Page 139 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 2

That kind of devotion was intoxicating.

I knew because I felt it too.

I’d do the same thing if our positions were reversed.

I’d burn the whole world down for her if she asked me to.

But she didn’t know that. She didn’t know me. Not really.

All she knew was what she’d seen: me bleeding on the floor while Amai stood victorious.

The humiliation of it made me want to scream again.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I sat in the darkness and let the rage settle into something colder. Something more useful.

Amai thought he’d won.

He thought putting me in this hole would break me. Would make me give up. Would eliminate me as a threat.

He was wrong.

I wasn’t breaking.

I was hardening.

Every second I spent in this concrete tomb, every breath of stale air, every throb of pain from my stab wound—it was all fuel. It was all ammunition.

Amai had made a mistake.

He should’ve killed me.

Because now I had nothing to lose and everything to fight for.

I had a child—maybe. Probably. The DNA would tell, but I felt it in my bones. That baby was mine. Part of me. My blood. My legacy.

The family I never thought I’d have because Winston made it clear I wasn’t worthy of carrying on the Landry name.

But I was worthy.

I was just as much a Landry as Amai. Just as ruthless. Just as capable.

I’d just been playing the wrong game.

I’d been trying to prove myself to Winston, trying to earn his approval, trying to be the son he wanted instead of the son I was.

Fuck that.

Fuck Winston. Fuck his approval. Fuck his legacy.

I didn’t need his permission to have a family. I didn’t need his blessing to claim what was mine.

That baby was made with my sperm. My DNA. My genetic material.

I didn’t choose it, but I claimed it.

And I claimed Truth too.