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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 a late spring morning, the sunlight, soft and diffuse, gave way to the first strong rays of the day. Flowers were colouring the world for the warmer days to come, waving in the lazy breeze like a smile born of the cosmos—happiness in brilliant shades.

"Achoo --"

Essie Yi sneezed again. She was still in bed, draped in a heavy blanket. Just as she turned to her side she hit her face on something warm and was startled out of her sleep.

'How does the wall get here?'

Forcing her eyelids open, Essie sat bolt upright and whipped her head around in wide-eyed confusion.

After taking a moment to shed the sleep away from her eyes, she recognized the familiar floral curtains hanging at each side and the small oval table next to her bed.

It was her room. Yes!

Essie put her hand on her chest and breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps it was just a dream.

She closed her eyes and was just about to drift off again when a big hand reached out from behind and touched her back. The suddenness of the touch made her tremble like a dry leaf. As she turned her head around, there was the handsome face of a stranger sleeping next to her.

"Oh my God!" a panicked scream broke out from her lips, shaking the walls of the room.

'What is going on? Did this guy break into my apartment?'

The man lying next to her was startled out of his sleep by her screaming. He shot up from bed like a jack-in-the-box, momentarily shocked and disoriented. Then, suddenly, his expression froze, allowing an eerie chill to permeate the air.

Essie jumped into the corner of the bed and quickly wrapped herself up with the blanket. It was unnecessary, as it was obvious that the other party had seen her naked.

Suffice it to say, the man didn't seem very happy.

Essie grasped her aching forehead, desperately scrambling in her mind to make sense of everything, but her effort was all in vain.

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