Page 134 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 3

“You want me to talk?” He finally glanced at me, and there was something almost amused in it, which made it worse. “Fine. Your boyfriend’s fine. Scared. Confused. But fine. Now, walk faster. I don’t have all day to babysit your tantrum.”

The interrogation room was smaller than I expected—metal table, two chairs, and a single light fixture that cast everything in a harsh white glow. Amai gestured to the chair across from him, and I sat because my legs were shaking too hard to keep standing and pretending otherwise.

“Let’s talk about your father,” he said, sitting across from me, hands folded like this was a business meeting.

“I don’t know anything.”

“You know something.” His voice didn’t rise. It never rose. That was the thing about Amai—he didn’t need volume to be terrifying. “You knew he was working with Rahsaan. You knew before the warehouse. Did you know about the vault?”

“No.”

“Did he tell you where the money is?”

“I said I don’t know anything.”

“Did he use you to gather information about me? About the family? Is that why you showed up at my house that night?”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s not an answer either.” He leaned forward slightly. “Let me explain something to you, Yaya. Right now, you exist in this building because there’s a possibility you’re useful. That’s the only reason. Not sentiment. Not history. Not the fact that we were married for three years. Usefulness. And right now, you’re proving to be a waste of a cell.”

“Maybe I don’t have anything to give you.”

“Then you don’t have a reason to keep breathing.” He said it so calmly it took a second to land. “That’s not a threat. That’s just math.”

I felt my throat tighten, but I refused—refused—to let him see it. “My daddy will come for me.”

Something flickered across his face. Not quite a smile. Something colder. “Will he?”

“He will.”

“Prove it.” He slid a phone across the table—my phone, apparently recovered from wherever they’d stashed my belongings. “Call him.”

My hands were trembling when I picked it up. I told myself it was rage. I dialed dad’s number from memory, and it rang twice before he answered.

“Yahmaria.” His voice was steady. Composed. Like I’d called to check in about dinner plans.

“Daddy—” The word came out cracked, younger than I meant it to sound. “Daddy, I’m at the Sanctum. Amai has me. He has Syx too. You need to—you need to do something, please⁠—”

“I know where you are.”

Silence. I looked at Amai, who was watching me with an expression I couldn’t read.

“You know?” I repeated. “You know and you haven’t—Daddy, please, you have to send someone, you have to trade the money or⁠—”

“Yahmaria.” His voice hadn’t changed at all. Still calm. Still unbothered. “Sacrifices happen in war. This is unfortunate, but it’s not something I can fix right now.”

“Unfortunate?” The word felt like a slap. “I’m your daughter.”

“And you’re also a casualty of decisions that were made before any of this started. I need you to understand something. I have priorities that extend beyond this call.”

“What priorities? What could possibly be more important than⁠—”

“The money,” he said simply. “The war. Rahsaan. Surviving what’s coming. I can’t compromise those things for⁠—”

“For me.” My voice broke completely now, no fighting it. “You can’t compromise those things for me.”

“I didn’t say that.”