Page 111 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 4

“Amai—” Winston’s voice was strangled, barely audible. “You’re—going to—kill me⁠—”

“Good.”

I meant it. In that moment, I meant it with every fiber of my being.

“Amai, let him go!”

Priest’s voice cut through the red haze, but I didn’t move.

“Let him go, Amai. Now.”

“He deserves this,” I said, my voice shaking. “He deserves worse than this.”

“Maybe.” Priest’s hand landed on my shoulder, firm and unyielding. “But killing him won’t bring Truth and Trumai home. And you know that.”

My hands tightened for one more second—long enough for Winston’s eyes to roll back slightly, long enough for his face to turn a deeper shade of purple.

Then, I let go.

Winston collapsed against the bookshelf, gasping and coughing, one hand pressed to his throat. He looked even more like a corpse now, his chest heaving as he struggled to pull air into his lungs.

I stepped back, my hands still trembling, my vision still edged in red.

“If anything happens to them,” I said quietly, “if Kaisen hurts Truth, if he so much as makes Trumai cry—nothing on this earth will save you. Not your money. Not your name. Not even the fact that your ass looks like you’re dying.”

Winston looked up at me, his eyes watering, his expression unreadable.

“I know,” he rasped.

I turned and walked out of the study with Priest close behind me.

Mama was standing in the hallway, her hand pressed to her mouth, tears streaming down her face.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” she said. “Your daddy gon’ pay for what he’s done to you and Kaisen. Twisted y’all all up in the head and heart.”

“Fuck him.” I stormed out.

Every second I wasted here was another second Kaisen had with my family.

And I was going to find them.

No matter what it took.

Chapter 19

TRUTH

The night air was cold against my face, damp with river mist that clung to my skin and made everything feel heavier than it was. I stood on the deck holding Trumai against my chest, one hand cupped protectively over the back of her head, the other arm wrapped tight around her small body.

She was warm. Solid. Real.

The only real thing left.

The boat moved beneath us—steady, relentless, cutting through black water I couldn’t see the edges of. No lights on the shore. No buildings. No landmarks. Just darkness stretching in every direction, swallowing us whole.

I was crying, and I couldn’t stop.

The tears came hot and fast, blurring my vision, dripping off my jaw onto Trumai’s soft cotton onesie. She stirred against me, making a small sound of protest, and I pressed my lips to the top of her head.