Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance

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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It was late at night.

Lucinda Ross was tossing and turning in her sleep.

She felt a man on top of her, his weight pressing on her, making it hard for her to breathe properly.

She could hear him panting and feel his hot breath against her cheek.

And then, without warning, she felt a sharp pain in between her legs.

When she finally realized what was going on, her eyes flew open in horror. She squinted in the dark at the man above her.

"Nathaniel... Is that you, Nathaniel?"

He only grunted in response, and the pungent smell of alcohol assaulted her senses. He made no further sound, just kept pounding her like his life depended on it.

Lucinda allowed herself a sigh of relief after recognizing his voice. At this point, she could do nothing but to give in to his amorous onslaught, though she would let out a groan of pain here and there.

His movements became more frantic, and she had to grit her teeth to get through the strange mix of pain and pleasure. Still, she couldn't help but feel elated at this unexpected turn of events.

They had been married for three years, but her husband—Nathaniel Roberts—had never touched her. He didn't want to.

His grandfather, Logan, had forced him into this marriage, so Nathaniel had always resented her and treated her coldly.

Right now, Lucinda didn't care what had made him change his mind.

She was simply more than happy to surrender herself to him.

After a couple of hours, Nathaniel let out one final grunt and slumped over her in exhaustion. A sliver of moonlight cut through the window, outlining his profile like a perfect work of art.

Lucinda listened as his heartbeat gradually slowed its pace. The whole thing felt surreal that a tiny part of her suspected she was only dreaming.

If it really was a dream, then she never wanted to wake from it.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Nathaniel," she crooned with all the affection she harbored toward him. "Nathaniel, I—"

She was about to tell him that she loved him, but she heard him mutter in his drunken stupor before she could even get the words out.

"Ellie..."

Lucinda froze, feeling like a bucket of cold water had just been dumped on her head.

Her heart ached at the realization that Nathaniel had simply mistaken her for another woman.

The woman in Nathaniel's heart was Eleanor Turner. She was his first love. Yet because Logan didn't approve this relationship, she was forced to stay abroad all these years.

But Eleanor had just returned to the country.

And she had wasted no time sending a message to Lucinda, one that was obviously meant to provoke her.

"I'm back. Soon enough, there will no longer be any place for you in the Roberts family.

You may have married Nate, but he and I grew up together. Did you really think you could replace me? Know your place and crawl back to the orphanage where you came from. That's where you belong.

I'm sure you know how much he loves me. Even if he lies naked in your bed, I assure you that it will be my name he calls out. Do you understand, Lucinda? To Nate, you will only ever be my substitute."

Her substitute...

Lucinda was the woman Logan had chosen to be Nathaniel's wife! She was no one's substitute.

She was pulled back to the present by the sound of Nathaniel's voice. Her husband was still murmuring another woman's name.

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