Page 112 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 4

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry, baby girl.”

My voice cracked.

I’d had a life. A real one. Messy and complicated and still being built, but mine. I’d finished my clinicals. I was about to take my NCLEX. I had Amai—flawed, dangerous, but mine—and I had my daughter, and I had my family, and I had a future I could actually see.

And now it was gone.

Stolen.

By a man I’d trusted. A man I’d felt sorry for. A man I’d let hold my child because I thought his grief deserved compassion.

I should have known better.

Every time something good happened in my life, every single time I started to believe things could be stable, safe, normal, something came along and ripped it all apart.

Phillip. The fertility clinic. Winston. The war. And now this.

Kaisen.

I’d felt it. That wrongness beneath his surface. The way his eyes lingered too long on Trumai. The way his voice softened when he said her name, like he was tasting something that belonged to him. The way he’d corrected himself at the hospital—almost calling her his daughter before catching himself.

I’d felt it, and I’d ignored it because I wanted to believe people could grieve without becoming monsters.

I was so fucking stupid.

Trumai whimpered, and I rocked her gently, my body moving on autopilot even as my mind screamed.

I had to get off this boat.

I had to get us home.

I turned and walked quickly along the deck, my bare feet silent on the damp wood. The railing was solid under my free hand, cold metal biting into my palm. I followed it toward the front of the boat—the bow, I thought it was called, though I didn’t know shit about boats—where I could see a faint glow of light through a window.

The bridge. The helm. Whatever the fuck they called the place where someone was steering this thing.

I reached the door and yanked it open.

Warm air hit me, tinged with the smell of coffee and diesel fuel. A man stood at the wheel—older, maybe fifty, with graying hair pulled back in a low ponytail and a weathered face that didn’t react when I stumbled inside.

“Please,” I said immediately, my voice shaking. “Please, you have to help me.”

He didn’t turn around.

“My name is Truth Renois,” I continued, stepping closer, clutching Trumai tighter. “This man—Kaisen Landry—he took me and my baby. We didn’t want to come here. He kidnapped us. Do you understand? He kidnapped us.”

The man’s hands stayed steady on the wheel. His eyes stayed fixed on the dark water ahead.

“Please,” I said again, desperation clawing up my throat. “I have a boyfriend—Amai Landry. He has money. He’ll pay you whatever you want. Whatever Kaisen is paying you, Amai will double it. Triple it. Just—just help us get home. Please.”

Nothing.

Not a flicker of acknowledgment. Not a glance in my direction.

But I saw it.

The way his jaw tightened. The way his shoulders shifted, just slightly, like he was bracing himself against something.

He understood me.