Depth Rough She Was Unwanted Luna

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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Carly woke to the sound of keys jangling and the heavy door of her cell creaking open. Her heart skipped as the light from the hallway flooded in. She squinted, trying to adjust her eyes to the sudden brightness. Alpha Arnold stood in the doorway, his silhouette looming menacingly.

"Get up, Carly," he barked. "Today's going to be a busy day, and I don't want any of your sluggishness slowing us down."

She hurried to her feet, her body still sore from the previous day's work. Without a word, she followed Alpha Arnold out of the cell and into the dimly lit hallway.

Carly's mind raced again with thoughts of escape plans. She had to be careful with Alpha Arnold. Any mistakes could lead to severe punishment, and she couldn't afford that now. She had to bide her time, waiting for the perfect moment to make her move.

They entered the main hall, where the other slaves were already at work. The room buzzed with activity as they prepared for another day of their monthly responsibilities. Carly's heart sank as she saw the fear in their eyes, the same fear that had taken root in her own heart.

"Listen up, everyone!" Alpha Arnold's voice boomed across the room, silencing the murmurs of the slaves. "Today, we have special guests arriving from the neighboring packs. I expect everything to be perfect. No mistakes. Do you understand?"

A chorus of murmured agreements followed, and Alpha Arnold was pleased with everyone's response. He turned to Carly, his eyes narrowing.

"Carly, you'll be in charge of cleaning the guest quarters. Make sure everything is spotless. And remember, any mistakes will be severely punished."

"Yes, Alpha Arnold," Carly replied, her voice trembling slightly. She turned and made her way to the guest quarters, her mind focused on the task at hand.

The guest quarters were a series of rooms at the far end of the hall, reserved for the most important visitors. Carly entered the first room, a large, opulent space filled with rich furnishings and elaborate decorations. She took a deep breath and began to clean, her hands moving quickly and efficiently.

Finally, the guest quarters were clean, and Carly stepped back to admire her work. She was exhausted, her body aching from the effort. At least for now, she had done something right.

"Carly!" Alpha Arnold's voice called from the doorway, and she turned to see him. "Are you finished?"

"Yes, Alpha Arnold," she replied, her voice steady despite the fear that gripped her.

"Good. Follow me. There's more work to be done."

Carly followed him out of the room and back into the main hall. The other slaves were still hard at work, their faces etched with weariness.

"You'll be helping with the preparations for tonight's feast," he said, gesturing to the mess. "Make sure everything is in order."

Carly nodded and began to sort through the supplies. While she was working, she overheard snippets of conversation from the other slaves, their voices low.

"Did you hear about the new visitors?" one of them whispered. "I heard they're even worse than Alpha Arnold."

"Just keep your head down and do your work," another replied. "We can't afford to get on their bad side."

Carly's heart sank at the thought. If these new visitors were truly worse than Alpha Arnold, then their situation was even more dire than she had imagined. She had to find a way out, and soon.

But who could she trust? The other slaves were just as fearful as she was, their spirits broken by years of servitude. She needed someone strong, someone brave enough to stand up to Alpha Arnold and his pack.

The guests began to arrive, their voices filling the hall with a cacophony of noise. Carly kept her head down, focusing on her tasks, but she couldn't help but listen to their conversations.

"Did you hear about the latest raid?" one of the guests said, his voice filled with excitement. "The Resistance is getting bolder. They attacked one of our outposts last night."

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