Page 131 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 2

But the timestamp was old.

Whatever connection Amai had to this woman, it was in the past.

Of course he had exes. A man like Amai—wealthy, powerful, devastatingly attractive—would have a complicated romantic history. That was just reality.

I slipped the photo back into the book and returned it to the shelf, making sure it was aligned with the others.

It didn’t mean anything. It was just a photo. A memory from a life he’d lived before I existed in his world.

I moved away from the bookshelf and continued my search.

The kitchen was next. I opened cabinets and drawers, looking for anything that might tell me more about who Amai was. But the cabinets were stocked with generic dishes and glassware. The drawers held utensils and kitchen tools, all neatly organized. There was nothing personal. No handwritten recipes. No magnets on the fridge. No evidence of a life actually lived here.

I opened the pantry. It was fully stocked—canned goods, pasta, rice, snacks. Everything you’d need for an extended stay. But it felt clinical. Like someone had gone through a checklist and made sure all the boxes were ticked.

I closed the pantry door and leaned against the counter, frustration building in my chest.

There was nothing here. No clues. No secrets. No evidence of lies or deception.

Just emptiness.

I walked back into the living room and stood in the center of it, looking around. The cabin was beautiful. It was functional. It was safe.

But it wasn’t a home.

It was a place Amai used when he needed to disappear. A place where he could exist outside of his real life. A place with no history, no memories, no evidence of who he really was.

And that, more than anything, unsettled me.

Because if this place didn’t hold any part of him, then where did he keep the real version of himself? Where did he go when he needed to be honest? Where did he store the parts of his life he didn’t want anyone to see?

I thought about the way he’d looked at me last night. The intensity in his eyes, the possessiveness in his touch. I thought about the way he’d held my hair back this morning while I threw up, the way he’d confessed that he’d never believed he could have a wife or a child.

Wife.

Those moments felt real. They felt honest.

But this cabin—this empty, sterile, beautiful cabin—told a different story.

It told me that Amai was a man who knew how to compartmentalize. A man who knew how to keep parts of his life separate. A man who knew how to control what people saw.

And if he could control this space so completely, what else was he controlling?

I walked over to the windows and looked out at the lake. The water was calm, reflecting the gray sky above. It was peaceful. Quiet.

But beneath the surface, I knew there were things I couldn’t see. Depths I couldn’t measure. Currents I couldn’t predict.

Just like Amai.

My mama’s words came back to me again, sharper this time.

That man is hiding something. And you need to get your head out the clouds and figure out what it is.

I pressed my hand against the cool glass and closed my eyes.

She was right.

Amai was hiding something. Maybe not something dark or dangerous. Maybe just parts of himself he wasn’t ready to share. But the emptiness of this cabin proved that he was capable of keeping secrets. He was capable of creating spaces where the truth didn’t exist.