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Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance

Chapter 7 No.7

Word Count: 607    |    Released on: 22/01/2026

ate to escape the suffocating prox

do it aggressively, but with the casual arrogance

"My fiancée is

voice again. There was something in the cadence, the rhythm... it

ugh the eyeholes of the mask. Her green e

gies for the tr

hind him. "See?

ly. He reached into his jacket p

said, his eyes boring into Cali's. "Most p

s pocket, signed a check, an

it out

. "Exclusively. I want you

k. It was freedom. It w

sale, Mr. Holl

As she brushed past him, h

As she pulled away, her left hand came up defensively, and he saw her thumb instinctively rub the bare skin of her ring

shot out and grabb

ered. The intensity in

pan

iletto, and stomped down hard on the to

d, pain shooting up his

ted out the door, down the corrido

bing his wrist. He looked

smi

. A smile that hadn't touche

me," he muttered

la shrieked. "Call the po

ed to Charla, his face cold again.

ut, leaving

levator down

of security guards were s

ped. He stare

DBE

ers were scre

d whispered. The wo

," the head of security said ne

ut a clear plast

all, black velv

He stared at the ribbon

iard asked. "A

. The vents we

graffiti again. A child

eted th

pes for the entire building. I want to know who that

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Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance
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.”