Page 80 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 3

It was lying face-up on the cushion beside me, the screen still lit.

Unlocked.

I hesitated for half a second—this felt like crossing a line, invading his privacy—but then I remembered what Mama said.

You need to know who these men really are.

I picked up the phone.

The screen showed an app I didn’t recognize—some kind of surveillance system with multiple camera feeds displayed in a grid. My eyes scanned the images quickly, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.

And then I froze.

One of the feeds showed a woman sitting on a cot in what looked like a cell. The walls were concrete, the lighting harsh and fluorescent. She was wearing an outfit that looked expensive but dirty, her hair disheveled, her face turned away from the camera.

But I recognized her.

Yahmaria.

My stomach twisted.

I swiped to the next feed.

Another cell. Another person.

This time it was a young man—barely more than a boy, really. He was sitting on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest, his head resting on his arms.

I knew him too.

Syx.

The cousin who had introduced himself to me during my initial interview for the surrogacy at Amai’s house. The one who’d been polite and charming, who’d made me feel welcome in a house that wasn’t mine.

He was in a cage.

They were both in cages.

Like animals. Like lab rats being monitored and studied.

My hands started to shake.

What the fuck is this?

I heard footsteps behind me and spun around, clutching the phone.

Amai stood in the doorway, a towel in his hand, his expression unreadable.

His eyes dropped to the phone in my hand.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then, I found my voice.

“What the fuck is this, Amai?”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. He just walked over slowly, deliberately, and set the towel down on the arm of the couch.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he said quietly.