Reborn hero jax

The Billionaire's Secret Triplets: Mom's Revenge

HONEY MULLINS

Six years ago, I was a naive girl sold by my father to the powerful Sanders estate, only to be tossed onto the streets after a brutal assault they labeled "marital infidelity." I fled the country pregnant and broken, hiding from the shadow of a husband I had never even met. Now, I’ve returned to New York with my triplets to sign the final divorce papers and disappear forever. But Archibald Sanders—the man I was told was a crippled recluse—intercepted us with the cold precision of a predator. He didn't see the woman his family destroyed; he saw a gold-digger who had shamed his name. His security team hunted us to a grimy motel, using tactical force to snatch my children away and drag me to his glass-walled empire. In his office, he loomed over me, demanding a DNA test and threatening to throw me in prison while my babies were lost to the foster system. He was convinced I’d cheated, yet he stared at my sons with a haunting confusion, unable to ignore the stormy blue eyes that were a perfect mirror of his own. I stood there, paralyzed by his scent—the sharp tang of rain and expensive leather that triggered the icy dread of my worst nightmares. How could he accuse me of betrayal when he felt exactly like the monster who had shattered my life in that dark hotel room? "I'll sign anything," I sobbed, "just give me my kids." But the game changed when my five-year-old son hacked the tower’s security, holding the skyscraper hostage to save me. In the chaos, a fragile, silent boy—Archibald’s secret son—wandered into the room and reached for me as if I were his missing soul. Archibald’s face turned to stone as he tore up the agreement and locked the doors. "Until I find out why my son is looking at you like that," he growled, "you aren't going anywhere."

Modern Mystery Revenge

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For years, I was the orphan girl hopelessly in love with my guardian, Jordan. He was my protector, my entire world, the man who promised he would always keep me safe.

Then he announced his engagement to Gwyneth Duran, a woman who saw me as a rival to be crushed.

One night, he stumbled home drunk, mistook me for her, and forced a kiss on me. But when he woke up the next morning, he looked at me with pure disgust.

"I know what you're doing," he spat. "Trying to worm your way into my life. Stay away from me."

His fiancée slapped me, calling me a slut, and his parents, believing their lies, threw me out with nothing. The man who had been my hero now saw me as something vile.

With my heart shattered, I made one last call.

"Aunt Diana? I'm coming to Chicago."

From now on, he and I are nothing but strangers.

Chapter 1

Kianna Mckinney POV:

He's getting married. The words echoed in my head, a brutal, undeniable truth that sliced through the fragile hope I' d clung to for years. It was a wound I inflicted upon myself, but the pain was no less real.

I stood before the mirror, my reflection a stranger. Long, dark hair, once a symbol of my quiet demeanor, now lay discarded on the salon floor. The stylist, a young woman with a kind smile, ran her fingers through my newly bobbed cut. It felt light, rebellious, a physical shedding of a past I could no longer bear. The mirror showed a sharp jawline, eyes that held a flicker of defiance I hadn't seen before, and a mouth that, for once, wasn't curving into an accommodating smile. This was me, Kianna, stripped bare.

Later that evening, I found myself with a cigarette between my fingers, something I' d always deemed reckless, something Jordan would have hated. The acrid smoke filled my lungs, a bitter taste that somehow matched the bitterness in my soul. I watched the smoke curl into the night air, carrying with it the remnants of a childhood dream. It wasn't about the nicotine. It was about the act, the defiance, the reclamation of a self that had been lost for too long.

My phone felt heavy in my hand. It had been years since I'd spoken to her, not since the funeral. But now, she was my only way out. I scrolled through my contacts, my thumb hovering over Diana's name. A deep breath. A shaky exhale. I pressed call.

"Aunt Diana?" My voice cracked, raw from disuse and unshed tears.

"Kianna? Is that really you?" Her voice, sharp and precise, cut through the static, instantly conjuring images of her formidable presence.

"Yes, it's me," I managed, a fragile smile touching my lips. "I got into Chicago Law."

A beat of silence. Then, a proud huff. "Took you long enough. Always knew you had it in you, kid."

"I... I want to come live with you, Aunt Diana," I blurted out, the words a desperate plea. "I want to start over."

"Start over?" There was a hint of suspicion in her tone, a lawyer's natural skepticism. "What happened to your beloved Jordan? Last I heard, you were practically glued to his side."

The name hit me like a physical blow. My hand tightened around the phone. "He's getting married," I said, the words flat, devoid of emotion. "To Gwyneth Duran."

Another silence, longer this time. I could almost hear the gears turning in her brilliant mind. "Ah," she finally said, a single, sharp syllable. "So the puppet strings finally broke."

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