I Became a Maid for the CEO just to Marry Him

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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June.

Heavy thunder and dazzling lightning enveloped City H.

In the Prison of City H, boundless darkness was pouring towards a woman in the corner.

Christine Stock was in a prison uniform, curled up on the ground, and trembled.

As she made a fist to hold her waist, the familiar pain swept over her, and her pale face was covered with sweat.

This was the sequela after she donated her kidney to Martin Jones a year ago, but this time the pain seemed to be more severe than ever.

Probably her condition was so bad that her inmate told the jailor about this. Until then the heavy iron gate was pushed open.

"Christine, what's wrong with you?!"

"It seems like she is in need of drugs again. Hurry up and send her away!"

Christian didn't hear clearly what they were saying. She only sensed in a daze that there were two people carrying her to a place she didn't know. Then when she woke up with the cold bed on her back, her limbs were firmly tied to the bed.

A dazzling light came into her view. She thought she was dragged to a small black room for rehabilitation again, but when she raised her neck, she saw two strange men approaching her with knives. She couldn't help changing her face.

"What do you want to do?!"

"I didn't use drugs. I didn't!"

She wanted to retreat, but she was forced to stay still.

"We don't have the final say about that. You won't live long since you have killed Franklin Brook anyway." The man picked up an inferior scalpel, split her prison uniform, and spat, "Mrs. Jones said that she wanted the kidney you left, and then they can transplant it on Mr. Jones!"

Christine could feel her blood freeze. Sensing the scalpel sticking to her belly, she shouted desperately, "No! I've already been cheated by him and given one of my kidneys to him, what more does he want?!"

"Slap!"

She was slapped hard and fiercely. Blood streaked down from the corners of her lips, and her head tilted as she panted weakly.

"It was you who signed the body donation book on your own initiative. Christine, you are already dead! So it doesn't matter if you are willing to do that now!" The man directly slashed her thin waist with only ribs, and ordered to the assistant beside him, "Cover her mouth and don't let her sound out!"

A strong smell of blood filled the whole small black room in an instant, and scarlet blood ran down along the bed...

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