His Pregnant Wife's Billionaire Retribution

Gabriela POV: The room at Christie's had fallen into an unnatural silence, a heavy blanket draped over the shocked whispers. Kael's last words, "It suggests a rather... undeniable paternal link," hung in the air like a death knell for Emerson's carefully constructed reality. Then, Kael chuckled. It wasn't a childish giggle; it was a low, resonant sound that echoed with an adult's wry amusement, and it shocked everyone more than any outburst could have. The sound seemed to bounce off the priceless art on the walls, a mocking echo that landed squarely in Emerson's chest. Emerson' s face contorted, a grotesque mask of rage and disbelief shifting over his features. The expensive auction paddle he still clutched in his hand vibrated with his fury. He squeezed it, his knuckles turning white, and the cheap wood groaned under the pressure before snapping with a sharp crack. His eyes, dark and dangerous, fixated on Kael. They were the same eyes that had once held mine with a possessive heat, now burning with a violent confusion. He stalked towards my son, each step heavy, radiating a threat that made the other attendees instinctively shrink back. The resemblance between them was a cruel, undeniable mirror. Kael, small and composed, had the same dark hair, the same sharp jawline, the same intelligent 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, a living, breathing testament to the lie he had so cruelly propagated. This child wasn't just a challenge; he was a living, breathing indictment. Emerson stopped just inches from Kael, towering over him, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Who are you?" he snarled, the words guttural. "And who put you up to this? This is a pathetic attempt to extort me." Kael, completely unfazed, simply met his gaze. There was no fear in his eyes, only a cool, almost bored assessment. He didn't flinch, didn't back down. He was a rock against Emerson's storm. "Extortion?" Kael's voice was clear, cutting through Emerson's bluster. "Mr. McGuire, my mother is quite… financially secure. We don't need your money. We merely came for what was rightfully ours." He tilted his head slightly. "And to correct a few historical inaccuracies, perhaps." The words struck Emerson like a physical blow. He reeled back, a flicker of genuine terror in his eyes. The "historical inaccuracies"-my falsely claimed sterility, the public humiliation. It was all flooding back to him, forced into the light by this child. "You're lying!" Emerson yelled, his voice cracking with desperation. He looked around the room, as if pleading for someone to agree, to validate his crumbling narrative. But the faces staring back at him now held suspicion, not sympathy. The New York elite, usually so loyal to their own, were starting to question. Kael's gaze drifted pointedly to Emerson' s crotch, a subtle, devastating gesture. "Are you so certain? Perhaps a DNA test would settle the matter, once and for all. It would certainly clarify who is lying, wouldn't it?" Emerson's face purpled. The implication was clear: Kael was mocking his false sterility, throwing his own cruel words back at him like daggers. The memory of the shredded ultrasound report, the source of Emerson' s power over me, had now become the instrument of his downfall. His hand shot out, not to strike, but to grab Kael' s arm. His fingers, trembling with barely suppressed violence, clamped around Kael' s small wrist. "You insolent brat! How dare you-" My breath caught in my throat. I wanted to scream, to rush down and protect my son. But I knew Kael. He wouldn't be broken by this. This was part of the plan. This humiliation, this public unraveling, was only just beginning. Emerson's jaw worked, his eyes wide with a mixture of rage and dawning horror. The boy's face staring back at him was too familiar, too undeniable. The truth was a tidal wave, crashing over him, threatening to drown him in the very lies he had propagated. His authority, his carefully cultivated image of untouchable power, was dissolving before the eyes of New York's most influential. Kael, a child, had just dismantled him with a few calm words and an undeniable resemblance. "You'll regret this," Emerson hissed, his voice low and ragged, shaking with a fury that promised future retribution. But the threat felt hollow, already weakened by the public spectacle. Kael merely smiled, a slow, predatory grin that was all mine. "Oh, Emerson," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, his gaze flicking towards the VIP box where I stood, unseen. "The regrets are only just beginning."