The Insurance Beneficiary A Story of Deception and Revelation

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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When I was stabbed by the thug, the giant screen on the street was coincidentally broadcasting an interview with the movie star, Brenden.

The reporter asked who I was to him, and he replied, "She is my housekeeper."

With that single word, "housekeeper," he erased the ten years of love we had shared.

I lay in a pool of blood, watching the screen where he held the daughter of a billionaire, smiling indulgently.

Three years later, he burst into my wedding chapel, kneeling and begging for my forgiveness.

I said, "Sorry, big star, I have amnesia. I don't remember having any relationship with you."

My fiancé immediately played an old video: "Baby, look, he personally said you were his housekeeper."

On my 26th birthday, I prepared a table full of dishes.

But even by midnight, Brenden hadn't shown up.

When I checked my phone, the trending topic was "Brenden's High-Profile Birthday Celebration for Global Harmony Group Heiress."

It turned out today was also Jennifer's birthday, the daughter of the chairman of Global Harmony Group.

Brenden was busy celebrating with her, ignoring the dozens of messages I had sent him.

In the photo Jennifer posted on Twitter, she looked radiant and happy.

Brenden stood behind her, dressed in white, looking handsome and dashing, his gaze at her incredibly tender.

He hadn't looked at me with such tenderness in a long time.

I had been with him for ten years, watching him grow from a high school boy to an unknown actor, and then into a shining star.

But the entertainment industry had changed him too much.

To become famous, he had to curry favor with the powerful and climb up by any means necessary.

And I, with my ordinary background, was of no help to him.

He became increasingly indifferent to me, sometimes not contacting me for a whole month.

"Let's break up."

I sent him one last message, then blocked and deleted him.

Then I cried my eyes out, downing six bottles of beer by myself.

In the middle of the night, someone suddenly picked me up by the waist. "Dare to break up with me?

Malinda, you've got guts!" I opened my eyes to see Brenden, his eyes bloodshot, his expression fierce, his clothes soaked with the cold dew of the night.

"I've been running around like crazy, didn't even have time to drink water, and drove 300 kilometers to get here..." "Don't touch me! I've already broken up with you."

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