His Affection

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 Kickass Heroine Hidden identities Revenge

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Chapter 1

I urgently needed a "sidekick" to finish my final project.

Who would have thought that I'd witness the classic scene of two guys fighting over a girl?

I took a bold step forward and stopped one of the men.

"Hey, I can help you become the sidekick! You can be my research material!"

Seeing that he was unmoved, I bit my lip and sweetened the deal.

"I'll teach you everything, guarantee your success, and I'll be there for you every step of the way."

Later, he cornered me in a booth at the bar, his eyes rimmed with tears, whispering pitifully, "Leanna, where's the after-care service you promised?"

"Bro, you and Corynn are not a good match, understand? I've known Corynn since we were kids. No one knows her better than I do."

I hid around the corner of the stairs, peeking at the confrontation below.

I understood the situation: the childhood sweetheart couldn't compete with the sudden appearance of the male protagonist.

At this moment, the male protagonist was pinned against the wall, his face bruised, yet he stubbornly retorted, "We're already together."

I clung to the railing, glancing at the childhood sweetheart who was indeed rolling up his sleeves.

I quickly ducked back, catching my breath.

Luck was finally on my side.

This semester, I was taking a specialized course called Introduction to Film and Literature.

For my final project, I decided to study the male supporting character in real life.

Literature mirrors reality, so I planned to compare a real-life male supporting character with one from a fictional work.

I wanted to impress my professor and boost my GPA.

But finding the perfect research material was tough. After all, who would run around with "I'm the male supporting character" written on their forehead?

My project progress had come to a standstill.

"You wish!"

Downstairs, the childhood sweetheart grabbed the male protagonist by the collar, his forearm muscles tensed.

His raised fist signaled he was ready to strike.

From my years of reading novels, I could predict how the story would unfold.

After the childhood sweetheart beat up the male protagonist, the female protagonist would feel sorry for the male protagonist and gradually distance herself from the childhood sweetheart.

The childhood sweetheart would convince himself that he had known the female protagonist the longest, and everyone else was just a fleeting presence.

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