Page 18 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 2

“Raven—”

“It’s a repo,” she said flatly. “Apparently, Tesla can just… drive your car back to the dealership if you’re behind on payments. Some new feature they added last year. The craziest shit I’ve seen.”

I stared at her.

“That’s the most dystopian shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Tell me about it.” She turned and started walking back toward the salon, her shoulders rigid with humiliation.

I followed her inside.

The other stylists had stopped working, their clients forgotten, everyone staring at us with wide eyes.

“Show’s over,” Raven snapped. “Get back to work, shit.”

They did, but the energy in the salon had shifted.

Everyone knew.

Everyone had seen.

Raven sat down heavily in her styling chair and put her head in her hands.

I sat back in my chair and waited.

After a long moment, she looked up at me in the mirror.

“Don’t,” she said.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t ask me why I didn’t tell you I needed help.”

But I was going to ask anyway.

“Why didn’t you tell me you needed help?”

She laughed—that same bitter sound from outside. “Because I don’t need help. I got this.”

“Raven—”

“I got this,” she repeated, her voice harder now. “I been handling my shit since I was sixteen years old. I don’t need nobody?—”

“How much are you behind?”

She went quiet.

“Raven.”

“Twenty-five hundred,” she said finally. “Give or take.”

I processed that.

“And you didn’t tell me because…”

“Because I’m not the one who needs saving!” Her voice rose, sharp and defensive. “That’s you. That’s always been you. I’m the one who has her shit together. I’m the one who?—”

She stopped.