Savage Love BL

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 my wedding day, the giant screen in the ballroom was supposed to show a romantic video of my fiancé and me.

Instead, it played a sordid deepfake video of me with another man.

My fiancé, the celebrated tech mogul Edward Ford, pointed at me in front of New York’s high society.

“Amelia Stone, you are a disgrace.”

My own father then stepped forward, not to defend me, but to condemn me. He publicly disowned me, announcing he had another, kinder daughter who would take my rightful place.

He gestured to the side, and my illegitimate half-sister, Dara Chase, stepped out, looking innocent and fragile.

Betrayed by the two men I loved most, I fled the ballroom in shame. As I ran into the street, a car hit me with horrific force.

As I died, I floated above my own broken body. I watched as Edward and Dara embraced, their mission accomplished. But then I saw him. Josiah Craft, a guest at the wedding, fell to his knees beside me, his face crumbling into raw, animalistic grief.

I opened my eyes again. I was back in my penthouse, just days before the wedding that was supposed to be my end.

Chapter 1

The phone buzzed on the nightstand, a sharp, insistent sound in the quiet room. I stared at it, my mind a fog. I had just made a decision, a monumental one, and the call felt like an intrusion from a world I no longer belonged to. I let it ring, the name on the screen a faint, painful memory.

Josiah Craft.

Finally, I picked it up. His voice, usually so calm and steady, was tight with worry.

"Amelia? Are you okay? I heard... I heard about the wedding."

His words were a jumble, but his concern was clear. It was a lifeline. In that moment, a wild, desperate idea took root in my scrambled brain.

"Josiah," I said, my own voice sounding strange and distant to my ears. He was always so careful, so respectful of my engagement to Edward. He never crossed a line, but his quiet devotion was a constant presence in the background of my life. A stark contrast to Edward's grand, public displays.

"Yes, I'm here. What's wrong?" he asked, his voice softening.

"Marry me, Josiah," I blurted out.

Silence. Complete and utter silence on the other end of the line. I could picture him, his strong frame frozen, his dark eyes wide with disbelief. He was a man of immense power, the heir to a Texas oil fortune, a man who never showed weakness. But my request had clearly shaken him.

"What did you say?" he finally asked, his voice a low whisper.

"I said, marry me," I repeated, the words feeling more real, more solid this time. "When this is all over, I'll marry you."

I heard a sharp clatter, the sound of a phone dropping, followed by a muffled curse. He was fumbling, his composure shattered.

"Amelia, are you serious? Don't joke about this." His voice came back, strained.

"I've never been more serious in my life," I said, a strange sense of calm settling over me. "I promise."

He didn't answer. I heard a deep, shaky breath. Then, I hung up.

The moment the call ended, a wave of nausea and pain washed over me. My head throbbed, and a phantom agony shot through my legs, the ghost of crushed bone and twisted metal. I collapsed onto the thick, plush carpet of the penthouse bedroom, gasping for air.

I was alive.

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