Wolves of obsession

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 air smelled of blood before the first scream came.

It was faint at first-just a note on the wind. A copper tang beneath the scent of pine and storm-damp earth. The trees whispered restlessly, their branches swaying in rhythm with something ancient and disturbed. Rhea Voss stood at the ridge above the valley, her boots coated in dust, her breath shallow, her body still. Listening.

Not watching.

Listening was how you survived in Ashen Fang territory. You listened to the wind, the birds, the way silence settled like a predator. Sight could lie. Sound never did.

And right now... the woods were too quiet.

Behind her, the scouting party shifted impatiently. Four wolves in human form, each battle-tested, each older than her-and yet they waited for her signal. Because she was the one with the instinct. The one the Alpha trusted. The Ghost Wolf, they called her. Silent. Efficient. Lethal.

But tonight, something felt off.

The scent came again. Stronger now. Not just blood. Burning.

And something else.

Silver.

Rhea's lips parted, a curse barely forming. "Move."

She was already sprinting down the incline before the others reacted, her muscles moving like memory. She didn't need to shift. Not yet. She needed clarity. Precision.

The trees thinned as she descended into the valley, the undergrowth torn up in chaotic patterns-signs of a struggle, too recent for comfort. Her foot caught something soft, and she skidded to a halt.

A body.

Eyes wide. Throat torn.

Ashen Fang.

"Shit," muttered Jorik behind her, kneeling to inspect the fallen packmate.

"Burn marks on the wounds," Rhea murmured, voice flat. "Silver-lined blades."

"Poachers?" someone asked.

She didn't answer. Poachers didn't get this deep into Velmorra. Not without dying. No. This was a message.

She felt it in her bones before she saw the second body-this one wasn't Ashen Fang. This one wore the pale grey tunic of Silver Hollow.

Her breath caught.

This wasn't a random kill.

This was war.

---

They gathered the bodies before dawn. The others argued about whether to take them home or burn them. Rhea stood still through it all, her thoughts miles away.

Why was a Silver Hollow wolf here? Why was his blood mingled with one of their own?

More importantly, why had they killed each other?

Unless...

Unless someone else had orchestrated it.

Her jaw tensed.

Kael needed to hear this.

And she needed answers.

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