Rejected torn by love

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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Amelia

I kept gushing over the photos my sister, Trisha was sending to me from Instagram as ideas for my upcoming wedding. It wasn't just any kind of wedding. This was a wedding that would be on the tabloid and get people talking for weeks.

"Oh, Amy, I wish I was in your shoes!" Trisha gushed as we drooled over some couple of wedding gowns I would have to choose from.

Like she really does wish. Being middle class and dating a man from the upper class is a hot seat to be on.

"I love the gown with the diamond stones at the neck."

She huffed, "white wedding gowns are so overrated, Amelia. Is the world going to fall if you wear black for your wedding?"

I cracked into laughter. "People do wear other colours but black is a no no."

"And why's that?" She asked, her face squeezing into a frown from the screen.

"It's bad luck!" I said in an obvious tone.

"Then I would be the one to break it. It's high time for the rules of a century to get broken.

"Good luck with that." I yawned and stretched my legs out on the couch before dropping my body into a sleeping position.

"You're tired?"

"Of course I am."

Even though there's a wedding planner making lots of arrangements, it's still draining to be in the spotlight. A middle class entrepreneur, getting married to one of the most eligible billionaire bachelors in the city. It was just too much. One second, we were hiding our relationship and dating in secret and the next second, our secret was blown over after Dave proposed to me. I turned from being a miss nobody to being famous overnight. And the fun part of it all, the sales in my beauty store have skyrocketed in the past few months. Who doesn't want to shop at Dave Anderson's girlfriend's store?

"Alright billionaire bride, I'm going to leave you to rest now." Trisha said and ended our facetime.

I yawned again and rolled to the other side of my large couch.

As a kid, I fantasized about the Cinderella stories, the knight in shiny armour coming to save the damsel in distress, the prince getting married to the middle class girl and it's absurd or rather a twist of fate that it's all happening now.

Sometimes, I pinch myself so hard to check if it's a dream but it's not. While my childhood fantasy came true, it didn't come without its own baggage of getting swapped into a billionaire's world.

Dave and I met in Harvard. While he got in through his family's connection, I read for fifty hours a week to get a scholarship into the Ivy league school. We never spoke to each other and I tried myself to stay away from the super rich folks in class till we got paired up in a class project. Things blossomed from there till we began seeing each other secretly.

He was the best thing that had ever happened to me till he proposed and I was introduced to his parents. The hate and, "you're not our class" game began. I had put up with his mother's attitude for a long time and I can't believe we are now going to get married. It didn't mean it was the end of my battles but it showed I had scored more points though.

A small smile lingered on my lips as I slowly drifted to sleep thinking of walking down the aisle while Dave stood at the...

The loud blaring of my phone ringtone brought me out of my reverie. I groaned and grabbed it without checking the caller.

"Amy, there's trouble in paradise."

Trisha's voice came on the line and every trace of sleep disappeared from my eyes.

"What's wrong?" I asked as I sat up.

"I don't know how to tell you this, Amelia. I'm also trying to get over the shock. Promise you won't have a panic attack." She spoke so fast and I had trouble with hearing all she was saying.

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