Page 120 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 2

They were both wrong.

I lowered Kaisen to the ground and stepped over to the slab. There was a recessed steel handle embedded in the concrete, barely visible unless you were looking for it. I crouched down, gripped the handle, and pulled.

The steel lid was heavy—two hundred pounds of reinforced metal designed to seal tight and stay sealed. It lifted with a low groan, the hinges protesting slightly from disuse. I propped it open against the support rod I’d welded to the side, and the mouth of the hole yawned open beneath me.

The smell hit me first—damp concrete, stale air, the faint metallic tang of the steel fixtures below. I pulled out my phone and turned on the flashlight, shining it down into the darkness.

The hole had concrete walls, smooth and seamless, no handholds, no way to climb out. At the bottom was a steel toilet-sink combo bolted to the floor—the kind they used in county jails, utilitarian and indestructible. A plastic cup sat on the edge of the sink. That was it. No bed. No blanket. No comfort.

The ceiling height was just under six feet. Tall enough to sit. Not tall enough to stand. And ventilated.

I’d designed it that way.

I turned back to Kaisen and grabbed him under the arms again, dragging him toward the edge of the hole. His head lolled back, his mouth slightly open. He looked vulnerable. Pathetic.

Good.

I positioned him at the edge, his legs dangling into the darkness, and then I lowered him. His body was awkward, heavy, uncooperative. I had to angle him carefully to fit him through the opening. His shoulders scraped against the concrete as I guided him down, his arms flopping uselessly at his sides.

When his feet touched the bottom, I let go.

He crumpled into a heap on the concrete floor, his body folding in on itself. His head hit the ground with a dull thud, but he didn’t wake. Didn’t move.

I stood at the edge of the hole, looking down at him. My brother. My blood. The man who thought he could betray and take what was mine.

“You’re going to suffer,” I said quietly. My voice echoed slightly in the confined space. “Not because I want to. Because you made this necessary.”

He didn’t respond. Didn’t hear me. But he would.

When he woke up, he’d understand where he was. What had happened. And he’d know—finally—that there were consequences for violating what belonged to me.

Truth.

Her name sat in my chest like a stone. Heavy. Permanent.

He’d inserted himself into her life, into her thoughts, into her body, and he’d done it deliberately.

That violation cut deeper than any blade.

It wasn’t just about the baby. It wasn’t just about legacy or bloodlines or family politics.

It was about her.

She was mine in a way that transcended logic or reason or any of the bullshit justifications I’d tried to build around it.

And Kaisen had presumed he could take her.

I crouched at the edge of the hole, resting my forearms on my knees, and stared at his unconscious form. He looked small down there. Broken.

“You knew,” I said. “You knew what you were doing. You knew she was carrying my child, and you still tried to claim her.”

I stood and walked over to the steel lid. I gripped the handle and pulled it down slowly, watching as the light from my phone narrowed, then disappeared completely. The lid settled into place with a heavy metallic clang that echoed through the clearing.

I turned the locking mechanism—a steel bolt that slid into place, sealing the lid shut from the outside. No way to open it from below. No way to escape.

The clearing was silent again. Just the cicadas, the rustle of leaves, and the faint sound of my own breathing.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the concrete slab. Moss-covered. Innocuous. A secret buried in the woods where no one would ever find it.