Page 170 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 3

“Kaisen.”

He shifted his weight, wincing slightly as he pivoted his body to the side, so I could step past him into the house, careful with that cane like it was the only thing keeping gravity from winning. The door clicked shut behind me, sealing out the night.

“This way,” he said, and I followed him down a hallway that looked like something out of a sci-fi movie—smooth walls, hidden lighting, floors so polished I could see the ghost of my own reflection moving beside me. We ended up in a living room that felt more like a museum exhibit than a place anybody actually lived: sharp furniture, high windows, a fireplace that looked like it had never been lit.

“Sit, please.” He gestured to a chair, then lowered himself onto the couch across from it, exhaling hard through his nose as he did, one hand pressed briefly against his side like his body was reminding him of every mistake that led him here.

I sat. I didn’t relax.

“I don’t want to waste your time,” I said, because I didn’t. Not tonight. Not after the day I’d already had. “I got the results today.”

His whole body went still.

“The girl,” I said, watching him carefully, “is Amai’s. The boy—” I paused, made sure my voice didn’t shake, made sure this landed exactly the way it needed to. “The boy is yours, Kaisen.”

For a second, he didn’t move at all. Then something broke loose in his face—raw, unguarded, almost frightening in how much relief and joy came pouring out at once. His eyes went glassy. His mouth curved into a smile that looked less like happiness and more like a man who’d been drowning and just found ground beneath his feet.

“He’s mine,” he said, like he needed to hear himself say it. “He’s really—” His voice cracked, and he laughed, short and disbelieving, running a hand down his face like he was trying to keep himself from unraveling completely. “I have a son.”

I sat there and watched him come apart with joy, and something cold moved through me, quiet and unmistakable.

This wasn’t just relief. This was a man who needed this more than he needed almost anything else in his life—needed proof that some part of me, some part of this child, belonged to him and couldn’t be taken away by his brother, by his father, by anybody. I could see it settling into him like armor. Like ammunition.

And sitting there in that glass-and-steel fortress he called a home, I understood exactly how much power I’d just handed him.

I let him have his moment. I owed him that much, at least—a few seconds to feel whole before I said what I came to say.

“Kaisen.” I waited until his eyes found mine again, until the glassiness cleared enough that I knew he could actually hear me. “I need you to listen to me. Really listen.”

He nodded, still riding that high, still smiling like the world had just tilted back onto its axis for him.

“This doesn’t change anything between me and Amai,” I said, steady, not raising my voice, because I needed him to understand this wasn’t up for negotiation. “I’m still with him. That’s not going to change because of a DNA test.”

His smile faltered at the edges.

“But I want you in your son’s life,” I continued. “I mean that. He deserves to know his father. And I know you can be a good one, when you’re not letting your pride run the show.” I leaned forward slightly, making sure he felt the weight of it. “But that only works if you respect me. My boundaries. My decisions. My relationship. If you can’t do that, Kaisen, we are going to have a problem. A real one.”

He was quiet for a moment, jaw working like he was chewing on something bitter. Then, he shook his head slowly, like I was the one who needed convincing.

“You don’t hear yourself,” he said. “You’re standing in my house, telling me you’re happy with a man who shot me. Who buried me alive. Who has more enemies than the parish has potholes, Truth. You think that’s a life? You think that’s safe for our son? For your daughter?”

“That’s not your call to make.”

“Somebody has to make it,” he shot back, and there was something underneath his voice now, something too calm, too certain. “You think you chose him with clear eyes. You didn’t. He’s had his hands on every part of your life since before you even knew his name. He’s not protecting you—he’s managing you. And one day you’re going to wake up and see it. I just hope it’s not too late when you do.”

“That sounds like something you tell yourself, so you don’t have to sit with the fact that I chose him,” I said, and I didn’t flinch saying it. “Not you.”

“You chose wrong.” His voice cracked—not from grief this time, but from something more dangerous, something that sounded almost like faith. “And when you realize it, I’ll still be here. I’m not going anywhere, Truth. I can’t. Somebody has to be the one who actually sees you.”

A chill moved through me that had nothing to do with the climate-controlled air of his glass fortress. Because he wasn’t posturing. He believed it. Every word.

Before I could answer him, a crash sounded from somewhere near the front of the house—glass, or maybe metal, something heavy hitting something else that wasn’t built to take it. Then shouting. Then, more shouting, layered and overlapping, the kind of noise that only happens when men who are trained to be quiet stop caring about being quiet.

I was up and moving before I even decided to move.

“Truth—wait—” Kaisen struggled to push himself off the couch, his cane clattering against the floor, his face twisting as his body reminded him exactly how unfinished his healing was.

I didn’t wait. I couldn’t. My feet carried me down that sterile hallway faster than I’d walked in weeks, heart slamming against my ribs, the folder with the paternity results still clutched useless in my hand.