Page 21 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 2

We didn’t talk much after that.

Just let Mary J. Blige fill the silence while Raven worked her magic, and I sat there, feeling something I hadn’t felt in a long time:

Useful.

Not because someone needed me to carry their baby.

Not because someone was paying me to do a job.

But because I could help someone I loved when they needed it most.

And that felt better than any check Amai Landry had ever written me.

Raven finished my hair an hour later—silk press so smooth it caught the light every time I moved my head.

“You better not let nobody mess this up,” she warned as I paid her. “I’m serious, Truth. No sweating, no humidity, no?—”

“I know, I know.” I laughed. “I’ll protect it with my life.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled.

“Come on,” she said, grabbing her purse. “Let’s go see this shop before I lose my nerve.”

We walked out to my car—the used Honda I’d bought with Amai’s money. It wasn’t flashy, but it was mine. Paid for. No notes. No repo risk.

Raven slid into the driver’s seat without asking.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive?” I asked, buckling my seatbelt.

“Girl, no.” She adjusted the mirrors with quick, efficient movements. “You pregnant. You need to be relaxing, not navigating these crazy-ass New Orleans streets.”

I didn’t argue.

Just settled into the passenger seat and let her take control.

The radio was playing something low and smooth—Jill Scott, maybe—and the windows were cracked just enough to let in the breeze without messing up my hair.

For a moment, everything felt normal.

Easy.

Like we were just two sisters driving through the city on a Saturday afternoon.

Then, my phone rang.

I glanced at the screen.

Kaisen.

My stomach did a little flip.

“You gonna answer that?” Raven asked, eyes on the road.

I hesitated.

Then swiped to accept.

“Hey,” I said, and my voice came out softer than I intended. Lighter. Almost giggly.