Claimed By The Billionaire

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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Chapter 1

Raymond's POV

They call me ruthless. Calculating. The devil in a custom suit.

It's all true. I've earned those titles and wear them like armor. Every deal, every victory, every enemy crushed beneath my polished shoes-each one has built this reputation. But as I sit at the head of the boardroom table, staring at the morning's entertainment on the projector screen-a recording of Ariana's aunt spinning her absurd story-I feel something unusual.

Amusement.

No one has ever dared something this desperate with me. Forcing a pregnancy scandal? Laughable. I have no interest in women-none. They're deceitful, dangerous, and endlessly calculating in their games of manipulation. I've spent my life ensuring I never fall into their traps. Or so I thought.

"She's bold," I mutter, leaning back in my chair as the video replays. Ariana's aunt, crocodile tears streaming, accuses me of ruining her precious niece's life. The headlines plastered beneath the footage scream: City's Most Feared Bachelor Caught in Scandalous Affair.

"Shall we address this in court, Mr. Ray?" Simon, my head of legal, asks, his tone careful, as though he's walking on glass. He adjusts his tie, avoiding my gaze. He knows better than to look me in the eye when I'm in this kind of mood.

"No." I steeple my fingers, my eyes fixed on the freeze-frame of the aunt's overly dramatic face. "We won't waste time with lawyers."

"Should I arrange for... a visit?" Simon ventures, his voice low and deliberate.

A faint smirk tugs at the corner of my lips. "Not yet."

The room falls into tense silence. No one dares to speak out of turn, knowing how thin the ice is under them. But my mind isn't on the aunt or her ridiculous lies-it's on the girl at the center of this mess. Ariana.

I don't recall ever meeting her, but the tabloids have plastered her face everywhere. Wide, frightened eyes. A quiet, undeniable beauty. She looks like someone who doesn't belong in my world, someone who couldn't survive even a day in it.

And yet, here she is.

"Sir?" Simon prods, clearly unnerved by my silence.

"She lied," I say softly, my tone sharp enough to cut glass. "But not convincingly enough to bother me." I pause, letting the tension hang in the air before adding, "That doesn't mean I'll let it slide."

Simon clears his throat, his brow furrowed. "What's the plan, then?"

I stand, straightening my cuffs with deliberate precision. "Marriage."

Simon chokes on his coffee. "Excuse me?"

"Marriage," I repeat, savoring the weight of the word. "Announce it publicly. Tell the media I've claimed responsibility and that the wedding is imminent."

"But... why?" Simon blurts, his professional mask slipping for the first time. "You don't even know this girl."

"Exactly," I say, my smirk widening. "I don't know her, but I will. And when I do, I'll make sure she regrets letting her aunt drag me into this charade."

Simon frowns, crossing his arms in a rare display of defiance. "And if she's just another pawn?"

"She's not just a pawn," I say, my tone hardening. "She's going to be useful.

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