Page 141 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 3

I thought about the sperm test sitting somewhere in a lab, cells dividing in a dish while two grown men waited to find out which one of us had a claim to something none of us fully understood yet. Amai wanted it to be his. Of course he did—it would be the final piece, the thing that let him tell himself the fantasy was real, that the family he’d built around Truth wasn’t hollow theater but blood and bone. If it turned out to be mine, would he even tell her the truth? Or would he find a way to bury that too, the way he buried everything inconvenient—quietly, efficiently, underground?

I didn’t know. That uncertainty should have scared me more than it did. Instead, it hardened into something else entirely: purpose.

Because if there was even a chance, even a single cell inside her carrying half of me, then I owed them more than silence. I owed Truth more than watching from the outside while Amai convinced her that surviving him was the same thing as loving him.

She wasn’t in a marriage. She wasn’t in a partnership. She was in captivity dressed up so beautifully she’d forgotten to notice the bars.

Someone had to notice for her.

I thought about all the ways I’d tried to reach her honestly—showing up, being consistent, building a nursery with my own hands because I believed, foolishly, that proof of devotion would be enough to break through whatever spell he’d cast. But devotion wasn’t the language Amai had taught her to trust. Fear was. Control disguised as protection was. If I wanted her to see clearly, gentleness wasn’t going to cut through that kind of conditioning. I’d need something sharper. Something that mirrored the only kind of care she now recognized as real.

The thought settled into my chest, cold and clean, no different than the anesthesia that had numbed my side before the surgery. It didn’t feel like madness from the inside. It felt like clarity. Like finally understanding the shape of the problem after months of looking at it sideways.

Truth wasn’t going to walk out of that house on her own. Amai had made sure of that—made himself indispensable, made leaving feel more dangerous than staying, made his violence look like the only wall standing between her and the rest of the world. If I wanted to get her out, I couldn’t ask her to choose me over him.

I’d have to make the choice disappear.

Take away the option. Remove the temptation. Show her, in whatever way it took, that the man she thought was keeping her safe was the very thing she needed saving from.

She might hate me for it. She might scream and fight and call me every version of the same monster she thought Amai was—but that was fine. That was survivable. Better she hate me and live free than love a man who’d built her entire existence into something so pretty she’d forgotten to check if the doors actually opened.

I stared up at the ceiling tiles, counting the small water stains blooming across the foam like continents on a map nobody had charted yet, and somewhere beneath the morphine and the pain and the persistent ache where Amai’s bullet had carved through me, something settled with terrifying calm.

If Amai wouldn’t let her go, I’d find a way to take her back.

Not because I wanted to possess her.

Because someone had to save her from the man who already had.

A nurse came in to check my vitals and change out the fluid they pumped through my veins. Knowing Truth depended on me to save her seemed to give me super strength because I wasn’t hurting as bad now.

I waited until the nurse left before I picked up my phone.

The hospital room had a rhythm to it—the beep of the monitor, the hiss of the IV pump, footsteps in the hallway that never belonged to anyone I wanted to see. I’d learned the pattern quick. I knew when the shift changed, when the halls emptied, when I had ten uninterrupted minutes to be a man instead of a patient.

I used one of them now.

The number was saved under a name that meant nothing to anyone who might scroll through my contacts—Delacroix HVAC. Jacob answered on the second ring, the way he always did, like he’d been sitting there waiting for me to remember he existed.

“Mr. Landry.” His voice was careful, practiced. Men who worked for me learned to sound that way. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.”

“Things came up.” I shifted against the pillows. “Give me an update.”

“We’re ahead on the structural work. Reinforced the lower level like you asked—double insulation, sound dampening throughout. The plumbing’s been rerouted so everything runs independent of the main system. You won’t have to worry about outages.”

“And the security?”

“Cameras are in on every entry point, exterior and interior. Biometric locks on the upper rooms, keypad backup. Nobody’s getting in or out without you knowing about it in real time.” A pause, papers shuffling somewhere on his end. “The reinforced door for the nursery suite—we installed that last week. Soundproofed, like you specified. Climate controlled separate from the rest of the space so you can keep it exactly how you want, no matter what’s happening outside.”

Nursery suite.

I let the words settle in my chest, warm despite the sterile cold of the hospital room, despite the ache radiating from my side every time I breathed too deep.

“Good,” I said. “What about the medical room?”

“Fully stocked. We brought in a consultant, like you asked—someone with maternity experience, discreet, off the books. She walked the space last week, said the layout would work fine for postpartum recovery, even minor complications. We’ve got the equipment list from her, ordering the last of it now.”

I closed my eyes.