Imperfections of a Royal

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.

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"You must be kidding me, how exactly do you plan to throw away 10 important years?" I yelled to the person at the end of the line.

"It's no longer important, can't you see, It's all in the past now. I'm done, it's over. I'm starting a new life. I quit my job and I still have a few things left but I can easily pick up the important ones later" she answered

"You were never going to come back to New York, were you?" I asked

"No, I'm sorry Jeremy but that's just how it is. Goodbye ...." she said before hanging up.

I stared at my phone screen for a few minutes before throwing it across the room. She moved on, just like that.

I guess I was never really important. I sacrificed a lot for our relationship, my family, my friends and now she moves on.

I slowly drifted myself from everyone, just to satisfy her to show my commitment, only to be treated like this.

She didn't even have the decency to tell me in person, how dare she.

Running my hand through my long hair, I scoffed. I never really liked my long hair but she did, so I left it.

I remembered the day I told my mother I was going to marry her someday. My mum who happened to be very religious was upset, she told me Hannah was raised by gay parents, hence, she kicked again it, not just that, she claimed she was rude, proud, and self-centered. It made no sense.

I haven't spoken to her since then, she didn't accept me so I felt there was no need to continue to talk to her.

After all, I'm an adult who can make decisions without needing anyone's help.

Now it feels really stupid, I shouldn't have thrown everything away.

I stopped talking to my friends too, I quit college and I joined a modeling company along with Hannah.

"This feels like the best time to get drunk," I told myself. Unfortunately, I don't drink alcohol.

I stared at the walls for a long time, why do I always have to lose the ones I love?

It's just not fair, absolutely unfair.

I should probably call my agent to tell him I wouldn't be able to make it to the shoot today, but I don't even have a phone anymore.

I have nothing, no friends, no family, no girlfriend, absolutely nothing.

'I don't drink alcohol but ice cream should work' I told myself as I opened the refrigerator and brought out a pint of ice cream intending to drown in my sorrows.

Unfortunately, there was nothing good showing on TV so the ice cream which was quickly melting was my only company.

This day wasn't what I expected it to be, at all.

I walked into my bedroom and shut the door behind me where I expected to forget all about the events of the day.

The next day I woke up early and glanced around my living room and realized what a mess I created the previous day.

The leftover melted ice cream was on the couch, my broken phone with the broken glass was littered on the floor, the wall was slightly dented because I threw my phone into it.

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