Page 126 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 4

“I’m not the villain here.” I reached out and touched her face, and she flinched but didn’t pull away. “I’m the one who’s been telling you the truth. I’m the one who’s been trying to protect you.”

“By kidnapping me?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“By getting you away from him.” I pulled my hand back and looked down at Trumai, who was starting to fuss in my arms. “By giving you a chance to see what we could be without Amai controlling everything.”

Truth was crying now, silent tears streaming down her face.

“I want to go home,” she whispered.

“You are home.” I stood, still holding Trumai, and looked down at her. “This is where you belong. With me. With our daughter.”

I leaned down and pressed a kiss to Trumai’s forehead, then looked back at Truth.

“Daddy knew,” I said softly, my voice full of certainty. “Daddy always knew.”

Truth’s face crumpled, and she buried her face in her hands.

I turned and walked out of the room, locking the door behind me.

The boat rocked gently beneath my feet.

Hector was gone.

The proof was in my pocket.

And Truth—Truth would understand eventually.

She had to.

Because I wasn’t letting her go.

Not now.

Not ever.

Chapter 22

TRUTH

MONTH ONE

The horror didn’t come in screams or blood. It came in the sound of stainless-steel silverware being set across linen placemats at exactly seven-fifteen every morning.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

Three settings. One for him. One for me. One small silver baby spoon laid beside an empty porcelain saucer, waiting for a child who was barely four months old and drank only breast milk and formula.

“Blueberry pancakes this morning, sweetheart,” Kaisen said from the galley island. He wore a crisp, tailored linen shirt, the sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, looking like a man hosting a weekend getaway in the Hamptons rather than a lunatic holding a woman and an infant hostage on a retrofitted floating compound. “I remembered you liked the batter a little thicker. More lemon zest.”

I stood in the doorway of the salon, my arms wrapped tightly around Trumai. She was bundled in a soft pink fleece blanket, her little head resting against my collarbone, fast asleep.

I didn’t move toward the table. I didn’t sit down.

“We have an appointment on the deck at nine for some fresh air,” Kaisen continued smoothly, flipping a pancake with practiced precision. “The breeze off the water is mild today. It’ll do Tru’s lungs good. Then, at noon, we’ll do our reading hour in the library room. Dinner at six sharp. I pulled wild salmon from the freezer.”

He turned, smiling warmly. There was no sweat on his brow, no wild twitch in his eye, and no trembling in his hands. That was the part that made my skin crawl until my teeth ached. He wasn’t foaming at the mouth. He was entirely, monstrously rational.

“You need to eat, Truth,” he said gently, tilting his head with that terrifying, patient affection. “Nursing and pumping takes a lot out of you. We have to keep your strength up.”