Page 158 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 3

She studied me like she was deciding whether to believe that, and something in her expression told me she already had her answer before she asked the question that came next.

“And if she gives you what you need,” she said, “what happens to her after that?”

I didn’t answer right away. The question deserved better than a quick response, and Truth had a way of knowing the difference between me thinking and me deflecting. I got up and fixed myself a drink.

“Whatever they’ve got going on,” I said finally, “it’s real. At least for now. I’ve watched enough people lie to save themselves to know what that looks like, and that’s not what I saw when Yaya was crying about him getting hurt. That wasn’t strategy. That was fear for somebody she doesn’t want to lose.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am.” I turned my glass slowly, watching the ice shift. “Didn’t think either of them had that in them. Not with everything else going on around them.”

“So, what happens to her? For real, Amai. Not the version where you dodge the question.”

“If she gives me something I can use—something that actually gets me closer to Victor—I’ll let them go. Both of them. Out of New Orleans, no coming back.” I said it the way I’d say any other business decision, because that’s what it was, even if it didn’t feel that simple. “I won’t touch her accounts. Those stay frozen. But Syx gets access to his money. His trust fund too. They can go build whatever they’re building somewhere I don’t have to watch it happen.”

Truth stared at me like she was waiting for the catch. “You’d really do that.”

“I said I would.”

“Amai.” She said my name like it meant something different than usual. “That’s—that’s actually kind.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not making it weird. I’m pointing out that you just offered two people a way out of your family’s war with terms they can live with, and that’s not something I expected from you two months ago.”

“You’re making me soft,” I said, and I meant it as an accusation.

“No.” She shook her head, and there was no teasing in it, just certainty. “I’m making you human.”

I didn’t have a response for that. Not because she was wrong—because she wasn’t, and there wasn’t a version of me that knew what to do with being right about something I’d spent my whole life avoiding.

“I need to see my mama tomorrow,” she said, letting the silence sit instead of pushing on it.

“I can take you tonight.”

“Tomorrow.” She was firm about it, not unkind. “I want to go when I’m not running on adrenaline and half a conversation about Victor’s daughter. I want to actually be present with her.”

“Alright.”

“And is it okay if my sisters stay a little longer? They’re having a good time. Raven hasn’t stopped talking about your pool.”

“They can stay as long as they want. This is our house.”

Truth’s eyebrows lifted, slow and deliberate. “Our house.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Amai.” She crossed her arms, and I recognized the posture—the one that meant she was about to correct something before it became a habit. “I’m not living here. Not permanently. I have a place I love. Mimosa Ct is mine. I picked it. I furnished it. I made it safe on my own terms before any of this happened.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Because it sounded like you were already deciding something.”

“I heard you,” I said, and I made myself slow down, because she deserved that much. “This house is here if you need it. It’s not replacing what you built for yourself. I’m not trying to erase that.”

She studied me for a moment, like she was deciding whether to believe it. “Because I’ve had enough people in my life decide things for me and call it protection.”

“I’m not doing that.”