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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."Dad, I read the email you sent me. Is it for real or what?"
Freya Walton darted home the instant she landed, her mind reeling with disbelief. In just a matter of days, her mother had fallen gravely ill, slipping into an unconscious state, while the Healthbridge Hospital she founded hit rock bottom.
"Mom poured her heart and soul into that hospital, Dad. We can't let it wither away like this. You must have a solution up your sleeve, right?"
With a frown, Fletcher Walton set aside his newspaper, and sighed heavily. "Listen, Freya, let's take a deep breath and sort things out."
Just as Freya was about to say something more, a sweet, feminine voice cut in. "Don't go giving Dad a hard time. Let's face it. Healthbridge is in a shambles. No amount of money can fix it. It's better to declare bankruptcy and be done with it."
Freya's gaze shifted to the source of the voice.
A young girl, her age perhaps, stood before her, garbed in a flowing dress, exuding an air of haughtiness that made Freya's hackles rise.
Something about the girl gave Freya a sense of foreboding. "And you are?" she asked, her tone guarded.
The girl's lips curled into a smile, but her voice dripped with honeyed venom. "I am your younger sister, Hailey Walton."
Hailey, with her cherubic features, bore an uncanny resemblance to Fletcher in his youth. Her smile was disarmingly sweet.
Yet, her eyes glimmered with malice and repugnance as she leveled a gaze at Freya.
Before Freya could even blink, a middle-aged woman, decked out in a mink coat and heavy makeup, sauntered out of the kitchen, assuming the air of a gracious hostess.
"You must be exhausted, Freya. I've whipped up a little something for you," the woman said, setting the plate on the table.
She then strolled over to Fletcher, seating herself beside him and casting an indifferent look over Freya. "I'm Helen, and I'll be taking care of you and Fletcher from now on."
Freya's mind reeled in shock as she looked to Fletcher for an explanation. But he averted his gaze, clearly avoiding her questioning eyes. In that instant, Freya's worst fears were confirmed.
It was clear that Fletcher had been unfaithful, and his illegitimate daughter, sired from his mistress, was almost as old as her. In his wife's hour of need, he brought his mistress and their love child home.
Freya was overcome with a maelstrom of emotions—grief, sadness, and anger for her mother. She had been living abroad all this time, completely unaware of her family's turmoil. She never imagined things would take such a drastic turn when she returned home.
The urge to march up to them and slap them senseless coursed through Freya's veins, but she knew it wasn't the time to be impulsive. She had more pressing matters at hand.
Freya took a deep, steadying breath and said, "Dad, we can discuss these two women later. But the issue at hand is Healthbridge and it can't wait any longer. You've been in business in Leryport for so long; you must know how to save the hospital."
Fletcher averted his gaze, remaining tight-lipped.
Helen put on a show of faux sympathy and sighed. "Freya, you should think about your father's well-being as well. Healthbridge is in a financial abyss of hundreds of millions. If we don't act soon to sell it, we won't even be able to afford your mother's medical bills."
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