Page 98 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 4

“Fourteen days,” I said, letting my head tilt back against his chest. “Then two weeks of pure cramming before the NCLEX. If I pass that test, I’m officially a licensed registered nurse.”

“When you pass,” he corrected, his voice low and certain. “There ain’t no if.”

“It feels crazy,” I said, looking out at Mama’s overgrown tomato plants in the backyard. “A year ago, I was broke, my credit was trash, Phillip had taken everything, and I was signing a surrogate contract just to survive. Now…”

“Now you’re building a family with me,” Amai said. He turned me in his arms until I was facing him, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch. “And once that license is in your hand, we handle the rest of it.”

“The rest of what?”

“You know what,” he said, his thumb coming up to trace my lips. “The ring. The papers. Making you Mrs. Landry for real.”

A small laugh escaped my throat. “Amai, we talked about this. I don’t want no three-hundred-person spectacle at St. Louis Cathedral. I don’t want cameras, I don’t want city officials, and I damn sure don’t want Winston sitting in the front row, looking like he swallowed vinegar with his hating ass. He looks older than what he is because he’s so fucking mean.”

Amai’s mouth curved into a faint, crooked smirk. “Fuck Winston and fuck a spectacle. I don’t give a damn about a ceremony, Truth. You think I need a preacher in a robe to tell me who you belong to? I want permanence. I want your name tied to mine on every legal document in this state. I want everybody in New Orleans knowing that if they look at you wrong, they’re answering to your husband.”

I looked at him—at the fierce, uncompromising line of his mouth, the quiet heat in his eyes, and the absolute absence of hesitation. This man was utterly in love with me.

“I’m not going anywhere, Amai,” I said softly, putting my hands flat against his chest over his heartbeat. “You already have me. You’ve had me since the day you had me meet you for an interview.”

He leaned in, his lips just inches from mine⁠—

The sound of a heavy car door shutting out front cut through the quiet.

Amai froze. His posture shifted instantly, the softness evaporating from his frame like steam off hot pavement. He stepped around me, moving quietly through the kitchen and toward the front room.

I followed close behind him.

Through the front screen door, I saw a familiar silver Audi parked at the curb.

Kaisen was walking up the concrete path.

He wasn’t using the cane anymore. He walked with a smooth, upright stride, dressed in a sharp beige linen shirt and dark trousers, carrying a small boutique gift bag in one hand. But there was something in the way he held his head that set my teeth on edge.

“What the fuck is this nigga doing here?” Amai growled, his hand already drifting toward the small of his back where his weapon was concealed beneath his shirt.

“Amai, stop,” I whispered, grabbing his forearm. “Mama is asleep in the back, and Tru is right there. Let me handle it.”

“You ain’t handling shit alone. Something been off about this nigga, but I can’t put my finger on it,” he snapped, pushing the front screen door open before Kaisen could even knock.

Amai stood on the top step of the porch, filling the doorway with pure aggression. “You got five seconds to tell me why you’re on this property.”

Kaisen stopped at the bottom of the porch steps, looking up at us. His expression remained completely serene, a polite, understanding smile resting on his face like a mask.

“Afternoon, Amai,” Kaisen said smoothly, shifting his gaze to me. “Truth, I didn’t mean to interrupt your afternoon. I was on the West Bank, checking on a shipment and realized I was only ten minutes away.”

“That don’t explain why your feet are on my mama’s lawn,” I said, keeping my voice cool and even.

Kaisen’s smile faltered just slightly, a flicker of wounded humility crossing his features. “I know things have been… tense between us. But I haven’t seen Trumai since the hospital, Truth. That was months ago. She’s my niece. I just wanted to drop off a gift and see her for a minute. That’s all.”

Beneath the soft, reasonable tone of his voice, I caught it—that subtle, stubborn entitlement. The quiet implication that he had a right to be here, that keeping him away was an injustice we were inflicting upon him. Like we were co-parenting or some shit.

I felt a pang of sympathy for the son he’d lost, but the memory of how he’d showed up on my doorstep months ago, talking down to me wasn’t something I could forget. Kaisen had another side. A nigga who was always saying and doing the right shit was definitely a man who had a plot twist waiting on your ass.

“You should’ve called first, Kaisen,” I said.

“I tried,” he said quietly. “You didn’t answer.”

Amai stepped down one stair, his voice dropping into that dangerous, quiet register that usually preceded gunfire. “She didn’t answer because she didn’t want to talk to you, nigga. Now take your little bag and get off this block before I give you another reason to limp. I tried to show your ass some grace, but now you’re doing too much. She’s your niece, not your daughter, muthafucka. Don’t be popping up like we owe you a visit or some shit. That’s MY daughter!”