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

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There once was an empire, a home of one of the creatures that started mystery and Legend, witches. There once WAS, until men turned legend to reality. Until their existence was no longer concealed by twilight but rather exposed by the coaxed effulgence of men.

Destructions of man made history the year witches were discovered. Upon a peaceful mass of hidden creatures, their end came upon them within a twinkle of an eye. The year, sixteen ninety three, the year the Salem Witch Trial took place.

Must have seemed as the end, but what end is given without a beginning?

They say just 'one' made it out. A single persona of the witchcraft race. Upon her, the rage of her lost ones is bestowed. Into the void of creation, she vanished, not to hide, but to get ready for war. Under her royalty, five Elders exist, elders who are to gather all possible information as they can have, information on the weakness of men and how they can be ended. The witch exists under the shadows of her elders, her face never to be seen, until the countdown elapses, until the day of wrath befalls.

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