Rekindled Embers

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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Jasmine's Pov

The sun shone faintly; it was midsummer, and I was still in bed, tossing and turning. My thoughts were chaotic, swirling around my mind like a storm.

"Jasmine is a mistake," my father shouted angrily. His face was so hard, filled with rage, that it felt like he wanted to kill me. I hated my father with a passion.

He is cruel, taking pleasure in hurting my mother. "Jasmine is not my child," he keeps reminding her, and sometimes, I wonder if he believes it himself. In fact, I agree with him. I can’t be his daughter when he is such a ruthless and dishonest man. My heart breaks for my mother, a lovely and beautiful woman who ended up with him. I remember her telling me that her parents betrothed her to him, as if it was some kind of cruel joke. My father’s words keep echoing in my mind, tearing my heart into pieces—a father who harbors so much hatred for his own daughter.

It's always been my dream to attend Kisco High School, where I could pursue my passion for art and make something of myself. But when I told my father about it, he blurted out, "You are useless, and I won't waste my money on you." Those words cut deep, slicing through my self-esteem. I dreaded him so much that I sat staring at the ceiling, wondering what I could possibly do to prove I wasn’t useless. I felt trapped in a life that seemed hopeless.

“Hey, Jasmine!" my mother called as she pushed open the door to my room.

Her voice brought me back to reality. I didn’t even notice when she entered. "Mom, he hates me," I said, tears welling up in my eyes. "Don’t worry; it will be okay," she said as she held me tightly, her embrace warm and comforting.

My mother is such a wonderful woman; she is my role model, and I adore her. She works so hard to make our lives better, often at her own expense.

"It was my dream, Mom, but he shattered it," I said as I clung to my painting, grasping a sheet filled with sketches of my dreams for the future.

"I have gotten a job; I will make sure you get that dream of yours," she replied, stroking my cheek gently, as if trying to wipe away my tears.

She has lost so much weight in the last four months; the stress of our situation has taken its toll on her. She lost her good-paying job, and because of that, I couldn't go further in school. Daddy always punches her—it terrifies me to see him do that to her. I wish I could make money; I would elope with her to make her happy; she deserves to be happy.

When I heard she got a job, a glimmer of hope sparked within me. Now, I'm applying for a scholarship at Kisco. "I love you, Mommy," I said, trying to lift her spirits.

I hugged her tightly, and she winced in pain when my hand accidentally brushed her stomach.

"Mom, are you okay?"

It struck me hard to see her in pain. I opened her shirt to see what was bothering her. I shut my eyes at what I saw. She had many scars around her stomach, ugly reminders of the violence she endured. It was infuriating and heartbreaking. I felt fear in her eyes, and I realized that my dad was indeed a monster.

"I'm sure he did this to you." I wasn’t expecting her to say anything because she kept covering for him.

She struggles to accept that she is married to a beast.

"Your father is a nice man; don’t think like that," she keeps telling me, but I know the truth.

My mother rarely shares anything with me about her life with my father, and it frustrates me. I still can't believe her parents betrothed her to him. Something must be behind this dead marriage. I can’t see any love in it; my mom keeps dying in silence. She thinks I don’t know what Dad is doing to her.

"No, Mom, he is a wicked man. Please stop defending him."

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