Page 58 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 2

I shrugged.

Pulled away from his grip—or tried to. He held on tighter.

“I’m just trying to keep breathing,” I said. Then I twisted out of his hands and walked toward the stairs.

My legs felt steadier than they should have. The wine was doing its job.

“Clean up that mess in the kitchen,” I called over my shoulder.

I made it three steps before he grabbed me.

His hand closed around my arm, and hedraggedme back down the stairs. I stumbled, caught myself on the railing, but he didn’t let go.

He pulled me all the way back into the kitchen and shoved me toward the table.

“You want this cleaned up?” His voice was ice. “Call your money-hungry ass daddy’s cleaners. Because I ain’t doingshit.”

I straightened my dress.

Met his eyes.

“I don’t give a fuck if the body stays there,” I said evenly. “Do you?”

We stared at each other.

Two people locked in a marriage neither of us wanted, bound by fathers who cared more about empires than the people building them.

I snatched my arm away from him.

“I’m not scared of you,” I said quietly. “The rest of New Orleans may be fooled by your over-inflated ego, but I’m not.”

Rage twisted his face.

“You pop that shit,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, “because you know I can’t body your ass.”

He stepped closer.

“But that’ll change soon enough,” he continued. “Bet on it.”

I didn’t move.

Didn’t back down.

Just held his gaze and let him see that I meant every word I’d said.

He turned away from me. Ran a hand over his face. When he looked back, his eyes were colder than I’d ever seen them.

“Everybody got me fucked up,” he said quietly. More to himself than to me. “And it’s time for a reckoning.”

He walked past me.

Past Layla’s body.

Out of the kitchen.

I heard his footsteps on the stairs. Heard a door slam somewhere upstairs.

I stood there in the silence.