Mr. Remington Got Me Pregnant novel Chapter 26

Landon’s POV

I didn’t fly halfway across the world to talk. I came to tear the truth out by force.

By the time the Remington estate came into view through the tinted window of the black SUV, my knuckles were still raw, blood dried and cracking from the hit I’d laid into the wall before I left.

I didn’t wait for the driver to park. The second the brakes hissed, I was out.

The estate guards didn’t stop me. They knew who I was, and more importantly, they knew better than to get in my way when I moved like this.

Carla had called me just before takeoff. Her voice was shaky, hushed like she didn’t want anyone hearing her.

She said she’d seen Marian enter my penthouse the night Emery walked out, carrying a bottle of champagne and wearing a silk robe under her coat. She left hours later, claiming she’d forgotten something.

Carla didn’t buy it. And now, neither did I.

The moment I crossed the front hall, I went straight for the surveillance wing. I didn’t bother giving the staff a glance. I didn’t need to. The building recognized my access.

My name was etched into its bones.

I scanned my ID and pushed through the steel door that read Internal Surveillance and Communications. Inside, the room went silent. Three techs stared at me, mid-keystroke.

“I want access to the last two weeks of logs,” I said flatly. “Emails. Visitor records. Every camera feed across every wing.” One of them hesitated, opening his mouth like he might object.

“I’m a Remington,” I said, stepping closer. “I don’t need clearance. I am the clearance.” He said nothing after that.

I took the terminal and began working fast. It didn’t take long. The files weren’t erased, just buried under a chain of layered archives that only someone with legacy access could crack.

Lucky for me, that was exactly what I had.

The email chains were dressed up in polite subject lines: Dinner Plans, Board Notes, but the content underneath stripped away every doubt I’d held onto.

Make sure she sees you.
He won’t come back until she breaks. Make her break.
Champagne and silk always did the trick. Don’t forget the red lipstick.

My jaw locked. I kept scrolling. Dozens of them. My mother. Marian. Coordinating. Planning. Timing.

They hadn’t just hoped to push Emery away, they staged it. Down to the lighting, the robe, the goddamn champagne flute left on the counter.

They weaponized her trauma. Used it like a lure, a trigger they knew would undo her.

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