Page 106 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 3

I stared back.

He stepped inside his apartment and closed the door.

Good.

I took the stairs two at a time, the case steady in my grip. My breathing was even. My focus absolute.

Second floor.

Third floor.

The stairwell ended at a metal door marked ROOF ACCESS - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

I pushed it open.

Sunlight hit me first, blinding me a bit. The rooftop was flat, covered in tar paper and gravel, dotted with old HVAC units and satellite dishes.

And it had a perfect view of Truth’s house.

I moved to the edge, crouching low behind the short parapet wall, and set the case down.

My hands moved on autopilot—flipping the latches, opening the lid, revealing the disassembled rifle inside.

Custom build. .308 caliber. Suppressor already threaded. Scope zeroed at three hundred yards.

I’d used it twice before.

Both times, the target never saw it coming.

I assembled the rifle with practiced efficiency—stock to receiver, barrel to chamber, scope mounted and locked. My fingers moved without hesitation, muscle memory taking over.

Thirty seconds.

That’s all it took.

I pressed the stock against my shoulder and looked through the scope, adjusting the focus until Truth’s front porch came into sharp relief.

And there he was.

Kaisen.

Standing on her porch, his back to me, his posture tense.

Truth stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, her face hard.

She wasn’t letting him in.

Good girl.

But he was still there.

Still talking.

Still trying.

I adjusted the scope, centering the crosshairs on his torso. Not his head. Not his heart.

Somewhere that would hurt.