Page 26 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 3

The words came out before I’d fully processed what I was saying.

But as soon as I said them, I felt something shift in my chest. Something that wasn’t rage or fury or the acid burn of betrayal.

Relief.

“You did?” Monica sounded surprised. “I apologize for the inconvenience, Mr. Landry. We just wanted to verify given the unusual⁠—”

“It’s fine.” I cut her off, my voice shriller than I intended. “Allow any related charges to go through. No limits.”

“Are you sure? The card doesn’t have a spending limit, but we typically flag⁠—”

“I said allow them.” My tone left no room for argument. “And I want Truth Renois added as an authorized user on the account. Full access. No restrictions.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

“Of course, Mr. Landry. I’ll make a note in your file. We’ll need some information from Ms. Renois to complete the authorization—date of birth, social security number⁠—”

“My accountant will handle it. Just make sure it’s done.”

“Understood. I’ll note the account. Is there anything else I can assist you with today?”

“No.”

I ended the call and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.

And then I laughed.

It started as a low chuckle, dark and humorless, but it built into something louder. Something that bordered on manic.

She was spending my money.

Truth was using my card.

Tulane Medical Center—she’d found her own doctor. Someone outside the Landry network. Someone who wouldn’t report back to me or Winston or anyone else.

Loyola University—she was going back to school. Finishing her degree. Building a future that didn’t depend on me.

She was taking control. Reclaiming her independence. Cutting me out.

And she was doing it with my money.

The irony wasn’t lost on me.

But what she didn’t understand—what she couldn’t understand—was that every charge she made was a thread. A connection. A tie that bound her to me whether she wanted it or not.

She thought she was breaking free.

But all she was doing was proving that she still needed me.

She could curse me out. She could punch doctors and storm out of clinics and tell me she was done. She could move into her own house and set up her own life and build her own walls.

But she was still using my card.

Still spending my money.

Still tied to me in ways she didn’t even realize.

And that meant she wasn’t really done with me.