Return My Love Wooing the Neglected Ex Wife

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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Joelle Miller pored over Rebecca Lloyd's Twitter feed, studying each video with a laser-sharp attention.

"Do you see this? He saves the juiciest slice of watermelon just for me."

"Even when he comes home late, he never forgets to bring me a little something."

"And look at this—surprise! He picked up a blessing charm for me from the church."

Rebecca, the girl in the clips, exuded a soft and delicate aura in her plain white dress. She wasn't strikingly beautiful, but there was a wholesome simplicity about her, and her smile was genuinely charming.

Joelle, peering into the screen like a spy, was eager to glimpse the face of Rebecca's boyfriend.

Rebecca's joyful narrations and the casual snippets of her life with her boyfriend were more than enough to steep Joelle in gloom.

She discovered that on pivotal days—Christmas Eve, Valentine's Day, and even on Joelle's own birthday—Rebecca was with Adrian Miller, her so-called husband, who had been missing from all significant events for the past three years.

The username on the account was "Countdown To Death." That was the only account Joelle followed.

As she was about to reflect on the ominous name, the bathroom door swung open.

In the dimly lit room, Adrian appeared, his broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, clad only in a towel wrapped around his hips. Water dripped from his hair.

Despite the dim lighting, his striking features were undiminished.

Joelle instinctively snapped her phone shut and gazed at him, lost in thought. It had been ages since she last laid eyes on Adrian.

Tonight, he was here not by choice.

His grandmother, Irene Miller, was ill and desperate for a great-grandchild, which compelled him to return. Otherwise, he might never have come back.

Over their three-year marriage, Adrian seldom visited home, spending most of his time at Oak Villas.

It was common knowledge that he held no love for Joelle.

She felt trapped in a marriage that existed in name only.

"I'll give you one chance. Whether you get pregnant or not is in the hands of fate," Adrian declared, his voice resonant and deep.

What was he implying?

Before Joelle could ponder further, Adrian seized her ankle and yanked her towards him, his shadow looming over her petite frame.

Suddenly, Adrian cast off his towel, and with a forceful motion of his knees, he parted her legs.

The sound of tearing filled the room.

He easily ripped her dress, her bare chest exposed in such a degrading manner.

Joelle's face turned pale as she faced his cruelty, her body tensed with fear.

"Adrian! Stop, I don't want it..."

Her words were interrupted by her own frantic struggles. Being forced into such a situation with the man she loved filled her with humiliation and terror.

Adrian's sneer cut through the air. "You dared to drug me once; you should have seen this day coming. Just endure it."

At his harsh words, Joelle's eyes filled with tears, her eyelashes fluttering like wounded butterflies. She looked up at his stern face, her voice trembling. "I was drunk then. I didn't mean to— Ah!"

Her protest was cut short by a sharp cry. She gripped the bed sheets tightly, her distress palpable.

Adrian pinned her wrists above her head, his expression blank as he loomed over her.

He moved abruptly, a rough, deep thrust that made Joelle wince in pain.

The intense pain overwhelmed her, her resistance fading as despair took hold. She lay there, wishing for oblivion.

After satisfying his desires, Adrian rose, his breath ragged. He picked up a towel from the floor and wrapped it around himself. "You've learned; playing hard to get is far more interesting than just lying there like a dead fish," he rasped, his voice laced with spite.

After his shower, he departed without a backward glance, as though he couldn't leave fast enough.

Before and after, his ritualistic showers seemed to cleanse him of her, as if she were a stain on his conscience.

Joelle struggled to decipher her role in his life. Was she merely a plaything for his pleasure?

Or a pawn to fulfill his family's expectations for an heir?

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