And the Rain Fell

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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"I hope that one day, you'll remember me."

***

SAMANTHA

"Sammy, I'll head out first, okay? I really need to go home early today because it's my parents' anniversary. You know, bonding and all," my best friend Mich said as she retouched her makeup.

She held a compact mirror in her right hand and a foam puff in her left. I didn't know what it was called, but it was where she kept her powder.

I wasn't into makeup, so I had no idea what it was called.

She kept glancing at her wristwatch and looked at me with pleading eyes, as if silently begging for my permission and hoping I wouldn't get mad at her.

We had planned to eat together at the newly opened restaurant near our school, but she didn't expect to be included in her parents' anniversary celebration tonight. So, there wasn't much I could do about it.

As if I'd get mad at her, right? She's my best buddy, after all.

"Sure, it's fine. Geez, stop looking at me like I'm oppressing you. I'll let you go, okay?" I said, shaking my head. "And tell your mom and dad I said happy anniversary, okay? I wish them even more years of love and strength."

I smiled at her, and she sighed in relief.

"I'm off, Sammy," she said before planting a kiss on my left cheek. "Bye! Take care on your way home, okay?"

I nodded in response, and she ran off toward the school gate. Before she could go too far, she turned back in my direction.

"Message me when you get home!"

I nodded again.

She waved at me, and I returned it with a smile.

"You too! Have fun!" I called out.

She hopped on a jeepney and disappeared from sight. Quietly, I packed up my things. Once I was done, I walked out of the school gate.

I decided not to take a jeepney since the weather looked nice tonight. The breeze was cool, and it wasn't raining. Walking would save me some fare money, too.

As I walked, I rubbed my palms together to create warmth and pressed them against my neck.

I didn't have a jacket with me today, and my uniform-a simple white blouse with a red ribbon in the middle and a skirt just above my knees-made the cold even worse.

Dark. Cold. The streets were mostly empty. Thankfully, the streetlights provided some illumination, so I could still see my way.

bzzt bzzt

My phone vibrated in my pocket, so I took it out.

"Oh, it's Rica," I muttered to myself before reading her message.

Rica was my brother Kristoff's girlfriend. I didn't know how they managed to stay together-Rica was so kind, while Kristoff was, well, a troublemaker. Maybe opposites really do attract?

"Colline, go home now. It's already 8 PM. Your brother says you're not home yet. Don't stay out too late."

I typed a quick reply as I walked.

"Okay."

That was all I sent because I didn't have much else to say.

It took me longer than usual to type because I kept making typos. I couldn't even manage a simple "Okay" without messing it up. My hands just didn't want to cooperate sometimes.

After sending my reply, she didn't text back.

Seenzoned.

Oh, by the way, I'm Samantha Colline De Jesus. A 17-year-old, fourth-year student at Domino High. I'm not exactly pretty, but I do take care of myself. Hygiene is the one thing I can manage, so why wouldn't I?

Sometimes, I still get breakouts even though I try to care for my skin. In fact, I've got a new pimple on my cheek today. It's so annoying, but I refuse to pop it.

I don't know why pimples won't leave me alone. Maybe they just really like living on my face.

"Ugh, great."

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