Daddy You Are The One With Broken Parts

Everyone in the Manhattan elite knew that Rhett Kingston would lie about anything to protect his 'sister,' Sloane Avery.
Hed even torn my ultrasound report to shreds right in front of the family at a holiday gala.
I have a congenital motility disorder, Wrenley. If you want to trap me, at least come up with a believable lie.
As the room drowned me in sneering, pitying glances, he gently wiped a tear from Sloanes eye.
It was in that moment I finally understood: for the unloved, even pregnancy is a capital offense.
I touched my slightly swollen belly, turned, and jumped off the deck of that super-yacht.
Rhett, since you claim you cant make a baby, then this one must be a ghosts gift to me.
Five years later, his miniature clone outbid him for the prime development lot hed been set on acquiring.
Rhetts eyes were bloodshot as he demanded a DNA test. My son just smiled. Mister, youre the one with the broken parts. You couldnt make a smart kid like me if you tried.
1
The auction hall went utterly silent.
That high-pitched, childish voice was a slap across every face in the room.
Rhett, down in the front row, had a face twisted with rage. The bidding paddle in his hand crumpled into a wad of useless plastic with a brittle, snapping sound.
He was staring at the small boy in the first row, who was swinging his short legs.
A face identical to his, yet it was the ultimate, public mockery.
Rhett moved.
He lunged over the plush chairs, a killing intent radiating from him.
The security guards froze; the guests held their breath.
He reached out, his fingers curled into a claw, aiming for the childs collar.
The boy didn't flinch. He just looked up, his eyeseyes exactly like minefilled with chilling indifference.
Just as Rhetts hand was about to make contact, a dark blur erupted from the side.
A hand encased in a black tactical glove clamped down on Rhetts wrist.
I put every ounce of my strength into the grip.
Veins bulged on the back of Rhett's hand, and the bones groaned. He tried to shake me off, wincing, but I didn't budge.
He followed my arm up, his gaze slamming into my icy pupils.
Rhetts eyes constricted violently.
He stared at my face as if hed seen a ghost, spitting two words through clenched teeth: Wrenley Shaw?
Instantly, the room erupted.
Wren Shaw? Rhett Kingston's ex-wife, the one who jumped off the yacht five years ago?
I heard her body was never recovered. She's alive?
I heard she was pregnant with a bastard child and jumped because she was too ashamed
The whispers buzzed like a swarm of flies.
I expressionlessly ripped my hand away. The force made him stumble back a half step.
I leaned down, straightened my sons bowtie, and stood back up.
I pulled off the glove, revealing a palm rough and calloused from years spent in salt water. A deep, jagged scarthe signature of acute decompression sicknessran across my wrist.
I looked Rhett dead in the eye. Mr. Kingston, you have the wrong person. Im this childs father. Not your ex-wife.
Behind Rhett, Sloane Avery gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. A ghost! Rhett, shes a ghost!
She scrambled back, trembling, and shrank against Rhett.
Rhett instinctively pulled her into his arms, a reflex ingrained in his muscle memory.
After he had soothed Sloane, he turned back to me. The initial shock in his eyes had been replaced by extreme loathing.
Even after five years, his gaze was a physical stab.
Rhett surveyed me, his eyes sweeping over my utility pants and heavy-duty leather boots, finally settling on my son.
He sneered. You didnt die, but you ran for five years. Did you run out of money? Did you bring the bastard back to shake me down?
His look was the same as one youd give a stray dog begging for scraps.
Wrenley, is that outfit of yours worth five hundred dollars combined? Did your lover finally get tired of paying your bills?
A few people chuckled nearby.
Ignoring him, I took the Rubik's Cube from my son and placed it on the table.
Then, I raised my bidding paddle.
My cool, clear voice carried across the hall: Fifty million dollars.
The room gasped.
It was the very piece of land Rhett had to have, and the opening bid was only twenty million.
The scorn froze on Rhett's face.
The auctioneer frantically brought down the hammer.
A staff member rushed over with the POS machine.
I rolled up my sleeve, revealing the vicious scar on my wrist. It was the proof of five years spent fighting for my life.
I swiped the card and signed the papers with smooth, fluid movements.
And one more thing, I said, tucking the black card back into my pocket and looking directly at Rhett. Mr. Kingston, if youre not going to use those eyes, you should donate them. Get out of my way.
With that, I took my son's hand and started to leave.
Rhetts face was dark. He gave a sharp hand signal to his bodyguards.
The massive doors slammed shut.
A dozen men in black suits sealed the exits.
Rhett pushed Sloane aside and advanced on me, step by step, his teeth gritted. You think you can just walk away? You will tell me who the hell this bastard is.
He pointed at my son, his eyes full of violent intent. Trying to scam me? I don't mind verifying paternity right here and now, and making you disappear again.
2
The waiting room behind the auction stage.
A dozen hulking bodyguards had me and my son surrounded.
Rhett sat on a leather sofa, his long legs crossed in a display of arrogance. He was turning his signet ring, his eyes narrow and dark.
Talk, Wrenley.
A file was slapped onto the coffee table: the private investigators report from five years ago.
