Freezed

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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On the day the Bennett and Harper families united through marriage, the heavens seemed to unleash their fury, coloring the sky with the deep crimson of roaring flames.

Daniela Harper, clad in her wedding finery, watched in despair as her groom, Alexander Bennett, heroically swept Joyce Holt into his arms and navigated through the scorching heat, not once glancing back at her.

Trapped beneath a massive, fallen screen, Daniela was rendered immobile by its weight, her eyes brimming with tears of frustration and fear.

The air was thick with acrid smoke, and as Daniela struggled for breath, the encroaching shadows of unconsciousness began to cloud her vision, the grim thought of perishing in the blaze gnawing at her mind.

Yet, just as hope seemed to flicker out, a figure emerged through the smoke.

Strong arms lifted her effortlessly, and the steady, reassuring thud of her rescuer's heartbeat against her ear brought an odd solace amidst the chaos.

Suddenly, a piercing hiss cut through the muffled sounds of destruction.

The unmistakable, horrific odor of burning flesh assaulted her senses.

Heart pounding with a mix of fear and confusion, Daniela mustered the strength to pry her eyes open, only to be met with a suffocating veil of smoke that obscured her vision and deepened her terror.

As she fumbled blindly through the darkness, her fingers brushed against something sticky and unsettling. Instinctively, the man bearing her weight recoiled, yet he relaxed soon, permitting her hands to explore without restraint.

The wind screamed in her ears, relentless and chilling.

Gradually, the fierce warmth that had scorched her face began to dissipate.

Struggling against the heaviness of her eyelids, she strained to identify her rescuer.

Through the swirling smoke that clouded her vision, she glimpsed a distinctive mole near the man's eye—a mole that stirred a vague sense of recognition within her.

As the edges of her consciousness began to blur once more, Daniela heard a gentle voice cut through the howling wind. "Sir, the ambulance has arrived. The Harper family is already aboard. We must get moving right away. Your arm requires urgent care, and moreover, today marks Miss Harper's wedding. If people see her with another man, it'll become the talk of the town."

......

Daniela stirred from her uneasy slumber in the stark, frigid confines of a plain hospital ward.

The moon loomed large outside, bathing everything in its ghostly, somber light. The room lay shrouded in silence, devoid of the presence of her newlywed husband.

Her injuries were grievous: a cracked rib and a deep, ragged cut marred her left cheek. The doctor had cautioned that without meticulous care, the gash could etch a lasting scar on her face.

As dawn broke, the doctor returned to assess her condition.

Glancing around the empty room, he queried, "Where's your family?"

Daniela shook her head with a bitter smile. She had tried to reach Alexander many times, but he hadn't answered.

Exhaling a sigh, the doctor advised, "Try to keep still; moving too much could worsen your injuries. If there's no one to assist you, I'll arrange a caregiver for you."

At that moment, a young nurse chimed in, "Aren't you the bride from that fire incident that hit the headlines? Isn't your husband here with you?"

The conversation caught the attention of the head nurse, who coughed slightly, gesturing to silence her colleague. Leaning closer, she murmured, "He's actually upstairs, attending to someone else."

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