I closed my eyes and tried to breathe.

But the tears came anyway.

They started slow, just a few sliding down my cheeks, hot and silent. Then more. Then I couldn’t stop them.

I pressed my hands to my face and sobbed.

Amai was married.

He’d been married this entire time.

The realization hit me over and over, each wave more brutal than the last.

He’d pursued me. He’d made me feel seen, wanted, chosen. He’d told me I was different. He’d looked at me like I was the only woman in the world.

And the whole time, he had a wife.

A wife.

I thought about the photo I’d found at the cabin—the girl with her name written on the back. Yahmaria. I’d assumed she was an ex, someone from his past. The timestamp had been old, so I hadn’t thought much of it.

But she wasn’t an ex.

She was his wife.

And he’d taken me to that cabin. He’d made love to me there—on the bear rug in front of the fireplace, his hands on my body, his mouth on my skin, his voice in my ear telling me I was his.

In a house where he’d fucked her.

The violation of that realization made my stomach turn.

I leaned over the side of the tub and dry-heaved, my body convulsing, even though there was nothing left to come up. My chest heaved. My throat burned.

He’d touched me in a place where he’d touched her.

He’d whispered to me in a bed where he’d whispered to her.

He’d claimed me in a space that wasn’t even really his—it was theirs.

I sank back into the water, my hands gripping the edges of the tub so hard my knuckles turned white.

How could he do that?