The Alphas Bond

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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🐺✨ The Night of the Red Moon

Approx. 600–900 words (I can make it longer if you prefer more detail.)

The moon should not have been red.

Lyra Hale stood at the edge of the forest, her breath frozen in her throat as the sky pulsed with a strange crimson glow. The air smelled of metal and smoke, as if the night itself had bled.

Her village had gone silent-too silent.

Then the first howl shattered everything.

It wasn't the normal cry of the forest wolves she grew up hearing.

This one was deeper. Older. Hungry.

Lyra's heart slammed against her ribs. She clutched her small satchel of herbs and took a step back, but a blur of silver-grey fur burst from the trees, knocking her off her feet. Claws dug into the ground beside her face.

A rogue wolf. Taller than a man. Its eyes glowing like dying embers.

It snarled, inches from her throat.

Lyra shut her eyes-

But the attack never came.

A violent gust of wind tore across the clearing. Something massive slammed into the rogue, throwing it away from her. Branches snapped. The ground shook.

Lyra scrambled backward, her hands trembling, as a shadow larger than the wolf stepped into the red moonlight.

Not a wolf.

Not a man.

Something in between.

His fur was black with streaks of glowing silver running across his limbs like molten metal. His eyes-silver, cold, and burning-locked on hers for a split second before he lunged at the rogue with a deafening snarl.

The fight was brutal and fast.

When it ended, the rogue lay dead at his feet.

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