His Pregnant Wife's Billionaire Retribution

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h suppressed violence. He was going to hurt my son. I felt a primal scream bubbling in my throa

hold its collective breath. No one dared to intervene. Emerson's po

s eyes were wild, unseeing, consumed by a rage that threatened to spill ov

mained steady, unblinking. A flicker of something cold, almost disdainful, passed thr

blur o

son. My hand, hardened by years of deep-sea salvage, calloused and s

ied to pull away, to wrench his hand free, but my grip was like i

ickening sound that made the room gasp. He struggled, but he couldn' t break free. My strength was not the delicate g

ine. My face, once soft and yielding, was now sharp, carved by hardship and resolve. M

stricted violently. A strang

raw whisper, filled with a mixture of te

gasps into exclamations. "She's alive?" "But I

pale, almost green, the color draining from it as if someone had p

ful twist that sent a jolt of agony through him. He stumbled back,

. My son looked up at me, a small, knowing smile playing o

by shouting over roaring ocean waves, "that you've forgotten some thi

resemblance now screaming at him. The living proof stood before him, the very child he had

as an earthquake, shaking the very foundations of Emerson McGuire' s world. He had thought me

suit rumpled, his arrogant facade shattered. His power, his carefully con

oing with a new authority, "is still

nsing the shift in power, stammer

e at me. He was speech

lamming his gavel down. "To Mr. Ka

nes. We stood there, a united front, against the man who had t