Faryah

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 Kickass Heroine Hidden identities Revenge

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Prologue

Amsterdam,

Late night,

A tall and a dark young man stepped out of an Audi R8. He straightened his black coat as his mouth pressed in a thin line of irresolution.

His eyes intriguingly stared at the tower in front as he sighed nervously. He'd never thought he'd come here to visit her. But here he was. After pocketing his iPhone he moved inside of the tower slowly.

The night was slow and silent. Yet the moon in the sky shone bright. One could clearly see the spots it has amidst the dancing black clouds. He pressed the button of '9th floor' and stood silently against the mirror behind him looking at the small screen above the elevator doors that screened the number of floors he crossed by.

The doors unlatched with a ding, he bit his lower lip exiting the same. His emotionless peepers gazed at the door of the flat located in the corner, 'Flat no. 903' with a sigh.

After a moment of blank thinking, he finally pressed the bell button. Almost after five minutes, he sensed the lock from within getting unlocked and there, and a gorgeous lady stepped out.

A mere look of her face raised his eyebrows in amusement. His heart skipped a beat.

"Uhh, Raven! You are here at this time, anything serious?" She was Kiara, a delicate lady with big fluttering eyelashes.

She had her hair pulled up in a bun. With a sleepy yawn she drew her loose jacket she wore close to her chest. She couldn't stand his dark eyes checking her petite body when she was only wearing a loose knee length night dress with no brasserie.

"Umm yeah, I... I mean no. It is not serious." He diverted his pupils from her body.

He can't let his mind lose his patience now or else, they'd end up in her bed for a good time. He mused as he looked away in order to concentrate further. It would not lead to good consequences either if he ever dared doing that with her.

Raven ran a hand through his hair. He could not find words to express the reason why he was standing at her doorstep at this hour of night. It was already known by her but still something made their encounter awkward. So, simply removing some papers from his jacket he forwarded them to her.

Her eyes grew wider looking at the paper type, and she shockingly blurted out, "We didn't plan on getting married for real. It was supposed to be a fake marriage, wasn't it? "

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