Page 129 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 2

“Good. Now, when you coming home?”

I hesitated. “I don’t know yet. Amai said we’d be here for a little while. He’s got some things he needs to handle first.”

“Things,” my mama repeated, her tone skeptical. “What kind of things?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “He didn’t say.”

“Mm-hmm.” She didn’t sound convinced. “Well, you call me every day, you hear? I don’t care if it’s just to say you still breathing. I need to know you okay.”

“I will,” I promised.

“And Truth?”

“Ma’am?”

“You keep your eyes open,” she said. “Don’t let that man charm you into being blind.”

I swallowed hard. “I won’t.”

“Good. Now go eat something before you pass out. You sound weak.”

I smiled despite myself. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you too, Mama.”

The line went dead, and I sat there for a long moment, staring at my phone.

My mama’s words echoed in my head, sharp and insistent.

Lock in. Pay attention. Figure out what’s really going on.

She was right.

I needed to stop reacting and start acting. I needed to stop letting Amai—or anyone else—control the narrative of my life.

I needed to know who he really was.

And I needed to figure out what he was hiding.

I sat there on the edge of the bed for another minute, my mama’s voice still ringing in my ears. My body felt weak, drained from the morning sickness, exhausted from everything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours. Part of me wanted to lie back down, pull the covers over my head, and sleep until Amai came back.

But the other part of me—the part that had survived Phillip’s betrayal, the part that had rebuilt my life from nothing, the part that refused to be a victim—wouldn’t let me rest.

Lock in.

My mama’s words weren’t just advice. They were a command.

I pushed myself up off the bed slowly, testing my legs. They felt shaky but stable enough. My stomach was still unsettled, but the worst had passed. I could move. I could think.

I could search.

I looked around the bedroom with fresh eyes. It was beautiful—rustic but expensive, with exposed wooden beams and soft lighting. The bed was massive, covered in high-thread-count sheets that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. There was a dresser against one wall, a closet on the other, and a nightstand on each side of the bed.

But there was nothingpersonalabout it.

No photos on the nightstands. No books with dog-eared pages. No clutter. No evidence that anyone actuallylivedhere.