Page 188 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 2

But as I lay in his arms, our bodies still tangled, I couldn’t bring myself to regret it.

For the first time in a long time, I felt alive.

And I wasn’t ready to let that go.

The front door slammed downstairs.

The sound cracked through the house like a gunshot, and my entire body went rigid.

Syx’s eyes snapped to mine, wide and alert. “Fuck.”

“Amai,” I breathed.

We moved at the same time—scrambling off the bed, grabbing for clothes scattered across the floor. My hands shook as I yanked my silk camisole over my head, my shorts up my legs. Syx pulled on his sweatpants, his t-shirt inside out in his rush.

“Bathroom,” he hissed. “Go to the bathroom—wash your face?—”

“He’s going to know?—”

“Just go.”

I stumbled toward the hallway bathroom, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might crack my ribs. I could hear Amai’s footsteps downstairs—slow, deliberate, moving through the house like he owned every inch of it.

Because he did.

I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face, trying to calm the flush in my cheeks, the swollen look of my lips. My reflection stared back at me—guilty, terrified, alive in a way I hadn’t been in years.

I heard Amai’s footsteps on the stairs.

My breath caught.

I quickly dried my face and stepped back into the hallway just as Amai reached the top of the stairs. His eyes found me immediately—dark, unreadable, assessing.

“Yahmaria.” His voice was flat. Empty.

“Amai.” I forced my voice to stay steady. “You’re home.”

“Clearly.” His gaze moved past me to Syx’s bedroom door, which was still cracked open. His jaw tightened. “Where’s Syx?”

“In his room. He had another nightmare—I was just checking on him.”

Amai’s eyes narrowed, and he moved past me without another word. I followed, my pulse racing, as he pushed open Syx’s door.

Syx was sitting on the edge of his bed, his locs pulled back, his face carefully neutral. But the room—the room smelled like sex. Sweat and skin and the unmistakable musk of bodies tangled together.

Amai stopped in the doorway, his nostrils flaring.

He knew.

“You good?” Amai asked, his voice deceptively calm.

Syx nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. Just another night terror. Yaya helped me through it.”

“That right?” Amai’s gaze swept the room—the rumpled sheets, the pillow on the floor, the faint sheen of sweat on Syx’s skin. “Smells like you got fucked on your back until the room stank.”

“Couldn’t sleep after. Did some push-ups. Tried to burn off the adrenaline.” Syx’s voice was steady, practiced. “You know how it is.”

Amai stared at him for a long moment, and I held my breath.