Page 115 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 3

I pressed my foot on the accelerator and headed back toward the Sanctum. The only thing keeping me from crashing out was my ability to compartmentalize. Truth was safe, at least for now, and Kaisen was neutralized.

Now it was time to get some answers from Yaya. I would have my peace or leave everything around me in pieces. I honestly didn’t give a fuck no more.

Chapter 11

SYX

The clear wall between us was cold against my back.

I’d been leaning against it for the past hour, my legs stretched out in front of me, my head tilted back so I could see the ceiling—smooth concrete, industrial lighting, cameras in every corner.

The Sanctum didn’t pretend to be anything other than what it was.

A prison.

Behind me, on the other side of the transparent barrier, Yaya sat with her knees pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped around them like she was trying to hold herself together.

We’d been talking in circles for most of the morning.

About Victor. About Amai. About how the fuck we’d ended up here.

But mostly, we’d been quiet.

Because what was there to say?

We were trapped.

Watched.

Separated by a wall we could see through but couldn’t touch.

“You think today’s the day?” Yaya’s voice cut through the silence, soft and tired.

I turned my head slightly, trying to catch her reflection in the glass. “The day for what?”

“The day Amai finally kills us.”

I exhaled slowly and let my head fall back against the wall. “He’s not going to kill us.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah.” I shifted, turning so I could face her through the barrier. “I’m sure.”

Yaya looked up at me, and even through the distortion of the glass, I could see the exhaustion in her eyes. The fear she was trying to bury beneath sarcasm and deflection.

“He’s not going to kill you,” she said quietly. “You’re family. You’re blood. But me?” She shook her head. “He don’t give a fuck about me, Syx. And he’s got no reason to keep me alive.”

“Then give him one.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Give him a reason.” I leaned forward, pressing my palm flat against the glass. “Tell him whatever he wants to know. About Victor. About the money. About the war. There’s gotta be something you can give him.”

Yaya stared at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable.

“Maybe,” she said finally.

“Maybe?” I frowned. “That’s it? That’s all you got?”