Page 92 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 3

Chapter 8

WINSTON

The pain in my leg was a dull, persistent throb that radiated up through my hip and settled deep in my lower back. Manageable, but present. A reminder that I wasn’t invincible—though I’d never admit that out loud.

I lay propped against the headboard, my leg elevated on two pillows, wrapped tight in gauze and compression bandages. The doctor had done his work quickly and efficiently, as always. No questions. No records. Just stitches, antibiotics, and instructions I had no intention of following completely.

Odette moved through the bedroom like a storm contained in human form.

She brought ice. Set it down hard on the nightstand.

She brought water. Slammed the glass next to the ice.

She checked the bandages with sharp, precise movements—her hands clinical but her energy anything but calm.

I watched her, saying nothing.

Because I knew what was coming.

“You’re lucky it went straight through,” she said finally, her voice tight. “A few inches to the left, and you’d be dead.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” She straightened, her hands on her hips, her eyes blazing. “You got shot, Winston. Again. And for what? Because you trusted the wrong man? Because you couldn’t see Victor for what he was?”

I exhaled slowly, keeping my expression neutral. “Odette⁠—”

“Don’t Odette me.” Her voice rose, sharp and cutting. “I’m tired, Winston. I’m so damn tired of you putting our boys in the middle of your shit.”

“Our boys are grown men⁠—”

“They’re my boys!” she snapped, stepping closer. “Not some boys. Not soldiers. Not pawns in your empire. My boys. The ones I carried. The ones I breastfed. The ones I raised while you were out here building your kingdom.”

I gritted my teeth, the pain in my leg flaring as I shifted slightly. “You knew what this was when you married me.”

“I knew you were in the game,” Odette said, her voice shaking now. “I knew there would be risks. But I didn’t sign up to watch you treat them like they’re disposable. Like their lives don’t matter as long as the family stays on top.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Isn’t it?” She crossed her arms, her eyes boring into mine. “You shot Amai in the leg to prove a point. You had Priest locked up to control your son. You brought Victor into this house—into our home—and now he’s working with the man who killed Elias and Silas.”

The mention of the twins hit like a punch to the gut, but I didn’t let it show.

“I’m handling it,” I said evenly.

“You’re handling it?” Odette’s laugh was bitter, humorless. “You’re not handling anything, Winston. You’re making it worse. And one of these days, I’m going to wake up, and one of my boys is going to be dead because you couldn’t let go of your pride.”

“Odette—”

“I’m getting real tired of your shit,” she said, “Real tired.”

Before I could respond, the door opened.

Amai stepped inside, his presence filling the room immediately.

Odette’s mouth snapped shut, her eyes flicking to our son and then back to me. The tension between us was thick enough to choke on, but neither of us said another word.

Amai looked between us, his expression unreadable. “Am I interrupting?”