Page 100 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 3

It had to mean something.

Because if it didn’t—if this was all just spite and obsession wrapped in delusion—then what the fuck was I doing?

I shook my head, pushing the thought away.

“No. I’m not like him. I’m not obsessed. I’m not⁠—”

I stopped mid-sentence, my reflection catching in the window.

I looked like shit.

Hair disheveled. Eyes bloodshot. Jaw clenched so tight it ached.

I looked like a man on the edge.

“I need to talk to her,” I said quietly. “I need to make her understand.”

The decision solidified in my mind, sharp and clear despite the alcohol clouding my thoughts.

I had to see Truth.

I had to make her see that I was the right choice. That Amai would destroy her. That I was the only one who could give her the life she deserved.

I turned and walked out of the nursery, my footsteps heavy hawking down the hallway.

I showered. Changed into clean clothes—dark jeans, a fitted black henley. I’d shaved, combed my hair, made myself look presentable.

Like a man who had his shit together.

Like a man who deserved to be heard.

I grabbed my keys from the counter and headed for the door.

The sun hit me like a slap, hot and sharp, but it didn’t clear my head.

Nothing could clear my head.

Not until I saw her.

Not until I made her understand.

I got in my car and started the engine, my hands steady now, my mind made up.

I was going to fight for her.

And I wasn’t going to stop until I won.

By the time I pulled up to Truth’s brick house on Mimosa Ct, it was just past one in the afternoon.

The sun was high and unforgiving, beating down on the quiet residential street. A few cars were parked along the curb, but the block was mostly empty. Peaceful.

I’d gone home first.

I parked at the curb and sat there for a moment, staring at the house.

Her car was in the driveway. She was home.

My heart pounded in my chest, adrenaline mixing with the lingering alcohol in my system.