Roughneck

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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In a five-star hotel called Peninsula International in Zugrurg, at the window of Room 2208, stood a woman in a long red wine colored sweater. The room was on the 22nd Floor, the Presidential Suite. Her hair was pinned on the top of her head and she held a cup of newly decanted wine in her hand.

The woman was pretty with long, curly eyelashes that glittered in the sun. The tip of her nose was slightly turned up, and her pursed lips were adorned with queen red lipstick.

A dainty pair of spectacles with black frames balanced delicately on the bridge of her nose, lending her a professional appearance.

The sky loomed with dark clouds.

The setting reminded her of the same day, a year and a half ago.

As lightning lit up the horizon, the woman knew it would rain at any time.

The woman recalled a fateful day during her time at the women's prison in the West of Ascea.

The warden escorted by two policewomen entered the room. One policewoman shouted, "No. 296, you can go!"

The needlework the prisoner was working on, fell to the ground.

Over the past one and a half years, she had heard this statement many times. Every time she had hoped the policewoman would call her number. But she never did. Not until today.

"You can go." Of course, she understood what it meant.

It meant that she was free. She could finally leave the prison.

After a while, the prison's high gates opened slowly. A girl in dark green clothes walked through. Her chubby figure had become slimmer after her one and a half year stay in prison.

Though she had lost a lot of weight, her face was still round.

Not far from the gate stood a couple holding an umbrella. The man looked dignified, and the woman was graceful. Although they were middle-aged, the years had been kind to them.

At the sight of the girl, the older woman walked toward her. "Oh, my honey, you have suffered a lot!"

She gently caressed the girl's face. Her face used to be plump, but now it looked thinner.

For Sophia Bailey, these simple, welcoming words felt like spring in the desert.

"Aunt (Chinese way of showing politeness, not real Aunt), it is you who got me out of here." The older woman nodded in affirmation.

The man also came forward. He was followed by an orderly who held out umbrellas for them.

Wendy shook her head, "It's your Uncle (Chinese way of showing politeness, not real Uncle). He found the relationship for you."

Sophia nodded, took a step back, and bowed deeply, "Uncle, Aunt, thank you very much. I shall always remember your kindness."

"Don't mention it, my dear. Let's go!" Wendy seated Sophia in Newman's car before getting in.

At Newman's, led by Wendy, Sophia entered a big room, where she took a soothing bath and put on clothes provided by Wendy.

The clothes were loose.

Wendy had bought clothes for Sophia in her original size.

She used to be very fat. She was 163cm in height but had weighed more than 150 pounds.