Once Bitten

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

Download the Book on the App

Oldston's streets were alive with the ebb and flow of traffic.

I'd occupied a corner seat in Blossom Restaurant for two hours, my attention occasionally drifting to the counter. There, a young lady donned in a sky-blue apron was engrossed in the art of crafting drinks.

She was petite. Based on my judgment, she barely reached 5.3 feet and was likely lighter than 100 pounds; her skin was soft and smooth, completely speckless. Her thick, raven-black hair was styled into a high knot, and her crescent-shaped eyes glistened when she laughed.

"Would you care for a refill, ma'am?" She approached, her smile undiminished.

Her presence momentarily distracted me, pulling me from my reverie. Fortunate, perhaps, that I too was a woman; the alternative might attract unsavory labels.

"Yes, another black coffee, thank you," I replied, my tone courteous and my smile reciprocating her warmth.

With an agile grace, she furnished me a new cup of black coffee. She lingered for a moment, choosing to impart a cautionary note. "You've had two cups of black coffee already, ma'am. It may be invigorating, but excess isn't advisable. Perhaps save some craving for your next visit?"

Her words floated through the air, melodious like the chime of wind bells.

I glanced at the black coffee before me and rose, gathering my bag. "Alright, let's take care of the bill."

Thrilled by my acquiescence, she promptly completed the transaction. "Your total comes to 15 dollars today, ma'am. Will you be paying with cash or through mobile payment?"

I completed the payment with minimal fuss and exited the unpretentious establishment.

"Ma'am." Lanny Mills, my chauffeur, greeted me as I emerged, extending a respectful nod as he opened the car door.

"Home, Lanny," I instructed softly, a meager smile on my lips.

As the car hummed into motion, I leaned back with my eyes closed. Yet my thoughts kept circling back to the young waitress, her countenance suffused with the flush of youth.

So, she was the woman who, in a year's time, would compel Mathias Murray to part from me at a great cost, even if it meant severing ties with his family.

In this newfound life, the first thing I'd done was seek her out, observing her covertly in her workplace.

What intrigued me so was deciphering what she possessed that could stole away the man I'd loved for nearly a decade.

In my previous life, I never had the chance to meet her, only stumbling upon a name and some scattered photographs. Mathias shielded her as though she were an invaluable gem. Despite my losses, I never even saw the face of my competitor.

She was young, beautiful, innocent, kind, and full of life, attributes that fit her perfectly.

Her only shortcoming was her lack of a prominent family background, in sharp contrast to Mathias's high-standing reputation.

Lanny's voice broke into my thoughts. "Ma'am, today marks your wedding anniversary with Mr. Murray."

Slowly, I opened my eyes, feeling momentarily disoriented.

This year would be our fifth anniversary. In previous years, I'd spent the entire day preparing—a candlelit dinner, anniversary presents—even though I was a complete amateur in the kitchen before marrying him.

Now, I was 27, and he was 29.

"I'm aware," I said, massaging my temples, a knot of unease forming within me. "There's no need to remind me."

Maybe Lanny sensed my departure from past enthusiasm, prompting him to mention it.

But it begged the question: why was I always the giver? Why must I be the one in love? These questions haunted me in my past life as I faced my final moments. For Mathias, I ended up sacrificing it all, culminating in a tragic end.

Read Now