Page 87 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 4

Truth winked at me and walked toward the living room. I shook my head, feeling the warmth of my daughter sleeping heavy against my ribs, and realized—with a jolt that went all the way to my marrow—that I’d let this sharp-tongued woman from the Seventh Ward become the center of gravity in my own damn house.

Later that night, after Delphine had gone to bed downstairs, and the house had settled into that thick, heavy quiet that only comes between two and four in the morning, Truth and I were sitting on the low sofa in the corner of our bedroom.

Trumai was asleep in the bassinet right beside us, under her blanket.

Truth had her legs tucked under her, a mug of chamomile tea resting in her lap. I was sitting beside her, watching the muted security monitors on the wall while my thumb traced the line of her ankle.

“Winston called today,” I said quietly, keeping my tone level.

Truth didn’t jump, but her posture tightened just a fraction. “What did he want?”

“He didn’t want nothing,” I said. “He was checking in. But he mentioned Kaisen.”

The room went completely still. Even the low hum of the air conditioner seemed to drop. Truth looked down into her tea, the steam rising to catch the light from the small bedside lamp.

“What about him?” she asked softly.

“He’s asking when he gets to see her,” I said. “Winston said Kaisen’s been quiet. Staying out on his property, not coming into the city much. But he asked Winston twice this week if we’d brought her home yet.”

Truth didn’t answer right away. She set the mug on the side table, her fingers lingering on the ceramic. When she looked up, her face carried that complicated, heavy look she only got when we touched the subject of the clinic.

“He lost his son, Amai,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Every time I look at Tru… every time I hold her and feel how whole she is, there’s a part of me that remembers she had a brother. I grieve that boy. And I know Kaisen is grieving him too.”

“I know he is,” I said. And for the first time, I meant it without malice. Losing a child—even one you never got to hold—was a kind of rot that could eat a man alive from the inside out. I understood that. I’d watched my own father rot from the loss of Elias and Silas for years.

“But,” I continued, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees, “grief don’t make a man safe, Truth. You saw him at that hospital.”

Truth swallowed hard. The memory was right there between us—Kaisen standing in the doorway with bags of gifts and a dozen balloons, leaning on that cane, looking at Trumai like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

“Yeah, I did,” Truth admitted, her voice tight.

“He was testing the fence to see if the gate was open.”

“I know,” Truth said, reaching out to grip my forearm. “I’m not blind, Amai. I felt the weirdness in that room just like you did. But if we lock the gate completely… if we tell him he can never lay eyes on her, what does that do to him? A man with nothing left to lose is dangerous. We both know that.”

“He’s dangerous either way,” I said flatly. “I don’t give a fuck what it does to him. He better not touch you or our daughter. That nigga might think he dangerous, but he fuck with my family, he gon’ find out what that shit mean in real life.”

“He’s her uncle,” Truth said, her voice cracking slightly with the weight of it. “Biologically, that’s what he is. If we act like he doesn’t exist, if we treat him like a complete monster while he’s sitting in that empty house, grieving the baby that died, we push him further over the edge. I don’t want him thinking his only option is to do something crazy.”

I looked at her for a long time. The dark circles under her eyes, the stubborn set of her jaw, the fierce, protective intelligence that made her who she was. She wasn’t defending Kaisen out of softness; she was doing the math. She was trying to manage a threat before it turned into a war inside our living room.

I reached over, cupping the side of her face with my hand, my thumb brushing the soft skin below her eye.

“We don’t do nothing based on what he wants,” I said, my voice low and absolute. “We do it on our terms. Exclusively.”

“What does that look like?” she asked.

“It looks like this,” I told her, holding her gaze. “First, you pick the day and the time. Not him. Not Winston. Whenever you feel ready, whether that’s next week or next month. Second, it happens here. In this house. On my ground, where I have full control over the perimeter and the cameras.”

Truth nodded slowly. “Agreed.”

“Third,” I said, counting it off on my fingers, “I am in the room the entire time. Standing right beside you. He don’t get thirty seconds alone with you, and he don’t get thirty seconds alone with Tru. Security stays posted at the front door and the terrace.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Fourth—and this is non-negotiable, Truth—he does not hold her unless you explicitly tell him he can. If he reaches for her without asking, the visit is over. If he uses the word daughter, or mine, or anything that sounds even remotely like he’s claiming what’s in that crib, I am throwing him off my property, and if he resists, I’ll put him in the ground this time.”

Truth looked at me, her eyes steady, searching mine to see if there was room for compromise. When she saw there wasn’t, she nodded once, firm and clear.