Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance

I stood at my mother’s open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule. While the priest’s voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?" When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone—he brought Charla with him. He claimed she’d had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child." He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me. "He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect. Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards.

Modern Crime Revenge Kickass Heroine Hidden identities Revenge

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The night before their third wedding anniversary, Cary Gibson emerged victorious from a high-end auction, securing a pair of rare sapphire earrings.

He said softly, "This is for the person I owe the most—my beloved."

From home, his wife, Evelina Marsh, felt tears pooling as she watched the auction on television. Tomorrow was their third anniversary, and maybe, at long last, Cary had realized her devotion.

Cary's grandmother, Demi Gibson, exhaled in quiet satisfaction. "At long last, Cary's learned how valuable his wife truly is."

The next evening, Evelina had barely set the finishing touches on an extravagant dinner when Cary stepped through the door.

She hurried to greet him, swiftly taking his briefcase before reaching out for his coat.

"Quite a feast tonight," he said lightly. "Did something happen?"

Tall and captivating, Cary carried himself effortlessly. Even the simple act of loosening his tie appeared like a polished gesture from a high-fashion shoot.

Yet, somehow, he always managed to chill Evelina with just a few words. Her fingers paused uncertainly, and she quietly said, "You didn't forget, did you?"

No, that couldn't be right. He had purchased those priceless sapphire earrings to make amends, hadn't he?

Cary's eyebrows knitted together slightly. "Forget what exactly, Evelina?"

"The sapphire earrings... you bought them, didn't you?" Her heart trembled with unease, but hope stubbornly remained.

"How do you know about those earrings?" Cary appeared genuinely startled. He clearly didn't expect his mild-mannered, invisible wife to keep tabs on such extravagant things.

A faint smirk tugged at his lips, hinting at contempt.

Certainly, Evelina possessed natural beauty—gentle features, eyes soft and expressive—but she refused to flaunt it. She dressed plainly, appearing perpetually dull and overlooked, like a flower that had ceased to bloom.

Even the Gibson household maid seemed more refined than Evelina.

Yet, Evelina gathered her courage, eyes shining cautiously. "I saw the auction broadcast. Those earrings are really lovely—"

Cary interjected her abruptly, "They're for Esme."

At the mere mention of his first love, Esme Barton, Cary's voice softened noticeably. "She's finally agreed to return to me. Naturally, I needed something special to welcome her back."

Evelina felt her chest tighten painfully, her breath hitching.

So, the one he felt indebted to was Esme Barton, the very woman who had abandoned him?

And what did that make her—the devoted wife who had stood beside him for three years without complaint, never even asking for recognition?

Unable to bear it, Evelina's voice wavered with hurt. "Cary, have you forgotten whose fault the accident was—the one that blinded you?"

On that terrible day, Esme had thrown a tantrum over something insignificant, distracting Cary and causing him to crash.

When news broke that Cary's sight was likely permanently lost, Esme swiftly disappeared, crafting a flimsy excuse before fleeing overseas the same day. She left no trace, vanishing completely.

Their wedding had already been announced, invitations sent. Neither Esme nor her family could be located.

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