iela

r the shocked whispers. Kael's last words, "It suggests a rather... undeniable paternal

adult's wry amusement, and it shocked everyone more than any outburst could have. The sound seemed

pensive auction paddle he still clutched in his hand vibrated with his fury. He squeezed it, his knu

ne with a possessive heat, now burning with a violent confusion. He stalked towards my son,

ntelligent glint in his eyes that had defined Emerson in his youth. It was as if Emerson was staring at a miniature, defiant version of himself,

oming in ragged gasps. "Who are you?" he snarled, the words guttural.

r in his eyes, only a cool, almost bored assessment. He didn't

is quite... financially secure. We don't need your money. We merely came for what was rightful

error in his eyes. The "historical inaccuracies"-my falsely claimed sterility, the pu

ading for someone to agree, to validate his crumbling narrative. But the faces staring back at him now he

gesture. "Are you so certain? Perhaps a DNA test would settle the matter

owing his own cruel words back at him like daggers. The memory of the shredded ultrasound re

s fingers, trembling with barely suppressed violence, clamped

my son. But I knew Kael. He wouldn't be broken by this. This was part of t

y's face staring back at him was too familiar, too undeniable. The truth was a tidal

ssolving before the eyes of New York's most influential. Kael, a child, ha

, shaking with a fury that promised future retribution. But th

he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, his gaze flicking to