Fluoxetine

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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For ten years, I secretly loved my guardian, Ethan Hayes. After my family fell apart, he took me in and raised me. He was my entire world.

On my eighteenth birthday, I gathered all my courage to confess my love to him.

But his reaction was a fury I had never seen before. He swept my birthday cake to the floor and roared, "Are you insane? I am your GUARDIAN!"

He then mercilessly tore the painting I had spent a year on-my confession-to shreds.

Just days later, he brought home his fiancée, Chloe.

The man who had promised to wait for me to grow up, who called me his brightest star, had vanished. My decade of desperate, burning love had only managed to burn myself.

The person who was supposed to protect me had become the one who hurt me the most.

I looked down at the NYU acceptance letter in my hand. I had to leave. I had to pull him out of my heart, no matter how much it hurt.

I picked up the phone and dialed my father's number.

Dad, I said, my voice hoarse, "I've decided. I want to come be with you in New York."

Chapter1

The eighteenth day of giving up on Ethan Hayes began with Ava deleting the photo on her phone's lock screen.

It was a candid shot she had secretly taken.

Ethan was sitting on the sofa, bathed in the afternoon sun, a financial magazine resting on his knee. He was looking at her, a faint, almost imperceptible smile on his lips.

For a full ten years, from the age of eight to eighteen, this man had been the sun in her world.

Her joy, her anger, her sorrow, her entire world revolved around him.

But now, she wanted to extinguish that sun with her own hands.

The screen went black.

A clean, stark black, leaving nothing behind.

Ava's fingers trembled slightly as she put the phone down and picked up the glass of milk on the table. It was already cold.

She drank it in one gulp, the cold liquid sliding down her throat, but it couldn't suppress the burning sensation in her chest.

She picked up her phone again and dialed a number she hadn't contacted in a long time.

The call connected quickly. A man's gentle voice came through.

Ava?

Dad, she called out, her voice a little hoarse. "I got my acceptance letter. NYU."

Her father was silent for a moment, then his voice filled with unconcealed joy. "That's wonderful! Ava, congratulations. Art History, right? The department you always dreamed of."

Yes.

So, you've decided? You're coming to New York?

I've decided, Ava said, her grip on the phone tightening. "I want to come be with you."

She wanted to escape this place. She wanted to escape Ethan Hayes.

Her father seemed to sense the emotion in her voice. He sighed softly. "Is it because of Ethan? Did he give you a hard time again?"

No, Ava lied, forcing a relaxed tone. "He's getting engaged. I can't just keep living in his house as his ward, not now. It feels wrong. Besides, I'm an adult now. It's time I learned to be on my own."

A heavy silence followed.

After a long while, her father's voice, full of heartache, came through the phone. "My poor Ava. It's been hard on you all these years, living in that house because I couldn't... It's good that you're coming. Dad will take care of you from now on."

He added, "Our family's business is back on track. You don't need to depend on anyone anymore. Dad can support you."

The warmth of his words made Ava's eyes sting.

She sniffled, holding back the tears. "Okay."

After hanging up, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red and swollen.

Ten years. She had spent a full ten years loving a man who would never belong to her.

She had to leave.

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