Which man sponsored you these five years? Did you use your body to earn fifty million?
Every word was a deep, deliberate wound.
Sloane held a steaming mug of herbal tea, her eyes red, the picture of delicate sorrow.
Sister, dont provoke Rhett. Just tell him who the father is, and the Kingston family will give you a settlement.
Her gaze drifted pointedly toward Rhetts lower half, her voice dropping, yet perfectly audible to everyone.
After all, everyone knows about Rhetts diagnosis five years ago.
To insist the child is his? Isn't that just twisting the knife in his old wound?
It was a perfectly aimed, brutal blow.
My son, Atlas, suddenly laughed.
The sound was bright but chillingly devoid of childish warmth.
He unwrapped a stick of gum, chewed twice, and looked at Sloane.
Auntie, your perfume is a little heavy. Smells like the industrial-grade cleaner they use in the subway bathrooms.
Sloanes face stiffened, her tears hanging precariously.
Rhett suddenly shot to his feet, raising his hand to slap Atlas across the face.
You ill-mannered bastard! How dare you speak to her that way?
The force in his swing was brutal and unchecked.
I snatched my phone off the table and slammed it hard onto the back of his hand.
Bang!
The phone screen shattered. Rhetts hand instantly swelled and turned red.
He cried out, clutching his hand, glaring at me. Wrenley Shaw! You hit me for that bastard?
I pulled my son behind me, my eyes cold.
Rhett Kingston, clean up your mouth. Whether hes a bastard or notdon't you know the answer yourself?
Rhetts anger twisted into a laugh, his eyes wild.
Fine! Great!
He roared at the bodyguards. Drag the little brat out for a DNA test!
I want the results now! I want every person in this city to see whose mongrel child you were carrying!
He pointed a shaking finger at my nose, his voice raw. I will prove my innocence! Prove that I never touched a tramp like you!
To humiliate me, he was willing to publicly declare his own inadequacy.
The logic was completely deranged.
The bodyguards moved in to grab my son.
Atlas didnt resist. He simply plucked a single strand of hair from his head and offered it.
I waved off the bodyguards, took the hair from Atlas, and walked to Rhett.
I placed the strand on the coffee table, my eyes regarding him like a piece of trash.
Test it.
My tone was frighteningly calm.
But Rhett, you wont like the consequences.
Just as Rhett was about to explode again, Sloane gasped and clutched her chest.
Rhett, I dont feel well. My heart hurts.
Her face went instantly pale, and she slid boneless to the floor.
Rhetts rage evaporated, replaced by pure panic.
He shoved me aside, rushing to scoop Sloane into his arms.
Sloane! Wheres your medication? Get the car! Hurry!
He charged toward the door with Sloane. As he passed me, he didn't spare me a glance.
He only tossed back a cold, final order: Watch this crazy woman and that bastard! They aren't to leave until the results come back!
Half the room cleared out.
I stood there, watching his panicked retreat.
It was the same five years ago.
If Sloane so much as frowned, the world stopped.
Even when I was hemorrhaging in the delivery room.
I reached into my bag and pulled out a wrinkled piece of old newspaperthe clipping showing Rhett tearing my ultrasound report in the hospital.
I crumpled it into a ball and dropped it into the waste bin.
Then, I dialed an encrypted number.
Hello.
The salvage operation can commence. Bring that item up.
3
Three days later, the.
The sea wind was biting.
Rhetts black SUV was parked by the dock. He stood in the wind, clutching the sealed paternity report.
Sloane was wrapped in his cashmere overcoat, pressed against him. Her face was flushed, showing no sign of illness.
I walked up with Atlas. A bodyguard moved to block me.
Rhett waved the manila envelope. His gaze was icy. You want this?
He pointed to the dark, bottomless water below.
Sloane accidentally dropped the Kingston family heirloom ring. It cant be lost.
He stared at me, a cruel smile on his lips. Wrenley, I heard youre in deep-sea salvage now.
Since youre so skilled, why dont you retrieve it for Sloane?
It was naked humiliation.
The late autumn sea water was freezing, and the currents were treacherous.
Sloane grabbed Rhetts arm with fake concern. Rhett, forget it.
The ring is just a ring. The water is too cold, and Sister is too delicate. Dont make her go.
She said don't go, but her eyes were full of provocation and anticipation.
Rhetts face was cold. Its your engagement ring. It has to be recovered.
She's a professional, isn't she? If she cant handle a simple dive, how can she justify that fifty million?
I ignored their performance. I bent down and handed Atlas to my assistant.
I stripped off my jacket, revealing the black dive suit underneath.
My terms.
I checked my oxygen tank, my voice sharp and cold.
If I retrieve it, you destroy the paternity report immediately. The Kingstons and I are done. This child will have absolutely no claim on you.
Rhett looked surprised, then sneered. So eager to destroy it? Looks like you already know the results are shameful. Fine. You have my word.
In his mind, I was desperate and guilty.
I put on my mask, bit down on the regulator, and took a running leap.
Plunge!
I disappeared entirely into the gray-black water.
The large monitoring screen on the dock instantly lit up, showing a live feed from the camera on my helmet.
My heart rate data was a flat, steady line.
