Frown

Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance

Roderic Penn

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

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Corrine Holland stood moments away from marrying Bruce Ashton, her dream finally within reach.

The wedding march echoed through the hall as she glided down the red carpet in her immaculate white gown, moving toward Bruce who awaited her at the altar.

Bathed in streams of golden light, his white suit seemed to shimmer, highlighting the refined features that had first captured her heart years ago.

Their relationship had weathered countless storms over three years, and now, despite her family's refusal to bless their union, her cherished dream approached reality.

As Bruce stepped forward to present her bouquet, tears of joy threatened to spill from her eyes.

The priest's kind eyes settled on the couple as he spoke. "Do you, Bruce Ashton, take this woman to be your wife? Will you love her, honor her, respect her, and accept her, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?"

Corrine's heart fluttered as she turned expectantly toward Bruce, awaiting his answer.

Instead of joy, however, his features twisted with uncertainty, an unsettling hesitation clouding his expression.

Suddenly, the doors burst open. Rita Ashton, Bruce's younger sister, stumbled in with tears streaming down her face. "Bruce, it's bad!" she cried, looking lost and desperate. "Leah... she... she..."

A cold wave of dread washed over Corrine. Her grip tightened around Bruce's hand as her heart hammered against her ribs.

The name awakened painful memories—Leah Burgess, the unreachable star in Bruce's firmament.

When the Ashton family had fallen from grace years ago, Leah had chosen opportunity abroad over love, prompting Bruce to sever ties and turn to Corrine.

Yet just a month ago, Leah had mysteriously reappeared.

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