Vengeance Unleashed by Fareedah

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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I was a top patent lawyer until my husband and his lover framed me, destroyed my career, and sent me to prison. For seven years after, I was presumed dead, living as a ghost in a warehouse.

Then, they found me. My ex-husband, Edgar, and our son, Kody, showed up, shocked to see me alive.

They lured me to Kody' s 18th birthday party, but it was a lie. The party was a surprise engagement celebration for Edgar and Celena, the very woman who ruined my life.

In front of everyone, Edgar told me to "let go."

My own son even begged me.

"Mom, please," he cried. "Just say you're sorry."

Sorry? For what? For surviving the car crash they orchestrated to kill me?

I looked at the boy I once loved more than life itself. In the sudden silence of the ballroom, I smiled and asked, "Kody, do you remember the night Celena asked you to slash my tires?"

Chapter 1

Abigail Cardenas POV:

The familiar scent of damp cardboard and recycled plastic filled my lungs, a scent I' d come to associate with my new reality. Seven years. Seven years since I was Abigail Cardenas, the sharp-witted patent lawyer, whose life had been surgically removed and replaced with this monotonous routine. Now, I was just Abigail, a ghost in a warehouse, sorting boxes under fluorescent lights.

A commotion near the loading dock pulled me from my thoughts. It wasn' t unusual for visitors, but the hushed whispers and sudden stillness suggested something different. I kept my head down, my hands moving automatically, taping another box shut.

Then I heard it. A voice. Deep, familiar, like a melody I'd tried to erase but was still etched into the deepest parts of my memory. Edgar.

My breath hitched. My body froze, a cold dread seeping into my bones. Seven years. He was supposed to be a phantom, a chapter slammed shut.

"Abigail?" The voice was closer now, hesitant, laced with a surprise that felt like a punch to my gut.

I didn't look up. Couldn' t. I just kept sealing the box, my movements stiff, robotic. My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs.

A shadow fell over me. A hand reached out, tentative, almost brushing my arm. I flinched, pulling back as if scalded. The touch would have burned me, branded me all over again.

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. The warehouse noise faded into a dull hum, as if the world was holding its breath. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to run, to disappear back into the anonymity I had carefully built.

The fluorescent lights above hummed, casting a stark, unforgiving glow on the dust motes dancing in the air. The faint smell of exhaust fumes from a distant forklift suddenly felt overwhelming, making my stomach churn. I felt dizzy, disoriented.

"Abigail? Is that really you?" His voice was hoarse now, thick with disbelief. "They said... they said you were gone. Dead."

I remained silent. My jaw ached from clenching it so tightly. What could I say? That I wasn't dead enough? That I had survived the wreckage he and his lover had made of my life?

"We had a funeral," he continued, a strange mix of shock and relief in his tone. "Celena... she was devastated. Kody... he cried for weeks."

My blood ran cold. The names, uttered so casually, were like venom. Devastated? Cried for weeks? The hypocrisy was a bitter taste in my mouth.

Another figure moved beside him. Taller now, broader shoulders. Kody. My Kody.

"Mom?" Kody' s voice, a raw, broken whisper, tore through me.

My hands trembled, but I didn't stop working. I couldn't acknowledge them. Not here. Not now. Not ever.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Edgar' s voice pleaded, stepping closer. "We thought... we thought we' d lost you forever."

Lost me? They had thrown me away. I wanted to scream the words, but they stuck in my throat, choked by years of unspoken pain.

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