Page 62 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 2

And hated him.

Hated myself more.

Because even now—even after everything—I could still feel the ghost of his hands on my skin.

Still feel the way he used to hold me after, his arms wrapped around me like I was something precious instead of something purchased.

I closed my eyes.

Took a breath.

And reminded myself why I was here.

Not for him.

Not for love.

Not for anything that resembled a future.

I was here because my father had made it clear: the Baptiste empire survived only as long as the Landry alliance held.

And I was the glue.

Whether I wanted to be or not.

I opened my eyes.

Took another sip of coffee.

And told myself I could survive this.

I’d survived worse.

I finished my coffee on the back deck.

Let the morning air settle into my lungs one last time before I had to go back inside and face whatever fresh hell was waiting for me.

The house.

Amai.

The body I’d left on the kitchen floor a day ago.

I stood slowly, stretched, and walked back toward the sliding glass door.

The moment I stepped inside, I smelled it.

Bleach.

Industrial-strength cleaner.

And underneath it, faint but unmistakable, the copper tang of blood being scrubbed away.

I walked into the kitchen.

Three men in black uniforms were working efficiently. One was mopping the tile where Layla’s body had been. Another was wiping down the cabinets. The third was loading black bags onto a dolly.

Layla was gone.