Page 122 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 2

Not the kind of thing a man did after burying his brother alive in a concrete tomb.

But that was the beauty of it, wasn’t it? The duality. The ability to be both. To hold violence in one hand and tenderness in the other and never let them touch.

I’d been doing it my entire life.

The turnoff for the lakehouse appeared on my right, and I took it without slowing. The gravel crunched beneath the tires as I navigated the narrow road, the trees closing in on both sides. The headlights illuminated the path ahead—familiar, safe, mine.

When I pulled up to the house, the lights were on inside. Warm. Inviting.

She was awake.

I grabbed the bag of snacks and got out of the car, closing the door quietly behind me. Cicadas buzzed in the trees. The lake was a dark mirror in the distance, reflecting the moonlight.

I walked up the steps to the front door and let myself in.

Truth was sitting on the couch in the living room, wrapped in my robe, her legs tucked beneath her. She looked up when I entered, her eyes searching my face.

“Where were you?” she asked.

Her voice was soft, but there was an edge to it. Not accusation. Just awareness. She knew I’d been gone longer than a quick trip to the bathroom or a walk around the property.

I held up the bag and smiled—easy, natural, the kind of smile that saidnothing’s wrong.

“Went to get snacks,” I said, walking over to the couch and setting the bag down on the coffee table. “Priest only left healthy shit. Figured you might want something that actually tastes good.”

I pulled out the Doritos, the Reese’s, the gummy worms, and laid them out like an offering. Then I grabbed the trail mix and granola bars and set those down too.

“Got some of the boring stuff, too, just in case,” I added.

Truth stared at the snacks for a moment, then looked up at me. Her expression was unreadable—somewhere between relief and suspicion, like she wanted to believe me but wasn’t sure she should.

“You went to the store,” she said slowly.

“Yeah.” I sat next to her, close enough that our knees touched. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d make myself useful.”

The lie came so easily it didn’t even feel like lying. It was just another version of the truth. A softer one. A safer one.

The version she needed.

Because the real truth—the one where I’d driven to a hospital, extracted my unconscious brother, and buried him in a hole in the woods—that truth would destroy her. It would make her see me for what I really was. Not the man who brought her snacks. Not the man who made love to her in front of the fireplace.

The monster.

And I couldn’t let her see that. Not again.

She reached for the bag of Doritos and opened it, pulling out a chip and biting into it. The crunch was loud in the quiet room.

“Thank you,” she said after a moment.

I watched her eat, watched the way her shoulders relaxed slightly, the way her guard came down just a fraction. She believed me. The lie had worked.

Of course it had.

I’d been lying my entire life. To Winston. To Yahmaria. To Priest. To myself.

This was just one more.

“You okay?” I asked, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.