Echo of hearts

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

Download the Book on the App

My hands trembled slightly as I placed the divorce papers on the table. "I want a divorce.” Taking a deep breath, I forced the words out, my voice tremble because the of anger and sadness I felt.

He didn't even look up from his phone, his thumb scrolling the screen with ease. "You know you can't do that, Nicole." His dismissal was nonchalant, having no hint of concern.

" I can't do it?" The question shot out before I could stop it, laced with a fury that burned in my gut. "Do you think I can't do it?"

Finally, he looked up, his green eyes meeting mine, but with a chilling nonchalant attitude. "We had an agreement, Nicole," he said, "One year was the deal. This is just six months."

"Yes, and guess what?" I crossed my hands over my chest, as my voice echo through the living room. "The agreement also stated grounds for early termination of agreement, and guess who's met those grounds now?" My voice trembled with barely contained emotion.

"I don't give a damn about some terms and conditions written by your greedy lawyer" he spat, his jaw tightening.

"Well, I give a damn," I countered, my voice rising. "That's why I want a damn divorce!" The final word sounded more like a declaration of war against the life we had built.

I could feel the tension in the room becoming thick with anger, it was enough to choke me. I stood in front of Nicholas, replaying all the things I've been through because of him and his Casanova lifestyle. At this point, I couldn't hold it in any longer.

"What exactly is the problem this time?" Nicholas asked, his voice dripping with false concern. It was like a switch had flipped. Was he really asking me what the problem was when he himself had been the only problem I have.

"You," I spat, my voice tight with frustration. "You are the problem! You are always the problem, Nicholas. And you will always be the problem" Each of my words were laced with venom, they are evidence of the years of the surpressed resentment bubbling up inside me.

He furrowed his brow, playing the ignorance game as usual. "Me? I don't understand what you're saying," he said, his voice smooth as butter.

That's what made it worse. His nonchalant attitude, him forming ignorance, and constantly denying it. "Don't play dumb," I snapped.

"Please, elaborate! Mrs. Nicole Jackwood," he sneered, using my name with his last name. It was a deliberate jab, a way of reminding me that I was still stuck to him legally and there was nothing I could do about it.

A surge of anger coursed through me. "Don't start with me. Don't do that," I warned, making my voice sound low and dangerous. "All these emotional blackmail tactics are enough. They won't work on me anymore."

He threw his head back and laughed, a hollow, mirthless sound. "Emotional blackmail?" He wiped a nonexistent tear from his eye. "You don't even know the meaning of what you are saying."

Read Now