Page 6 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 2

Drank it in one swallow.

Poured another.

“How long has she been like this?” I asked.

He set the glass down and turned to face me.

“She’s been good lately,” he said. “This is the first major flare in months. She was doing so well I thought?—”

He stopped.

Shook his head.

“Doesn’t matter what I thought. The disease doesn’t care. Her doctor keeps an emergency kit here for this exact reason.”

I leaned against the desk, my hands gripping the edge hard enough to hurt.

“She needs to be in the hospital.”

“She needs to be where she feels safe.” His voice was firm. “And that’s here. With me.”

“What if it gets worse?”

“Then I’ll call her doctor. He’ll come here.” He picked up his glass again but didn’t drink. Just held it. “I’ve been taking care of your mother for fifteen years, Amai. I know what she needs.”

I wanted to argue.

Wanted to tell him he was wrong, that stubbornness wasn’t the same as strength, that letting her refuse treatment was dangerous.

But I’d seen the way he looked at her.

The way he touched her.

The way he’d sat beside her and hummed that song until the pain let her go.

Winston Landry was a lot of things.

A narcissist. A manipulator. A man who’d built his empire in pools of blood.

But he loved my mother.

Loved her in a way that was absolute and uncompromising and maybe a little bit terrifying in its intensity.

He would scorch the earth for her.

And he’d never ask permission first.

“She’s strong,” he said, more to himself than to me. “She’ll get through this. She always does.”

I didn’t respond.

Just stood there in the silence, trying to reconcile the man who’d just carried my mother to bed with the man who’d sent Yahmaria to my house like a fucking plague.

“So.” He set his glass down and looked at me. “You came here to talk. Let’s talk.”

The rage I’d been carrying since last night came flooding back.

“Why the fuck is Yahmaria coming around for any reason other than signing the divorce papers?”