Page 7 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 3

I ended the call and walked back through the clinic one last time, making sure I hadn’t missed anything. The ultrasound machine was still on, still displaying those two heartbeats. I turned it off and wiped down the screen with my sleeve.

Then, I left through the back exit, stepping out into the humid New Orleans afternoon like I was leaving a business meeting.

Syx was sitting on the couch when I walked in, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. He looked up when I entered, and I saw something in his face I hadn’t seen before.

Determination.

“Where’s Yaya?” I asked, closing the door behind me.

“She’s not here.” He stood, squaring his shoulders. “I need to talk to you.”

I walked to the bar cart and poured three fingers of bourbon. “About?”

“Me and Yahmaria.” He took a breath. “I’m coming to you like a man. Telling you straight up—we’ve been fucking. And I want to be with her. For real.”

I took a drink and turned to face him.

“You think I didn’t know?” I said. “You think I didn’t catch her coming out of your room that night?”

Syx’s face dropped. “You knew?”

“Of course I knew.” I took another drink. “I just didn’t give a fuck.”

“What?”

“I don’t have the bandwidth to give a fuck about who Yaya’s fucking, Syx. I got bigger shit going on.”

Syx’s jaw tightened. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Like what? Like what she is?” I set the glass down. “You think you’re special? You think you’re the first one she’s fucked to try and get a reaction out of me?”

“That’s not what this is⁠—”

“How long you been with her? A month? And in that time, has she told you she loves you? Made you feel like you’re the only one who really understands her?”

Syx didn’t answer, but I saw it in his eyes.

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s what I thought.”

“Even if that’s true,” he said quietly, “I still want to be with her. I don’t care how it started.”

“Then you’re a fool.”

“Maybe.” He met my eyes. “But I’m not asking for your permission. I’m telling you out of respect. Because you’re family.”

I studied him for a long moment. Twenty years old, standing in my living room, telling me he was going to be with my wife, and the honest truth was, I felt nothing about it except tired.

“You want her?” I said. “Take her. But understand—you take all of her. The drama, the manipulation, the games. And when she gets bored and moves on to the next one, don’t come crying to me.”

“She won’t.”

“She will.” I walked past him toward the stairs. “She always does.”

I didn’t remember falling asleep.

One moment, I was sitting on the edge of the bed, towel around my waist, staring at my phone. The next, I woke up fully naked, sprawled across the comforter, the clock reading 8:47 PM.

The meeting was at nine.