Chasing My Ex Contract Wife

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.

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Arabella's POV

Effortlessly, the liquid leaves my bladder. With closed eyes, my heart hammers wildly within my ribcage anxiously.

For no reason, I don't want to do this anymore. For a moment, I begin to think of the very step to take as soon as this is confirmed.

Should I still go ahead with it?

Ignorance, they say, is bliss. What if he doesn't want a child now?

Realizing I have been staring at my urine for more than a minute, I summon up enough courage as I grab the container and dip the absorbent tip of the PT test strip before counting from 1 to 10 and then recapping it.

With trembling hands, I place the strip on the flat counter while fidgeting with my hands and watching the timer on my phone.

In five minutes, I would know my fate.

In five minutes, I would have to choose.

In five minutes, I would have to know whether to see him tonight or not.

In five minutes, my world would either change or remain the same.

I shut my eyes, clamp my hands together and stamp my feet impatiently on the floor. When I flicker my eyes back open, traces of the doubtful expression of a woman I can barely recognise in just a few minutes stares back at me from the mirror.

I can barely recognize myself.

What then will happen if I am indeed pregnant?

I try to smile but it falters.

I try to stay calm but the trembling won't stop.

I try to look upset too, perhaps it might help with how I feel but I don't look angry.

My expression is filled with nothing but anxiety, hope, doubts and optimism.

Something dings and it occurs to me that it is the timer. Five minutes is up.

It is time to see the results of what we did a month ago.

Even though my curiosity led me to this, I can't brace myself up to look down at the strip right in front of me. My eyes are looking directly into the mirror.

Suddenly, my eyes water.

A lump is stuck in my throat. My chest is heavy too.

Balling my hand into a fist and letting out a long sigh, I drop my head down to stare at the two red lines staring right back at me.

My heart stops for a minute.

My breathing hitched too.

When it finally dawns on me that this is what I want, I clasp my hand over my mouth, stepping back with laughter erupting from my throat.

Finally!

I'm pregnant.

I'm having a baby.

When my back hits the wall, it sinks in, making my laughter stop halfway.

My initial fear was to know if he would want this too. This is not just about me. It is about us. Our child.

I should tell him. Then I would know if he wants a baby as much as I do.