Rhett stared at the screen, his brows furrowed.
Eight-degree water, and my composure was infuriating him.
The visibility underwater was poor.
Suddenly, a strong current slammed into me.
Someone had tampered with the setup.
My supply line jerked violently, and the airflow in my regulator stopped.
Suffocation hit me instantly.
I looked up. I could vaguely see the operator on the boat deck violently shaking the lines.
Sloane had paid someone off. She wanted me dead.
On the monitor, my heart rate remained stubbornly stable.
I didn't panic or struggle.
Calmly, I reached behind me, cut the main air hose, and opened the small, auxiliary reserve tank.
A trick this clumsy wouldn't be enough.
Using the current, I executed a roll, broke free, and plunged straight into the seabed silt.
Amidst the tangled scrap metal, a faint glint.
I reached out, my fingers clawing through the muck, and seized the ring.
My movements were brutal.
Three minutes later, the surface broke.
I climbed onto the dock, soaked through, my face pale, but my eyes blazing like knives.
Rhett looked at me and subconsciously took a step back.
I strode directly to Sloane.
In front of Rhett, I raised the so-called heirloom ring.
I squeezed my fingers.
A dull, grinding crunch!
The jewel-encrusted ring was crushed into an oval shape between my fingers.
I tossed it aside. It rolled to a stop near Sloanes expensive leather boot.
Fake, I said, pulling off the regulator and smiling coldly.
Just like your person. Copper core under cheap gold plating.
A flake of the rings veneer had chipped off, revealing the cheap brass underneath.
Sloanes face went instantly white. She frantically looked at Rhett.
Rhett stared at the deformed ring on the ground, then at my water-streaked face. He was speechless.
Rhett bent down and picked up the twisted ring. The tarnished brass stung his eyes.
His face was ashen. He suddenly whipped his head toward Sloane.
The question died in his throat.
The colossal LED billboard overlooking the dock suddenly flashed to life.
4
Someone in the crowd gasped: Is that?
The screen wasn't showing an advertisement. It was a live feed from the paternity testing center.
On a high perch, my son, Atlas, held a tablet and tapped furiously.
He had hacked the docks system.
On the screen was the director of the testing center, an accomplice I had arranged five years ago.
He looked sternly at the camera and broke the seal on the evidence bag.
DNA comparison result: Sample A, Rhett Kingston, and Sample B, Paternity Index 99.9999%.
The directors voice boomed through the docks loudspeakers.
Conclusion: The biological father-son relationship is supported.
The entire dock was dead silent.
Then, the conversations erupted, louder than the waves.
Rhett stared blankly at the screen, the bronze ring cutting his palm until it bled.
Impossible!
He roared, his eyes bloodshot. I have a motility disorder! Im sterile! Wrenley, you forged this!
He was still clinging to that ridiculous lie.
I stripped off my soaked dive suit and walked toward him, step by step.
I pulled a small voice recorder from my waterproof pouch and pressed play.
After a burst of static, Sloane's tearful voice played:
Rhett, please, my mother will disown me if she finds out I lost the baby and had a hysterectomy. You have to help me.
If you just admit the problem is yours, Mom wont blame me.
You dont love Wrenley anyway. Whats the big deal if she takes the fall?
Every word in the recording was a fresh slap across Rhetts face.
His face crumbled, inch by inch, until he looked completely devastated. He swayed on his feet.
The looks around him shifted from awe to outright contempt.
Even his own bodyguards were looking down.
Sloane shrieked and lunged at me. Fake! Its all spliced together!
She tried to grab the recorder.
Atlas spoke coolly from his high perch. The audio spectral analysis has already been sent to the media. Well know if its been spliced soon enough.
He paused, then pressed another key.
The screen switched to an international birth certificate.
Auntie Sloane, you gave birth to a child named David in California five years ago. You said you couldnt have children. Whose child is that?
Sloane shook violently and collapsed onto the ground.
Rhett looked at her, his eyes filled with the hatred of a man utterly fooled.
You lied to me?
His voice trembled. You were lying the whole time?
I ruined Wrenley, I ruined my life, for you! And all the while, you already had a child?!
I walked right up to him and reached out to smooth the collar of his shirt, which the wind had messed up.
My ice-cold fingertips brushed his skin.
He flinched.
Mr. Kingston, I leaned in close to his ear, my voice dangerously soft. Your illness was a fake.
And that unreachable ideal you protected for five years? She was screwing around in Europe the whole time.
How do you like that color, Rhett?
Rhett froze, incapable of uttering a single word.
Sloane on the ground suddenly let out a frantic scream.
She scrambled up and charged madly at Atlas on the high platform.
Its all your fault! You little bastard!
She grabbed Atlas and hurled him toward the edge of the platform.
Watch out! I screamed, my voice ripped out of my throat.
The boy lost his balance and plummeted toward the black water.
Rhett moved.
He was closest.
As he reached out, Sloanes foot slipped, and she fell with him.
It was the boy or Sloane.
In that split second, Rhett made his instinctive choice.
He grabbed Sloanes hand.

First, search for and download the MotoNovel app from Google. Then, open the app and use the code "333202" to read the entire book.